A/N: Thank you to everyone reading so far! I hope you enjoy this next chapter!
"People say to the mentally ill, 'You know so many people think the world of you' but when they don't like themselves they don't notice anything. They don't care about what people think of them. When you hate yourself, whatever people say it doesn't make sense. 'Why do they like me? Why do they care about me?' because you don't care about yourself at all."
― Richey Edwards
9:31 Dragon - Greenfell - Past
Cullen sat at the very back of the Chantry, and stared at the statue of Andraste behind the podium where Sister Erikka gave her sermon. It was probably a good twelve feet tall, arms crossed over its stone chest, watching over them, symbolically pleading their case to the Maker.
It bothered him.
He hadn't prayed since he'd been sent to Greenfell. It felt pointless to try. The Maker did nothing while he was tortured, while his friends were slaughtered, and after, when the nightmares wouldn't stop, he prayed, and begged Andraste and the Maker to relieve him, but they only grew worse.
What was the point in praying?
Knight-Commander Greagoir had banished him to the miserable village, to "level out" , whatever that meant.
Exhaling quietly, he knew his temper had been out of control, his behavior unacceptable, but everything was so much harder to reign in after Uldred's betrayal. It was too much. Too bright, too loud, dangers everywhere that the others refused to see.
The apprentices whispered when he walked by, that dwarf Dagna following them around, wide-eyed and oblivious to the true nature of magic and what they were capable of.
He was naive once too, but he knew better now. Surviving while so many did not, it was unfair and he felt the least he could do was spread the truth to those as foolish as he once was.
He only meant to warn her, to let her know how dangerous it could be, but he'd been too loud, losing his temper, yelling.
It was shameful how he acted, but he didn't regret what he said.
Magic was dangerous, which meant mages were dangerous, if he'd recognized that sooner, perhaps he could have stopped it from happening.
Instead he spent his days pining instead of keeping his eyes open.
She was a mage, what had he been thinking? Against his will, he still felt something when he thought of her. His heart ached, crushed with misery at the memories trapped forever in his mind.
He hated himself for it, he hated her too.
Clenching his jaw, he squeezed his hands into fists, and drowned out the sermon until it was over.
And then the pews emptied, the brothers and sisters wandering off to complete their various duties, leaving him alone, staring at Andraste, remembering how Beval, and the others cried to her for help and were met with silence.
"Ser Cullen," came a gentle voice beside him, and he looked over to see lay sister Delilah.
"Sister," he said, "I'm sorry. I didn't hear you."
She'd been the one to welcome him to Greenfell, preparing his room and showing him around the small village. She was older than him, some wanderer that had gotten stuck in the miserable village, and she had decided to latch onto him. Bringing him food, and fresh linens, always there to ask if he needed help.
Her hair irked him, a bothersome reminder.
"Oh, don't worry about that," she said, and she sat beside him on the pew, crossing her hands in her lap, and looking over at him.
Cullen wished she would sit in any of the other numerous, empty pews. She'd been so helpful, so nice.
He hated it.
"Brother Berkel tells me you've been resistant to praying," she said.
Cullen sighed, and looked back to the statue of Andraste, he had no interest in talking about it.
"You suffered—"
"Please," he said, closing his eyes and exhaling, "I'd rather not speak of it."
"Of course," she said.
It was quiet for a long moment, and he found the sound of her breathing grating.
And then he felt her hand on his.
"What are you—"
She leaned over, and kissed him.
He scrambled away from her, a torrent of confusion and anger flowing through him.
"What—what are you doing?" he stuttered, his voice high pitched and startled.
She stood up, and stammered a bit, "You just seemed so lonely, I'm lonely too. We've both been through much. It's been a few months since you've come here—"
His eyes darted around the small building, it was empty, and they were alone.
He felt trapped.
"I doubt you've been through what I have," he said bitterly, wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand, "I've never kissed anyone, how dare you?"
She burned red, "Oh, I'm sorry! I thought surely—well you're such a fine man—oh I'm sorry," she stammered, and she fell back to the pew, staring at the ground in shame.
Cullen felt a bit light headed, and furious, as usual.
But her hair was dark, and against his better judgment, he sat back beside her, and she looked over at him, seemingly relieved he hadn't run off.
"It's alright," he said, and he felt himself burning red too, his heart hammering in his chest. "I have been… lonely."
