heorte | when i go towards you it is with my whole life.

"They won't have a chance to fall asleep," Ellis reassures. She is holding tightly to him, momentarily secure on her feet, and there is no reason not to kiss her, so he does. A soft peck to the corner of her mouth as they reach the edge of the ice.

"Are you ready?"

The last time they had done this, it had all been a little more chaotic. Two Orlesians and a make-shift hockey puck in the mix had taken up so much space. But here they are alone and the snow-drenched forest is near-silent around them and their breath frosts between them in the cold.

It's very pretty. All the better for Wysteria's presence, the brightness of her smile. Ellis reaches to adjust the fold of her scarf, tucking it more securely into the collar of her coat.

"I assure you—I am always ready."

Surely there are certain facts which might lend well to quibbling over such a claim, but in this sense at least she is telling the truth. As much as she is holding on to his arm, Wysteria is who takes a first wobbly step off the snowy bank and onto the ice. That it's punctuated by a faint squawking as she gets her second foot down and struggles to remind herself upright is neither here for there.

"I seem to remember this being much easier the last time," she remarks, mittened hand an iron cuff at his elbow and wrist as they take their first scuffing half-strides.

Edited 2022-01-16 05:51 (UTC)

"It'll come back to you," Ellis promises.

And if not, they are always able to walk back to the lodge.

Not that Ellis proposes this straight away. Wysteria is allowed her tight clutch at his arm for a few moments more, before Ellis turns, trades his arm for his hands catching up hers.

"Once you get a little momentum, it'll be easy."

Though that begs the question of stopping momentum, but Ellis is capable of catching hold of her before she gets away from him. They can worry about coming to stop when and if Wysteria cares to stop.

"Maybe I was merely more determined to be competent the last time," seems quite reasonable, save for the part where she is confessing it aloud to him. It's the sort of thing one should ordinarily be compelled to keep secret. "I was very determined to show de Foncé that I could do as I pleased."

She is looking at her feet as they go along, her hands clasped tight on his. It's not that Wysteria is poorly balanced, she is merely awkward: bent slightly too far forward, and traipsing more than gliding across the surface of the ice. But her ankles aren't wobbly, and she isn't tentative about putting her weight on the narrow little blades—

"I recall you managing," Ellis tells her.

He has some vague memory of it. A pair of Orlesians, and some argument over the rules of the game.

But it seems ridiculous that anyone might doubt Wysteria would accomplish anything she declared herself to. Consider, the ring on her finger now.

"Here," precedes Ellis loosening his grip on one hand, so they might skate side by side. "Straighten your back, just so, and it will go easier."

This too might have come to her without any instruction. But it is a minor bit of advice, as the draw farther from the bank and down the river proper.

She does straighten—just a little, by a handful of wobbling degrees. The difference is fairly negligible, however in a handful of strides and through some combination of standing more upright and simply having reacquainted herself with the whole task of trudging along across the ice, she has regained some of her

Well, grace isn't the proper word for it. Confidence might be a better one, given how she withdraws a hand from his and allows herself to plunk along with her free arm extended for balance.

"I recall you refusing to be drawn into out sport, is what I recall. A very poor show all things considered, Mister Ellis."

Mister Ellis. An unbroken habit.

"I joined you."

Eventually.

Not enthusiastically, but he'd been present, and that is enough, isn't it? (Ha.)

"I hadn't the balance for it," he reminds, some minor attempt to excuse himself. Potentially contradicted by the ease at which he's picked up the trick of balancing, moving fluidly alongside her. His grip on the one mittened hand he's been permitted to keep is very firm as they wind their way up the river.

Wysteria's hmmmm and the power of her sidelong look is pure skepticism—not so coy as to play with raised eyebrows and a look of innocence, but instead all narrowed and pinched and highly doubtful.

"How convenient that you've found so much time to improve since then."

Don't you lie to her, sir.

"I've managed enough to skate upstream," Ellis answers. "And I'd thought we might have dinner, or spend the night in one of their cabins."

Which might be ridiculous, considering they've run of the lodge itself, but there's some appeal in how cozy Ellis knows those cabins to be.

"If you care to skate that far."

Assuming they skate that far without incident, but Ellis likes their chances. The countryside has been quiet, and all the requests put to him have been minor, repairs and such. Nothing as fraught as what they'd fielded last time.

"Oh!" The narrowed point of her play suspicion relents almost instantly, and the pleasure which shines through after it from amidst the bundle of her scarf is very sincere. "Yes, that sounds delightful. And it's not that far. And I suppose if you get tired, we can just walk along bank. My shoes should be more or less fit for it."

Fitness, when one spends a great deal of their time running about the many stairwells of Kirkwall, is to some extent given and she seems to think not at all of of the possibility that her ankles might object or that she will grow tired or traipsing clumsily around on the skates with her shoulders half bowed.

"I quite like the idea of escaping that drafty old lodge for a night. No, obviously it's very fine. But it's different when it's all full of people versus when it isn't."

