It doesn't need to be asked, but - - "Can you watch my back?" Amos is shaken, doesn't show it, still has the bearing of a man who could not care less about the goings on around him, but Verin would see the set to his jaw, the way his eyes move from person to person around Haven. He hasn't slept more than a few startled dozes and it has to change if the world was to be saved. He trusts no one here. No one but The Sword. "I'll watch yours." He always has.
@ofexaltations
There is a moment where Verin is angry. (Neither of them are men much given to outward expression. It is a pinch to his brow, a bleakness in the eye)
It is not that they have never asked each other what needs not be before. The inquisition’s leadership has done a great deal to paper over the first few hours after the explosion. Verin is not a spy, but he does hear things: Amos dragged from the wreckage and into chains, threatened and shoved out to face demons from the sky. When it didn't kill him, and no other solutions presented themselves, they called him a hero instead. To have his help be a question now feels like a corruption, an echo of trusts betrayed by other men.
It isn't Amos’ fault, and Verin reaches to squeeze the other man’s shoulder where it meets his throat with ungraceful solidity and an uptick of his mouth. He is not a tactile man, for all his upbringing-- but he is here, he is here, a sword also guards.
“You’re usually better at asking people to take you to bed.” ( He means yes. He means that by all the swords and stars and both their gods, Amos has his arm. He's sworn it before. He won't again )
There is some benefit to being on a pilgrimage path in the off season. His Lordship the Duke warrants a priestly cell, and so he has a pallet to supplement his own bedding; and a door that, if not bars, can at least be guarded. Verin offers it without thought beyond “If someone writes another song about this, I'll duel them.”