He felt her hand on his again, and he turned his hand over, and squeezed hers back.
"Do you think I'm pretty?" she whispered.
Cullen looked at her.
He supposed she was pretty. Her face was angular, not like Amell's, but her hair was dark, and almost exactly the same. Her eyes were a dull gray, and seemed a bit lifeless.
"You are," he said quietly.
Delilah quickly looked around the Chantry, and then she kissed him on the cheek, "I'll be at the windmill tonight," she whispered.
"Why?" he asked.
She laughed a bit, and then wrinkled her brow, "Maker… you can meet me there."
"Oh," he said, burning red, "o-okay."
She left him, and he found himself alone once more.
His hand lifted to his cheek, and he felt where she had kissed him. He closed his eyes, and imagined Amell's lips, pressing against his cheek instead.
His face scrunched slightly, pained, and he dropped his hand to the pew.
He was bitter, and he was lonely, and he wanted to forget about his love for her.
Perhaps Delilah could help him do that.
He'd taken no vows of celibacy, it was something he never thought of, maybe he would if this didn't work.
Later that night, when everyone else was asleep, he slipped out of the barracks and went to the windmill.
He found her sitting on a wool blanket atop a bed of straw, dressed in a simple buttoned dress. She seemed different, out of her Chantry robes, less intimidating.
The small cramped room was lit only by a single lamp, and smelled of old wood and oil.
She stood up when she saw him, "You came!" she said, surprised.
He nodded, and cautiously entered the windmill, closing the door behind him.
"Y-yes," he stuttered, suddenly unsure he wanted to do this anymore, "I—I've never, I—I'm afraid I don't know what to do."
She walked up to him, and smiled, "I'll show you, and believe me Ser Knight, you won't regret it."
He doubted that.
Delilah placed her hands on his chest, stood on her tip-toes, and kissed him.
He closed his eyes, and bent down a bit to meet her. It was soft, not so different from what he imagined kissing might feel like, at least what he imagined kissing Amell might feel like.
He stopped, and felt ill.
She pulled away and looked at him, "Are you okay?"
"Y-yes," he said, burning red.
"You seem… uncomfortable."
"Do I?" he asked, laughing awkwardly, "As I said, I've never done this."
"Just relax," she said, staring up at him, her eyes fluttering low, and her expression bothered him.
She began unbuttoning her dress.
Cullen looked away quickly, "Wait," he said.
"Yes?"
"I want it dark," he said, "please."
"Dark," she repeated, "o-okay."
She turned down the oil lamp until he could barely see his own hand, and then he dared looking at her again.
His heart skipped a beat.
In the dark, he could almost see her.
Black hair, just like he remembered, her shape was murky, but his imagination filled in the rest.
He grabbed her around the waist, and kissed her again. He did it poorly, his feelings conflicted, pulling him back when his body insisted on continuing, it made his movements jerky and strange.
Wasn't he supposed to be forgetting?
He'd forget later.
She cupped his face, and kissed him back, pushing him where he needed to be, guiding him through the right movements.
"Cullen—"
"Don't," he whispered, "don't say anything, don't make any sounds, please."
"Alright," she said, her tone confused, but she indulged him.
He didn't want to hear her voice, it would ruin everything, and so Delilah was quiet, using her hands to show him what to do.
After it was done, his body was satisfied, but he regretted it, because all he could think of was Amell, and forgetting her seemed even harder now.
He hated her for it.
9:38 DRAGON - Kirkwall - Present
Cullen's vision was blurred as he observed the recruits training, his mind consumed with bleak memories and dark thoughts.
Ruvena had avoided him like the plague, and he was grateful for that. Seeing her made his brain boil.
He wrote a rather lengthy letter to the Teyrn of Highever, explaining his intentions and the best way to proceed with extracting Amell in the quietest way possible, but decided not to send it. There was no telling how the Teyrn might react, and if he was too open, or hasty, he might lose his chance to see her again.
Castle Cousland was well fortified, virtually impenetrable after the Teyrn had upgraded its defenses following Arl Howe's treachery during the blight.
There was no plan, no way he could fathom how to do this, and no way he'd get in, let alone be able to gather Amell without starting a battle with the Teyrn.
If he drew too much attention, the Ferelden templars would find her and most likely kill her, and the thought of that made him sick with worry.
He would not allow that to happen.
