Thot is insubstantial. Delicate. Her weight hardly registers beneath the padding of his gambeson. She is permitted, as always. Her ascension is unimpeded.

Soon he will snap his breastplate into place. He will lift his pack. He will pass from this room with nothing but what he crossed into Kirkwall with, and close the door on all the most precious things he's collected in two years time. They will remain here in this little room, and Ellis will pass into the north to collect something improbable, and hope it shall all be as he left it when he returns.

It is far too late to hesitate, so he does not.

"Swear to me you'll do nothing until I return."

His hand is warm around Silas'. It is not a tight grip, but it is firm, decisive as all the moments in which Ellis reaches out for others tend to be.

The promise may be nothing more than Silas placating him. But Ellis chooses to believe otherwise. Chooses to believe that in all of this, he is not misplacing his faith in Silas' word.