“I could get used to being surprised by you,” she says, speculative, imagining it - she needn't, when she'll see it soon enough, but she does all the same. “If the surprises are like this one.”
Nevarra is-
difficult. She'd grown used to Thranduil's companionship, steady breathing beside her lulling an unfamiliar ease into her; to return so abruptly to nights spent wakeful and distracted has been challenging enough, without adding to it the stresses of travel and of being forced to share her space with as good as strangers. Yva is no comfort to her, only another interloper in her privacy that she's accustomed to being able to dismiss and now cannot - she sleeps poorly, rises weary and irritable, misses her house and her dog and Kieran and quiet, most of all.
Complaining would help nothing and only make her feel worse, so she doesn't. She doesn't ask for anything she wishes for, either, a habit she's never quite got into - demanding the things she knows can't be denied her, certainly, but admitting the small vulnerability of needing anything?
No.
She will go without, rather than admit the wants that don't fit the picture of her others have painted; she never told Asher she wouldn't have minded if he'd lifted her and spun her about like a peasant girl, and she'd never have asked Thranduil for what he's arranged, but it is a particular gift for it to be so specifically what she would wish, if she were of a mind to do the asking.
no subject
“I could get used to being surprised by you,” she says, speculative, imagining it - she needn't, when she'll see it soon enough, but she does all the same. “If the surprises are like this one.”
Nevarra is-
difficult. She'd grown used to Thranduil's companionship, steady breathing beside her lulling an unfamiliar ease into her; to return so abruptly to nights spent wakeful and distracted has been challenging enough, without adding to it the stresses of travel and of being forced to share her space with as good as strangers. Yva is no comfort to her, only another interloper in her privacy that she's accustomed to being able to dismiss and now cannot - she sleeps poorly, rises weary and irritable, misses her house and her dog and Kieran and quiet, most of all.
Complaining would help nothing and only make her feel worse, so she doesn't. She doesn't ask for anything she wishes for, either, a habit she's never quite got into - demanding the things she knows can't be denied her, certainly, but admitting the small vulnerability of needing anything?
No.
She will go without, rather than admit the wants that don't fit the picture of her others have painted; she never told Asher she wouldn't have minded if he'd lifted her and spun her about like a peasant girl, and she'd never have asked Thranduil for what he's arranged, but it is a particular gift for it to be so specifically what she would wish, if she were of a mind to do the asking.