A loud clattering drew his attention, and his vision focused, a recruit had somehow managed to break their training shield.
"Replace it and be careful next time!" he yelled.
"Y-yes Knight-Captain!" they said.
He shook his head, they were clumsy, barely a year of relative peace and their swordsmanship had already begun to rust.
There were a few templars from Highever still in Kirkwall, he had developed a decent rapport with Ser Leoric, and Cullen wondered if there was a tactful way he could use that to his advantage.
Crossing his arms, he forced himself to focus on the training, the frail foundations of a plan simmering in his mind.
Highever
Galel and Kena returned to the servant's quarters late, just before the rain started, and he'd spent the night with her.
He'd been overeager, once she'd allowed him in, and all he could think of was being with her, holding her, as close as possible.
Her breathing was steady, deep, and it almost lulled him back to sleep but he resisted.
Her bare back was hard to look at.
No, that wasn't quite right.
Painful , that was the word.
He hurt for her, seeing it.
He ran his fingers along the scars, and she flinched.
"No, I'm not…" she whimpered, trailing off.
"Kena?" he said, but she was still asleep. He'd heard her nightmares on the road, it seemed she still struggled with them now.
There was something he wanted to do.
If he hadn't been so impulsive, he would have prepared better. He felt selfish, for how it happened.
He kissed her shoulder, and dressed before slipping quietly out of the castle. The muddy ground clinging stubbornly to his boots.
The wild roses were not far, just a short walk into the woods. They'd reminded him of her.
He plucked a few, slightly closed in on themselves from the lack of sun, and wrapped the thorny stems carefully in cloth before heading back.
Just as he came down the hall, he spotted one of the servants lingering oddly around her door.
He quickly ducked into an alcove, and carefully peeked around. He'd seen the servant before, Linus he thought his name was, usually cleaning after they'd left the rooms, or helping with meals.
Linus pressed his ear to Kena's door, and stood quiet for a few moments before quickly moving away and rushing back out of the area.
Galel wanted nothing more than to return to Kena, but he was compelled to follow him.
Linus was jumpy, looking back every few feet, and Galel had to go long stretches waiting at the end of the halls before following.
He was certain he'd lost him a few times, but he finally saw him leave the castle from the kitchens. Galel watched through the window, as Linus cut through the back garden and into the woods.
Waiting a moment more, Galel set out after him, thankful the rain made his tracks easy to follow.
The sun was beginning to emerge from behind the clouds now, and he hated leaving Kena to wake alone, but he was certain someone had been spying on them, in the library, and he had to know why.
He carefully moved over the hill, hiding himself in the fool's tracks and amongst the trees, as he watched Linus approach a haggard man at the base of the hill, pacing back and forth.
Cavin.
Galel almost didn't recognize him in the dim morning light. His face was gray, black circles under his eyes and he was so thin. He kept grinding his jaw as Linus whispered to him.
Cavin nodded, and a smirk appeared on his face before he handed the man a copper.
Galel pulled himself into a tree, and waited until Cavin disappeared down the dirt road. Linus whistled to himself as he reentered the castle, none-the-wiser.
He hopped from the tree, and set off in pursuit of the disgraced templar.
Kena awoke in her room, groggy, still unsure if it was all a dream.
The memories trickled back in, and then the soreness in her body assured her it was real. Through the leaves was a sky full of stars, and they wavered with every movement he made.
Her face burned at the memory, what if someone saw them?
No, impossible.
She comforted herself with the knowledge it was too dark for them to see much of each other either.
It was going to rain, warm winds and loud thunder driving them back to her room. Galel had whispered many things to her, showering her with so many beautiful words she'd only ever read in her books.
He called her strong, and magnificent, and so many other things that she knew must be lies, but it had been addicting to hear, and she craved more.
He was so strong, and warm, and the way he held her made her wish it would never end. He took her again, and through the pain he somehow made it feel good.
Kena buried her face in her blanket and kicked at the mattress in embarrassment, but a smile formed on her lips that would not go away.
She got dressed, and wondered where Galel had gone. An odd sadness filled her that he wasn't there when she woke, but perhaps it was for the best. If someone saw him leaving the room in the morning, it would be embarrassing.
She remembered the Chantry sisters warning them of the punishments of fornication among the apprentices, she was certain lightning strikes were mentioned at some point, not that it stopped people either way.
She made her way down to the library, as it was sadly too early for breakfast.
