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[ There is a high pitched yip of surprise directly following the thump of the pillow, the hand settling a little heavier on his shoulder as she catches her balance. It retracts quickly enough, and soon after there is a rustling of cloth and then quiet throaty laughter. A moment of preparatory silence, and then ]

Réveilles toi!

[ rings out of her like a cheerful bellchime, followed by an enthusiastic return volley of pillow swung to thump against his upper back. Alexandrie is no longer concerned with a gentler awakening process. ]

We are going to breakfast.

[ Announcement, rather than invitation. This, and everything else, may perhaps be illuminated by her bending down to whisper the addendum: ]

In Hightown.

[ A kiss for his head and then she straightens up again, looking far too pleased with herself for this hour. ]

[ The yelp and the Orlesian don't properly rouse him, but the pillow hitting him back? Definitely does. He makes a highly undignified noise at her kiss, limbs scrambling for purchase as he almost startle-rolls himself right off of the small mattress and onto the floor.

He sits up, once the threat of falling has passed, pushing his hair out of his face by tossing his head a little bit, before he attempts at rubbing the sleep crust from the corner of his eyes. ]

In Hightown? [ He repeats, a little dumbly before his brain catches up to the implications. ] Ah-ha. Alright. Let me...

[ Loki gestures in the direction of the water basin in the middle of the room. He'd slept in the shirt from yesterday but his pants are draped over the edge of the bed; at some point he's going to either have to break down and ask Alexandrie for clothes or spend what little coin he has on something other than two shirts and a pair of pants.

At least he fell out of a rift with his fighting leathers on.

He stands, stretches, and kisses Alexandrie on the cheek. ]

Thank you.

[ Her delighted giggles at having surprised him so have calmed a bit by the time Loki has recovered enough to understand what's happening. They are entirely quieted by her admiration of his stretch— the which she doesn't bother to disguise— and replaced by a pleased hum for both it and kiss. ]

Of course.

[ She reaches to catch his hand for the sole purpose of being loathe to let go as she steps backwards, giving a little squeeze before she releases him so she can turn to walk towards the door.

Over her shoulder: ]

I shall wait for you by the ferry.

[ Every time she touches him he gets surprised by it all over again; so when she reaches for his hand and squeezes his fingers, Loki grants her a small but earnest smile. It's difficult to watch her go but he loves to watch her leave, is that how the saying goes? It's true for Loki in part because he gets to experience seeing her again as soon as they're reunited. ]

I'll be there soon.

[ He goes through the process of splashing water on his face, raking fingers through his hair, and putting on pants and boots. There's no mirror for him to use so he just rubs at his eyes again and hopes he doesn't look too disheveled for the day. After that, it's just a matter of situating his second dagger (the first remains summonable) within its holster at his side, pocketing his crystal, and then? To the docks, specifically to the ferry, where Alexandrie is waiting for him.

That feels good, actually. That someone is waiting for him in all this. ]

[ Until now, she has not watched for him. She has been where and when they have made plans to meet, but until he was at her side in the library she has watched her books, in the garden the flowers, at the docks the sea, because Alexandrie has spent a long time watching all the paths to her that she can think of and seeing nothing. For so long, wanting so much, that a small part of her has become afraid that she is the unwitting cause. That if she watches for Loki he will disappear.

Today she practices being secure in the knowledge that after however much time it took to ready himself he will appear, and she will be able to indulge herself in picking him out from the rest of those leaving the island early; in looking for his frame, his stride, the energy with which he walks, and in watching him come to her once he is found.

And a few minutes later, there he is. She waves, half to say here I am; I waited, and it was for you, and half because she wants to know if he will raise a hand or quicken a footfall. If he is looking too. ]

[ He waves in return once he's spotted, a little more exuberant perhaps than the situation calls for at this very early hour but then again perhaps not; he's been captive here for weeks, after all. Loki doesn't intend to walk much faster once he's seen her, but then a pair of elves cut in front of his walking path to chatter with one another and move much more slowly than he'd like, so he maneuvers around the two of them and then decides to hell with it, jogging the rest of the way towards Alexandrie before he slows down at her side, reaching for her hand again. ]

I fear I am... underdressed for breakfast in Hightown, I do hope your neighbors will forgive me. [ He figures if they do or don't it's not really their problem, but he doesn't want her to think that he has not considered it at all. ]

To the ferry, then?

[ For so much of her life Alexandrie would have hidden the soft way she glows at the wave, how it brightens for the jog, how he takes her heart along with her hand and leaves her speechless for a moment as her mind is busies by rewriting the world to be one that includes these things.