No, they aren't going to walk along the bank in their skates. Not if Ellis has his say, though plans involving Wysteria are always subject to a certain amount of flexibility.

Still, Ellis brightens in return at her reaction. He will never grow tired of pleasing her, and it is always especially rewarding to guess right and hit upon something that Wysteria immediately warms to. His hand tightens around hers, the scrape of his skates carving deep swoops as Ellis accelerates just enough to pace ahead of her, turn back to look into her face.

"Would you have rather all of Riftwatch accompanied us?"

Almost a genuine question. Would she have liked company, even on their makeshift honeymoon?

"Or should I have petitioned the Commander to send us to Aniva?"

"Oh, no. It's not the weather or that I'm lonely or anything like that. It just is rather like being on assignment, only the staff at the old house are all very—Well. I think we would invoke less curiosity, I suppose, if there had been more members of Riftwatch along with us. I have been having the most outrageous conversations with the mistress who oversees the kitchens."

So outrageous that their contents aren't suitable to repeat even when accounting for the fact that Ellis is her husband.

"I'm very selfish and jealous, you know. I dislike sharing you with anyone, even if it's only by way of gossip," she says, widening her eyes and raising her eyebrows to humorous effect as she scrapes along in his wake.

Elllis' hand tightens in hers. There is the passing urge to reel her in to him, and he can see no reason not to.

They are married and there is more than enough light left to see them safely up river, and he knows how to brace himself so when she knocks into him neither of them fall.

Wobble, yes. But not topple.

"What do they gossip about?" he asks, more interested in the shift in her reaction to the idea of the pair of them having drawn notice than the idea of being the subject of conversation. Which is why the more weighty question follows after: "Does it bother you?"

Wysteria's little squawk of surprise for being hauled in is cut short as she thumps into him, her free hand grasping instinctively at his coat front to offset the comical wobble of her feet in her skates. If he were slightly less balanced or she were marginally in a poorer mood, he might earn a sharp look and a pinch as a reward for the hijinks. As it is, she just wrinkles her nose up at him and finds herself more or less satisfied with being caught up so.

"I can't tell you. It's highly inappropriate."

"Does it bother you?" might mean Wysteria has well and truly dodged the question of the topic of gossip in favor of pressing this question.

Ellis' hands splay across the small of her back, cinching her in securely. As bundled as they are, it comes to a muted sort of contact. But still, it's satisfying. Ellis has her close enough to dip down and kiss her, should opportunity present.

"People saying inappropriate things?"

Or talking about them at all.

"No, it's not—"

Her instant reply is cut short and her nose wrinkles slightly further yet as Wysteria mentally reconsiders her answer. Does it bother her that the skeleton staff at the lodge twitters about them like a flock of little gossipy birds, or that the head maid has engaged her twice in (very colorful) conversation regarding exactly how a woman ought to conduct herself during her first month or marriage? Before, she would have said yes. It would have bothered her. It would have mortified her to be the subject of that kind of low rumor. But it's different, isn't it? When everyone knows. When it's the sort of thing that's simply expected rather than a rude kind of conjecture.

"I think it's funny, is all. Half the ladies seem very envious and the rest are quite convinced that I require schooling. Why," she asks, tipping her face up toward him by a further degree. "Does it bother you? I can tell them to stop."

He is so painstakingly guarded.

Does it?

His hands tighten at the small of her back. Rather than answer, Ellis takes advantage of her upturned face to dip down and kiss her. It's a slow, intimate sort of kiss, standing in for an answer while he holds her so closely.

"I don't care what anyone might say about me."

In fairness, the subject of his marriage and his brilliant new wife is perhaps the best thing anyone might discuss of him.

"I care what's said of you."

His breath is shockingly and delightfully warm amidst the cold mountain air, and the kiss leaves her very aware of her mouth after. In place of real embarrassment, Wysteria shoots him a sidelong look and flaps one mittened hand at his coat front.

"I think I can survive the banter of a few women. But what I won't do is ever arrive at this little village if you insist on keeping us occupied on the middle of the ice all afternoon."

This is true enough. But it doesn’t completely discourage him from brushing a last kiss to her mouth before his grip loosens.

“I’ll have you there in due time,”
Ellis promises. “Before you’ve even time to realize your toes are cold.”

Though some of that is down to Wysteria and her command of her skates. Ellis isn’t going to point this out, but there’s a reason he’s kept hold of her hand as they set out again towards their destination.

It's a good thing he keeps this last bit to herself, for otherwise she might do that thing she likes to do best—scoffing with her whole throat and chest and jabbing her fingers in the direction of his well padded ribs. Instead, Wysteria merely nods her approval—"Very good, Mister Ellis. Then lead on"—and makes to unravel herself from him (sans one grasping hand).