The rain and winds had stopped before dawn, leaving the morning unusually gray, but she enjoyed the weather. The smell of rain was always a comfort.
A part of her felt like she should feel different now, more womanly, but it was the distinct lack of some world breaking physical change that she was most aware of.
At least the mystery was gone, it wasn't that strange, now that it happened. She was twenty-seven, almost twenty-eight, it was about time it happened.
Kena realized she was partially skipping to the library, and she quickly stopped, futilely trying to wipe the grin off her face.
Flopping onto the library sofa, she had intended to read, but instead lost herself in her mind. Running the night over and over in her head until she was giddy and burning.
She pressed her palm to her cheek before trying pathetically to fan it away.
"Good morning, Ptarmigan," said Fergus as he entered the library. "You're up early!"
"Oh, good morning!" she said, a bit startled.
Can he tell? Maker…
He paused, and wrinkled his brow at her, "You look lovely today," he said.
"Ah, um, thanks," she stuttered, trying not to smile too hard, and feeling utterly foolish.
"I need help," he said, flopping onto the sofa beside her and cracking open his book, "there's usually a ball for Summersday, and I honestly have no interest in dealing with it. I was hoping you could handle it? I mean, the invitations, and the orders, I've got staff to handle the rest," he said, his expression hopeful.
"Of course," said Kena, "I can handle it," she said, lightly bowing, and heading to the office to scribe the invitations.
"After breakfast!" he laughed, calling after her.
"Right!" she laughed awkwardly, and lingered for a moment before leaving the Teyrn to his reading.
She went searching for Galel again, but the castle was eerily quiet, and she could not find him.
"Where are you," she whispered to herself, feeling frustrated and increasingly worried.
She hoped he hadn't decided she was so terrible he'd left her. She started reviewing everything she could have done wrong in her head and started feeling woozy.
She decided to check the kitchens, unsure where else to look, and as she approached she heard laughter, and then a familiar voice say her name.
"That Lady Shayna, I tell you, quite the looker, " cackled a servant named Rila. Kena had dealt with her, mostly to pass along Fergus' requests for kitchen supplies.
She had always been nice, and so it took a moment for her to realize the words were cruel.
"She's not ugly," said another, "just a few scars—"
"You're too nice Kendra," laughed Rila.
"Just like an elven male to fall head over heels for any haggard shemlen bitch that looks their way," said another servant, "my brother went through the same phase, they always come crawling back to a proper elf lass before long."
"Used to be a fine lookin' fellow before he took up with that shem. She's draining the life out of him, I tell you," said Rila.
Kena knew she should just walk away, but a morbid curiosity compelled her to stay.
"And she's got the Teyrn wrapped around her finger too, she gets the old scribe room and we're still stuck sharing bunks, I don't understand at all," complained another servant.
"At least he's a shem like her, if that Galel had both his arms, I'd remind him what a real woman could do for him," another chimed in.
Kena clumsily squeezed the locket, her ears ringing.
"Who needs two arms? I'm going to wait until Summersday, and buy him a drink, that ought to remind him what he's missing, taking up with a shem."
"Maker, I wonder if her mother's snatch was made of broken glass, you heard what Tabitha said? The rest of her is worse—"
Kena swallowed the painful lump in her throat, and ran back to her room, finally hearing enough.
Perhaps Galel really had left her, it only made sense. Maybe once he'd seen her body, he'd been so disgusted he ran away.
She felt lower than low, and worthless. How could she have been so stupid to think he'd actually want her?
She buried herself under the blankets, and wallowed in her prison of self pity, the cruel words still echoing in her ear.
Fergus called her to breakfast sometime later, and she picked at her plate dejectedly, her appetite gone.
"Are you alright, Ptarmigan?" he asked. He'd already finished eating and was sipping at his tea.
"Oh, fine," said Kena, forcing a smile.
Fergus raised a brow, and put down his cup, "You never leave bacon on your plate—"
"Am I that fat?" she said bitterly.
A few of the servants exchanged looks, and she realized her tone, "Forgive me, Your Lordship, I'm just a bit tired—"
"That wasn't what I was implying, but if it makes you feel better to say those things…" he trailed off, his expression quizzical.
"I don't know where Galel is and it's making me worried," she whispered to him, her voice cracking a bit.
