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She was doing the thing.
The Thing.
The thing she did when there was too much on her head but she didn't want to talk about it.
He'd seen that a couple of times during their journey together, but thankfully - and it's perhaps the first he is thankful for that - they had more people with them. People that had a lot more to offer her than a strong brew - even if it was the best damn brew. Normally, when she would retreat into herself and head to the lake near the camp, it wouldn't take long before one of their companions raised from their resting place to go look for her.
Not before a whispered debate sparkled around the campfire to settle who should go. It would normally be the old lady or the redhead to go after her, the templar boy too unsure of what he could do to help and always wagering one of the ladies on. The blond elf sometimes would go, too - despite some uncomfortable noises and annoyed glances of the meat-shield boy when he'd comment about offering the woman his services, which Oghren didn't see as a good offer at all, considering the lame excuse for an assassin he was. Ancestors, even the wicked witch went once.
But things didn't always end up better after a conversation. Sometimes, she would not have it at all - that sodding elf had a skull thicker than a bronto's.
When the boy started to get off his ass and take his chances, however, things got better. We could hear her laugh, sometimes. That lad had one too many problems, but he knew how to get to her. Lay her defenses down. And suddenly, Oghren realized that the bastard might as well be there with them. Would've saved him a lot of the fucking trouble he was about to have. But he wasn't. And he knew that was partially the reason why the Commander seemed to not laugh or even smile as much as she used to.
Sod, he missed the kid's laugh.
He couldn't give her what she was missing - so what could he give her, now? Some bottles of Antivan brandy.
He hoped that would do.
- I don't need to get drunk, Oghren. - Bullshit, he thought to himself. She getting drunk beyond belief was long overdue. - What I need is to burn this fucking Keep down.
- Well, I wouldn't doubt you would, - The sword flashes through the air, landing repeatedly at the training dummy. Poor sod. - you have been kinda messy in the head been a while.
- I'll ignore that, but look. - Sticking her sword in the soil between them, she glanced up from the training grounds at the monumental fortress in front of their eyes. - It would be so easy.
As she cogitated the destruction of the Keep, he could see a strange sparkle in her eyes. Warm and comforting, as she had been before.
As he wished she could still be.
- There's a whole lot of hay, I could just spread it through the lower chambers and let it rise. It would probably take a while, but then I would have time to evacuate the Keep.
- And let the bastards end the party?!
- Don't be silly. - Her response was quick, a matter-of-fact look launched at him through the corner of tired eyes. - I would have broken down the well first.
- Never one for half measures, eh?
He could see her fidget with the hilt of her sword at the words. Her answer came in a soft exhale.
- That I ain't. - Her eyes laid on him for a second, before she plucked her sword out of the ground and turned back to the dummy.
Dismissed. Time to go back to the supper table, then.
- Just make sure to wake old Oghren soon, okay? - As he started to pick the bottles from the battered dirt, he could feel her gaze lingering on him still. And he swore she could hear his bones crackling under his skin, for the small glint on her eyes when he glanced back at her.
Or maybe his cursing when bending down gave him away.
- Scared that the heavy sleep would have you left to burn down too?
- Nah woman, I got to evacuate the cellar before you go maniac on the lower floors. - The small hand stretched towards him, handing him the last bottle. The one he had purposely left to her.
As if the nugget was capable of changing her mind.
- I would never put myself between an Oghren and his alcohol.
- Good on you, Commander. Pyromaniac, but still have some sense left.
That made her laugh.
And he felt like he had just won his entire sodding night.