Good, [ he says, and he has never withheld praise from her when he thinks gwenaëlle deserving of it. the games they play of are another type entirely; he has always been honest with her. still, he reaches for something wrapped up in a handkerchief. the bread is not sam's, it is not even galadriel's lembas, but something borrowed from the kitchen, a roll intended from dinner. he half-stands to pour her a glass of watered-down wine into a clay mug, one hand holding the jug's handle, the other holding his sleeve back.
(he would not be sloppy with this.)
he presses the bread first into her hand, offers her the very-much weakened wine next. ]
I would appreciate it if you stayed here for a little while. [ he meets her eyes, still hovering above his chair, not quite willing to sit yet, on her level.
she has said she has eaten, slept, but not before him. not where he can witness her recovering and be sure of her safety. ]
no subject
(he would not be sloppy with this.)
he presses the bread first into her hand, offers her the very-much weakened wine next. ]
I would appreciate it if you stayed here for a little while. [ he meets her eyes, still hovering above his chair, not quite willing to sit yet, on her level.
she has said she has eaten, slept, but not before him. not where he can witness her recovering and be sure of her safety. ]