"My dear," he said, "I'm sure he's fine—"
A commotion sounded in the hall, and Kena heard a man loudly cursing before Galel, legs muddy, stormed in dragging a sallow looking man behind him.
"Galel!" she exclaimed.
He threw the sickly man to the ground, and met her eyes, "I knew someone was spying on us!"
"What's the meaning of this!" said Fergus, angrily standing up.
"I brought him to explain," said Galel, and he stood guard behind the man.
Kena cautiously rose from her seat and took a step back from the scene. The man seemed oddly familiar…
"Ser Cavin?" asked Fergus, "Maker! You look like death man!"
Cavin groaned, and pushed himself into a seated position. He was thin, his muscles gone, and his skin was ghoulish, taut and gray.
"Well, I should thank you for that, Your Lordship," he said sarcastically, and Kena noticed his hands were shaky, his jaw constantly grinding between words.
"What is the meaning of this Galel?" asked Fergus, confused.
"Tell him templar!" yelled Galel.
"Spying," spat Cavin, "well, paying one of your kitchen staff to spy."
"Linus," said Galel, practically spitting with rage.
"Maker's breath, for what?!" yelled Fergus angrily, and Kena met Galel's gaze with fear.
Had they been seen them the night before? She burned with humiliation.
"For the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall," he grunted.
"Damn that woman," said Fergus, angrily rubbing his brow before looking up to Galel, "You could have chosen a less dramatic entrance."
"I only have one arm, and I was getting tired dragging this fool through the woods," he retorted, angrily.
"Fine, fine," breathed Fergus.
He summoned the guards to gather Linus, and then he sent the servants away before following Cavin to the dungeons.
Kena remained quiet, her chest tight with worry. She stayed staring at the spot Cavin had been until Galel touched her shoulder and snapped her out of her stupor.
"Are you alright, vhenan?" he asked quietly.
"Hmm?" she said, blinking her vision back into focus. "I mean, yes."
"I'm sorry, I meant to be back before sun up—"
"Don't do that to me again," she said, her voice shaking, and she smacked his chest lightly.
She hated being this way.
"I only wanted to get you—"
"I'd rather you just stay," she snapped, blinking back the tears in her eyes.
Rila's words hung heavily in her mind.
He wrapped his arm around her, and kissed the top of her head, "I'm sorry, I'll never do it again."
She pulled away, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, "I thought you were done with me," she said. "I guess I'm very stupid."
"Stop with that," he said, exasperated.
She felt embarrassed for frustrating him.
"I brought you something," he said, and he reached into his pocket and pulled out the three wilted, tattered roses. "Ah, they were in much better condition this morning…" he trailed off, and he held them out to her.
She took the tattered flowers from him, she'd never gotten a bouquet before, and she couldn't help but smile.
"I love roses!" she said, trying to ignore the dark thoughts flooding her mind, and she raised them to her nose.
The smell made her sad.
"I favored a rose soap, back at the Circle," she said, "can't tell if I like the smell anymore."
"They reminded me of your mouth," he said.
"My mouth?" she laughed.
"The color," he continued, and suddenly he turned a bit red. "I mean, obviously not exactly, but—"
She stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek, "Thank you."
He looked around, checking to make sure they were alone, and then he pulled her close, and kissed her.
She closed her eyes, enjoying his attention, but a heaviness in her chest made it feel like she was doing something terrible to him.
She pulled away.
"I knew a templar wouldn't keep their word," she said, trying to change the subject.
"They don't take defeat easily," he said.
"Fergus will make sure they stay away," she said.
"Can he?" asked Galel, and Kena knew he was going to bring it up again.
"Galel," she said, and she started to leave the dining room, but he grasped her arm and stopped her.
"We need to leave," he said, moving to face her, "it's not safe here."
"It's safer than out there," said Kena, "I have a purpose here, I'm the Teyrn's scribe. He needs me to help run the castle—"
"He can find another scribe," said Galel. "Please, if ever there was a sign from your Maker."
Kena was in no mood to hear talk about the Maker, or leaving, not when she'd finally gotten comfortable. She looked at him, ready to argue, and saw his face, and the way he looked back at her.
With far more love than she deserved.
She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.
"I—I'm sorry, I need to send out invitations," she stuttered, clutching the roses so tight the thorns pricked her through the cloth, "I'll see you later."
She rushed off to the Teyrn's office, unable to see Galel's face without hearing the cruel words in her ear.
