Simon feels unusually intrusive in this tiny space as he shuffles into the empty space nearest the bed, taking up almost room enough for two and having to bend his head to avoid the low ceiling beams. The vague self-consciousness is at odds with the irrational offense he takes at the fact that these people would dare defy the Inquisition at all. Don't they know they're speaking to a Seeker? Have they no respect for what remains of the templar order? Who thinks they have the right to refuse a Grey Warden?

He feels as though he's being stretched by the contradicting feelings, pulled in diametrically opposite directions, as his nerves begin to itch with that incessant, atonal humming--

Too late, he catches Inessa's sidelong glance and realizes what she must mean by it. There's too little room to edge away from the mattress, though he does what he can, head turning to examine the low bed with all the focus he can muster. His hands clench into fists.