To her credit, she does eventually grasp the fundamentals well enough that she might untether himself from him completely and be perfectly well even on the rougher surfaces of the frozen river. But that would necessitate releasing his hand, and even after these many hours of being near to him she is loathe to dispense with that little point of contact. But it frees her up for chatting conversation, and to observe the riverbanks as they scuff along, and to discuss at length the state of the Lodge and Riftwatch's presence here in the mountains, and the present state of the war effort, and a considerable portion of the work she and Tony are currently engaged in.

Wysteria has never had any trouble whatsoever filling what ordinarily might default to silence, peaceful or otherwise. She confidently transforms the pristine beauty of the great outdoors to a social function, rather like they are sweeping along the margins of some grand party and she is valiantly defending him from being plucked into wearing conversations with the trees and glimpses of wildlife.

By the time they reach the village, it's fires glinting is the softening burnish colors at the end of the day, she is indeed still quite warm from the exercise. And by the time they traipse their way into the common room of the village's lone pub, she is red cheeked from the weather and the trampling around in the snow on the way up from the river both. Her skates once more are hanging off her shoulder by their laces, and she is laughing triumphantly over having successfully crammed a fistful of snow down the neck of Ellis's clothes.

The easy recitation carries them along, all the way to their destination.

It's pleasant, as all their journeys tend to be. (With notable exceptions, so far few and far between.) Wysteria has plenty to tell him about, even though they've been in each other's company so consistently over the past few days. And she mercifully avoids outlining any overtly dangerous experiments, which feels like a nod to their honeymoon.

Even trailing after her, ice and snow all down his back, Ellis' expression is brightened into a fond smile. Having jogged up from a few lagging steps behind, Ellis catches her around the waist, holds tight at her hip before they pass through the doors.

"That was underhanded," as if Wysteria's ruthless streak is any kind of news. "Are you hungry?"

She must be cold as he is, but they might consider dinner before sequestering themselves for the evening.

"Ravenously," is all laughter and faux thrown elbows as she plays at attempting to free herself from his hold. "But I'm sure the lady of the house will let you sit by the hearth and warm your back. Oh careful, careful—mind the skates."

All in good cheer, Wysteria claps a firmer hold on the base of the skate blade laid before her shoulder to keep it from biting into any of her bundled clothes.

Laughing and all in high spirits, Wysteria pushes through the door and into the lively public house. It isn't crowded precisely, but this is clearly where a great deal of the village goes when the daylight begins to go. A fire is burning high in the great hearth, complete with a knot of old men near it, and various tables and chairs dotted with cold-flush tradesmen and women. It's busy enough that the woman keeping the bar seems unlikely to pay them much mind for some minutes, and so Wysteria simply wades in to find them a place far from the frost glazed windows to sit.

Following in her wake, Ellis is content enough to wait until she has found a table adjacent to the elderly men, where Ellis can very well put his back to the fire.

It would be easier if he could put his back to a wall, but the option hasn't presented itself. The itch of unease that usually prickles between exposed shoulder blades may at least be dulled by the amount of snow Wysteria managed to get down his coat. No one is staring, and the air of the room is more than welcoming, but they haven't entered this room unobservered. And the curiosity is noted, whether Ellis registers it as a cause for concern or not.

Scrubbing the lingering melting snow from his hair, Ellis unwinds his scarf first before letting the skates drop from his shoulder.

"You'll need to keep to one side of the bed," Ellis warns, mock serious as he watches her settle herself across the table. "I expect it'll take some time for me to warm up to a suitable degree."

Fair warning. Ellis hasn't forgotten Wysteria's complaints about cold feet.

"Nonsense! The fire is just there," she cries, all good spirits as she adjusts her chair and scoots closer to the table's edge. "I guarantee you will be perfectly warm by the time your find your way to bed."

From someone else, it might cut dangerously close to innuendo. From Wysteria, this is simply a fact dispensed with the brutally high humored thoughtlessness as she might render anything else. Indeed, he has spent these last hours listening to her assessment of a great many topics. This is just one brisk observation in a very long line.

The skates having migrated to across the back of her chair, Wysteria removes her mittens and lays them both on the table. She aggressively works her fingers so as to encourage some mobility back into them. The anchor glimmers there in her naked palm, nauseating green and winking in the lamplight.

"Let me do that," comes as Ellis reaches across the table for her hands, though his can hardly be any warmer. If the proximity to innuendo registers, it doesn't influence his expression one way or the other.

They'll skate back tomorrow. Or the day after. Perhaps their little room will be so cozy that the prospect of leaving it to return to the lodge will be intolerable. For all that they are technically here to do some sort of work, they have so much latitude to do as they please.

"Are you hungry?" is a nonsense question, just to prompt her into some opinion. Ellis hasn't entirely shaken the impulse to take her directly up to a room, where they might be alone and he could give in to the passing urge to put her fingers to his mouth to warm them.

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little women reenactment or yada yada yada to village dealers choice

I rolled the bones and they say yada yada but reserving the right to surprise you with peril later

10/10 can't wait

Re: 10/10 can't wait

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