Teyrn Fergus wanted to send a last shipment of gifts to the Dalish, and so Galel was tasked with one last meeting.
She forced herself to wake early the next day, and she kissed him goodbye but it didn't feel right anymore, and it was clear Galel could tell.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, yes fine! Be safe," she said quickly, and saw him off.
She still felt sick, thinking of what the servant's said, but she tried to push it away. They were just gossiping, everyone gossiped, it wasn't personal.
Except, they weren't entirely wrong.
Kena threw herself into the invitations, personalizing, and writing each one as Fergus wanted. He returned around midday, in a foul mood, whatever Cavin had told him was apparently infuriating.
She did not want to know, and did not ask.
She also wrote a thank you note to Lord Harron. The cream had done nothing for her scar, but she told him it was wonderful.
"I hoped never to use my dungeons again," said Fergus suddenly, angrily slamming his quill down and roughly massaging his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"I mean really, the man disgraced the Order, and now continues to disgrace himself, I'll never understand how bull-headed templars are," he ranted, roughly grabbing at his shoulder. "But don't you worry, Ptarmigan, I've handled it, you're safe."
Kena felt somewhat relieved, "Thank you, Fergus."
"Maker's balls, this knot won't leave me!" he exclaimed.
"I'll get a salve," said Kena, but he beckoned her over instead.
"Just shove your thumb on it and push down hard," he said, pointing at the spot on his shoulder.
"Um," said Kena, nervously eyeing the door.
What if someone walked in? She couldn't bear what other things they'd say.
"Come on Ptarmigan, please," he said, eyes closed and forehead resting against his palm. "The headache I'm developing will drive me to bed for the rest of the day if I can't get this out."
He was in real pain, the way his hairline was spotted with sweat and the slight flush of his neck said as much.
"Alright," she relented, and quickly walked over, jabbing her thumb at his shoulder and kneeling down hard on it.
She felt a crunch, and Fergus hissed.
"That's the one," he groaned, and then he took over massaging himself. "While you're here, there's a small blue box in the top drawer, pull it out will you."
"Of course," she said, opening the drawer and retrieving the small velvet box. She held it out to him.
"Open it, Ptarmigan," he said, giving her a mischievous look.
She wrinkled her brow at him, unsure if he was about to play a joke on her, but she dutifully obeyed.
A golden cube shaped locket sat nestled in white silk, no bigger than a cherry, and it was inlaid with an iridescent blue something that felt familiar.
"Maker," she breathed, mesmerized by how it glimmered at every angle.
"Do you remember it?" he asked.
"Maferath's Tear!" she exclaimed, suddenly recognizing the shell. "It's beautiful!"
"It's yours," he said.
"M-mine?" she stuttered, her face burning, "Oh, no, I can't, this is too much—"
"I had it made in Rivain, for you, it's taken nearly a year to get back," he said. "You better not reject it!"
"I don't know what to say, wow, is it the same shell? From the beach?" she asked.
He nodded, "One of the few good memories I have from that horrible time." There was a momentary, awkward pause, before he smiled again, "I hope you like it."
"I d-do! Thank you," she said, afraid to touch it.
He stood up, and rolled his shoulder before taking the necklace from the box and moving behind her.
"Oh I can—" she began, but Fergus clicked his tongue to silence her and quickly fastened it behind her neck.
"Now let me see," he said.
She turned to face him.
"Oh, you've got two necklaces on now," he said, as if he'd just noticed the other locket. "That's very Rivaini, I'm told.
"Is it?" asked Kena. "It was a gift from Galel," she lied.
"Ah," he said, and then he smiled at her, squeezing her chin playfully before gently shoving her face back. "Blue is your color, I think my gift matches you perfectly, Ptarmigan."
"Thank you," she said, "I've never received something so beautiful!"
"I owe you far more than that," he said, returning to his work as if nothing had happened.
Kena was enthralled with her new gift, nearly stumbling as she sat back at her own desk.
Real gold, inlaid with Maferath's Tear. The shell was cracked into triangular shapes of different sizes, the gold cutting through it like beautiful scars, and she could open this one.
He said it matches me perfectly.
She was pretty sure Fergus didn't mean it that way, but it didn't matter, the comparison was welcome and she knew exactly what she was going to put in it later.
Throwing herself back into the work, she clutched her new locket as she wrote.