At court in Orlais, all this would be the same as yelling here is something you can hurt me with; here is something you can take from me. Here on the docks, three years free of the marble halls and sparkling dancefloors that are drenched with blood that can't be seen she is earnest as the slanting morning light, gives freely as a river to the sea. ]

It comes to us!

[ She gestures to the water with her free hand, to the boat he must have seen quite often as a thing forbidden that now means new things as it comes towards the pier beside them. ]

I shall call for a trap upon the other side, and then we shall make a stop to solve your sartorial breakfast worries.

[ A touch of wistfulness dims her glow a little. She had thought about it for several nights, and eventually had come to the conclusion that ]

While it shall not be a perfect fit... if it should not feel odd to you, he should prefer you well represented a touch more than he should be cross to be borrowed from, I think.

[ She pauses there a moment, and then her smile is bright again. ]

We shall see Philippe to have your measure taken for the future either way. He has worked from my sketches before; we may well be able to have you wearing somewhat a bit closer to what you like best.

So it does.

[ Here is the ferry, that flagship indicative of his freedom from the Gallows; Loki swings their arms between them a little as they walk towards it, basking a bit in her apparent joy at his arrival. Would he mind? Loki can't quite say, honestly; he'd have to see them first, he figures, but that's not the first thing that concerns him. ]

Are you sure it wouldn't feel odd to you? Me, wearing your husband's clothes. [ In her husband's place, he doubts he would actually mind very much, except for the part where he might be insanely jealous that she was courting a version of himself; but that man isn't here, so who knows how he actually feels about it. ]

I've been remiss in all my studying of Thedas' culture I have not paid much attention to its fashions. [ He tilts his head a little. ] You draw?

[ Alexandrie chuckles air through her nose and lets him swing their arms, paying the charm of his buoyancy far more mind than the appearance of propriety.

Thinks again, as she finds them a place to sit on the side facing the city so she can point out landmarks as they travel. Would it feel odd? Perhaps in practice. More importantly, it might well be deleterious to her attempts to separate the two men in mind and heart. She hardly needs more points of connection. ]

We shall see Phillipe first, then, and he shall be very happy to tell you anything you wish to know in excessive detail.

To the other: I paint. Landscapes in particular, but many of the skills translate to other subjects.

Fantastic, [ he says, nodding. As they sit he keeps his hand in hers, moving to hold it with both of his own in his lap, but he's prepared to take in the sights as they are. He promises himself, silently, that he won't make any derisive noises should Kirkwall not meet his impossibly high standards. Anything other than the Gallows will be an improvement at this point.

As there are very few people on this ferry he feels safe enough to summon up an illusion above his hands, opening them while interlacing his fingers with hers, of himself in various clothing he's imagined would be possible, here. Mostly dark, long jackets, with embroidery in gold and greens. Just to give her a sense of what he'd thought up thus far. ]

I would like to see your paintings. [ He says, as the small image of himself flickers and changes clothes. ] If... well, if you wouldn't mind showing them to me.

[ Fully enthralled by the smart looking little him, it takes her a moment to process what he’s said, but eventually she looks up. ]

I should love to. There are several at the estate; and more at my atelier.

[ The latter seems to fluster her a little as after a quick smile she looks down at the illusion again to admire the new outfit, this time raising her free hand palm up to offer a surface for it to walk upon. ]

I had forgotten you hardly need my sketches. I wonder if Phillipe would be pleased by such a model. Careful, though. He might well attempt to cajole you into visiting him to let him try out alterations before he makes them.

[ Looking up again, curious: ]

Have you an art you practice, outside of your magic?

[ The illusion!Loki does stride across her open palm before bowing towards her with a little flourish. ]

Is your atelier here in the city?

[ He watches her face, not the illusion; that is powered by some stream of thought that he's long grown used to ignoring in favor of watching others respond to it, and this is no different. He imagines she must be very good at painting, but that is mostly because he can't imagine her being very bad at anything.

When she looks up he raises his eyebrows and then furrows them. It's been so long since he's practiced an art beyond magic, he has to reach into his youth to find an answer for her. ]

A long time ago I considered writing plays and stories of the exploits of myself and my brother. Some were turned into songs on Midgard.

[ She inclines and dips her head elegantly in reply to the bow before returning her attention to the illusion’s crafter. ]

You must write them here then; I should like to hear them.

