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She hums sometimes, while they walk or as they set up tents. Once, when Cole was hurt and confused, she’d tended his wounds and then sat at his side, humming softly. After the ordeal with the Templar who had abandoned the human Cole, he had even begun to do it himself sometimes.
He has never heard her sing before today, as she sits on the couch in her quarters, carefully cleaning her staff. She sings smoothly, as if it’s something she’s done all her life and he wonders if she wasn’t holding her voice in when she hummed instead. He recognizes their shared language, but he’s never heard the song.
“I didn’t know you could sing,” he says, approaching her.
“Of course you don’t, I haven’t before,” she says, her tone is light but there’s a weight to her words that makes him flinch.
“Would you like me to stop?” She asks, in that same tone, and he hears the unspoken, “Am I being too Dalish for you?”
“This is something you would do with your clan?” He asks and watches her expression soften, the vallaslin, brutal marks that they are, smoothing with her brow.
“It is,” she responds, turning her attention back to her staff, “it’s a…”
He says nothing, watching her run her fingers along her staff, her expression turning sad.
“It’s a family thing, I suppose.”
He catches one of her hands, fits his fingers between hers. She looks up at him surprised.
“Will you continue?” He asks, taking a seat at her side.
She squeezes his hand, takes a deep breath, and begins again.