[ They are two very young people with a lot more on their shoulders than just about anyone else in Thedas, and certainly in Ferelden. The circumstances that have brought them to this moment, and together, are a tangled that's become impossible to follow and harder to believe. How is it that the bastard son of the king and the daughter of a teryn had come to be in this room, lying through their smiles, about to enter into the likely last fight of their lives?
And that's all besides what's most pressing at her mind, which won't stay down for long, though which she wishes she could set aside and never tell him. Robyn knows that she can't make that decision, though, not when he has every right to (possibly) save his own life. If he wants to go through with the ritual, she can't begrudge him for it, much as the very idea might tug at her heart. ]
Suppose away. [ She replies lightly, stepping in. They're both armed and armored, but with the information she's just received, she barely notices. It drags her down as if she's weary heavy mail and she's more than obviously distracted, unable to muster the usual amount of bright optimism, though she wants nothing more than to see him smile. ... And not the one he's chosen, which is strained and deeply upset.
Robyn thumbs at his jaw, briefly, then moves to the clasps of his breastplate. The deft hands of a rogue slip the buckles off and away without too much trouble, working at each piece in turn. Gingerly, she takes the gloves, nudges him backward to sit on the bed and kneels to remove his boots. He can do much of it himself, but busying herself with a simple task, and one that helps him in even the smallest capacity, distracts from the... everything else.
Andraste, give me strength. Maker, keep him safe. ]
More comfortable now that you've shed all the weight of that metal? [ She smiles thinly, rising. They're both here, physically, but seemingly somewhere else in mind. ] It's a wonder you can keep that on your back all day long.
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And that's all besides what's most pressing at her mind, which won't stay down for long, though which she wishes she could set aside and never tell him. Robyn knows that she can't make that decision, though, not when he has every right to (possibly) save his own life. If he wants to go through with the ritual, she can't begrudge him for it, much as the very idea might tug at her heart. ]
Suppose away. [ She replies lightly, stepping in. They're both armed and armored, but with the information she's just received, she barely notices. It drags her down as if she's weary heavy mail and she's more than obviously distracted, unable to muster the usual amount of bright optimism, though she wants nothing more than to see him smile. ... And not the one he's chosen, which is strained and deeply upset.
Robyn thumbs at his jaw, briefly, then moves to the clasps of his breastplate. The deft hands of a rogue slip the buckles off and away without too much trouble, working at each piece in turn. Gingerly, she takes the gloves, nudges him backward to sit on the bed and kneels to remove his boots. He can do much of it himself, but busying herself with a simple task, and one that helps him in even the smallest capacity, distracts from the... everything else.
Andraste, give me strength. Maker, keep him safe. ]
More comfortable now that you've shed all the weight of that metal? [ She smiles thinly, rising. They're both here, physically, but seemingly somewhere else in mind. ] It's a wonder you can keep that on your back all day long.