[ Alexandrie looks out at the city, drab as always, and gestures up toward the cliffs and mansions of Hightown. ]

It is up there, yes. I shall show it to you. It was once a set of apartments that I shared with my sister Geneviève, designed by our father.

[ A half shrug, a little smile. ]

She returned to Orlais to take a posting in the Empress’s personal guard, and I moved to the estate, so I had the parlor and dining room combined and made into a studio.

A dear friend of mine once took one of the rooms, but he has gone to a posting near the front and is not like to return soon.

[ A pause, then with a slight hesitance— ]

If you would like it.

I will try. [ For her sake, moreso than his own; he's not sure that those stories could be anything but slightly heartbreaking for him at this point. Because the brother he knew is gone, unreachable, his mother fated to die by his poor decisions and his father is elsewhere and the men who exist in this reality in their place do not know this Loki.

Like the songs of his people, they exist only in Loki's memory.

That is enough reason to share them, he supposes, remembering his first conversation with Alexandrie on the matter. ]

You have a sister? [ He's charmed by this information for unknown reasons, pocketing it away in the corner of his mind. She has a sister, who is a personal guard for the Empress of Orlais, a friend at the front lines (she doesn't offer a name and he feels loathe to pry just yet) and thus an empty apartment.

One she's offering him, he thinks, but is so surprised by that offer that he isn't sure, suddenly. The illusion, no longer sustained by Loki's split attention, dissolves above Alexandrie's open palm. ]

I would, [ he offers quietly, ] but I wouldn't want you to feel as if you must.

[ He doesn't want her to resent the many things she's offered him, things he's not sure that he deserves. ]

I have four sisters, [ is the amused reply. ] And one brother. All older than me, save Geneviève, whom I bested by two minutes.

[ And Alexandrie still looks slyly pleased about it. ]

We look very much the same; would look moreso if I were to have trained to heavy armour as a Chevalier and she had taken more care with her figure and keeping her skin from the sun.

[ She chuckles to herself, and then offers Loki a softer smile and leans to brush a kiss across his cheek with an accompanying gentle squeeze for his hand. ]

I do not feel as if I must. It is freely offered. And—

[ The ferry bumps into the cityside dock and she rises, tugging him lightly after her towards where they will disembark— ]

I am being selfish, for it will mean you are close by on the nights I spend in Hightown.

My goodness, four sisters, including a twin. And a brother, [ he'd be remiss to forget that. Loki smiles, wondering just how old Alexandrie is but knowing much better than to ask. He's not a fool.

Besides, she kisses him on the cheek in the next moment and he's struck by that instead. The gentleness of it, of her, which surprises him each time it's turned in his direction.

She rises and he stands as well, following after her while still holding her hand in his. He looks around as they alight from the ferry, taking in the foggy docks that don't look drastically different from those at the Gallows. ]

Then I will gladly accept the offering of your apartment; it's connected to the rest of your estate, I presume?

It is not, no. But a walk of fifteen minutes at most, and far quicker by carriage.

[ The which she lofts a hand for now, the slight gesture caught immediately by one of the enterprising drivers who had quickly made a habit of meeting the ferry once the Gallows had bustled to life again. Two enterprising drivers, in fact, but one has a footman quicker with the door and so that one it is. Driver's hat doffed, destination given, coin produced, and once they settle themselves within the relatively comfortable space, off down the less comfortable uneven streets that wind from the docks through Lowtown they will go.

When they are alone again the look she casts upon him is one of tentative apology. ]

I had thought—

But then I thought you might not be well pleased by the offer of Lord Thor's rooms, which would again must needs be his if ever he returned to Kirkwall, and...

[ She looks down at their hands. This time she pulls his into her lap, covers it with her other hand, strokes his thumb with hers. ]

I will take no other lover to his bed. It has been so, and it will remain so.

Fifteen minutes isn't so bad, [ he says, mostly to reassure himself. He's not had to walk as much as he has these past few weeks in the Gallows, which has been great for his thighs and ass, not so great for his feeling like he's in control of his life.

Hopefully, there aren't a million and four stairs.

He won't ask, though. Just in case there are.

She pulls his hand into her lap and he watches the way the light from the carriage window plays across their skin, their intertwined fingers. He has to chuckle at the idea of being offered Thor's rooms. ]

I wouldn't prefer that, no. [ Besides. ] The marriage bed is sacrosanct.

[ He means this honestly. Other beds? Open for whatever may come, or whomever, as the case may be.

He should be watching the window to see the city around them but instead, he's fixated on her, on the curl of her hair and the softness of her hands. ]

Yes.

[ He is looking at her as if he can see nothing else, understands the turning of her thoughts, and Alexandrie wants suddenly to change all of her plans. There are other times to see Phillipe, breakfasts can be brought, Kirkwall will still be there with all its severe architectural lines, sparse sand-coloured stone, and perennially disagreeable weather. It is early enough in the day yet, they could go back to sleep instead. Could curl together with her head tucked into Loki's shoulder, or his into hers. Could hold more of one another than hands.

(He has not let go all this time. She has not.) ]

The space is yours then. When we arrive at Phillipe's I shall send a message to Byron to have it prepared.

[ She shifts a little so she can lean against him, relaxing there with a little sigh. ]

Is there aught you should like to see in particular, now that you may walk about as you please?

[ She leans into him and he feels... protective of Alexandrie. Which might be a little surprising, he's not sure. Good, in the moment, and a little honored that she would trust him thusly. It warms him, and he shifts to be a better pillow for her, putting his shoulder down a little.

Neither of them has let go; he stares at their hands as they continue onward. ]

Thank you.

[ He, like her, wonders if they shouldn't just go straight to the apartment. Fall into bed, catch several hours of sleep, and try again. But he doesn't want to seem as if he's disinterested in what she's arranged for the day, and so he keeps the thought to himself. ]

The marketplace, I think. I've been warned away from Darktown. [ Which of course means he will investigate it at some point. ] What do you think I should see?

[ The problem with Kirkwall is that Alexandrie does not like it.

She likes the sea, but she likes it better in Val Royeaux. The trade goods are interesting, but she likes them better in Val Royeaux. The theatre is not the worst she has ever seen, the food is tolerable, the fashion acceptable but riskless and uninspired by her standards. It has grown on her over the years, but more in the sense of a stubborn garden weed that cannot be uprooted and so she is obliged to find some sort of beauty in it or go mad.

And she has; the sea birds that live in the cliffs, the park in Hightown, the view of the storms rolling in from the water on the balcony of the apartments. But attempting to cultivate any excitement about the city itself in another requires a genuine desire to, and Loki's shift to make himself more comfortable for her to rest on has chased everything but the want of being in his arms somehow entirely out of her head. ]

I think you should see my paintings.

[ She says quietly, meaning I think we should go to bed. ]

I would like that, very much.

[ He moves to kiss the top of her head and squeezes her hands. He would like nothing more, honestly, than to have new clothes made and then spend time quietly in the company of Alexandrie and her art. Investigate an apartment. Discover just how long a fifteen-minute walk really takes. ]

So. We will go to Phillipe's and send word to your man, Byron. [ He's assuming he's a butler or something similar. ] Perhaps at Phillipe's we shall obtain some coffee or tea to help us be more awake at this hour, and once we're done there, we can enjoy the splendor of your art together and perhaps seal ourselves off from the world for a while.

Later, if the fog lifts, we can get lunch somewhere.

[ He'll need to go back to the Gallows to obtain his meager belongings and return books to the library, but that can be a later in the day sort of activity. ]

How does that sound?

[ It sounds like she is turning so the hand not interlaced with Loki's can find its way to the back of his head and gently pull until she can kiss him, eyes closing on a long inhale. It is a sweet and soft thing—

Until the uneven street jolts one of the back wheels and makes it briefly much harder than necessary and accompanied by a muffled yelp of surprise that dissolves into laughter when she pulls back to touch his lips apologetically. ]

Andraste misericordieuse, I forgot about the bump. I hate this road.

[ It means they're nearly at the lift, at least. ]

[ Hw wonders, as she pulls him in for that kiss, if there will ever be a time in which he'll stop being pleasantly surprised that she wants him for such a gentle thing. Hopes that he won't. Hopes that it keeps causing his breath to catch a little when she spools her fingers through his hair and tugs him close. Even if he lives out the rest of a mortal life, here, with her.

It's an odd thought, but again perhaps not that odd, yet definitely one that is interrupted by the jostling of the carriage and her suddenly being pulled away by it. Loki opens his eyes to her laughter, smiling as she touches his lips. ]

Better than the stairs, though, I imagine.

[ Gods above, he's tired of stairs. ]

The stairs are fine enough for kissing, [ she counters coyly, looking up at him through lowered lashes.

A moment there, and then she breaks into a broad smile and wrinkles her nose at him before pointing out his window. ]

I like to watch this part, when we rise above the rooftops and can see the water again.

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