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It’s quiet in your tent. He’s sitting a couple of paces away on the sleeping mat, his expression indecipherable as ever. You’re sitting on a pile of laundry, doing all it is that you ever seem to do – reading.
You like it. It’s peaceful. Lon’qu has never been one for conversation. It’s his presence that gives you comfort rather than his words.
Just as you think this, however, he speaks up, shocking you out of your contemplation. “It’s cold,” he says softly.
It isn’t really, but you reply, “Do you want a blanket?”
“No.”
“My cloak?” He’s taken it a few times without asking you, and whenever you go to question him, he gives you a self-conscious glare that is just daring you to go ahead and ask.
You don’t mind. They’re far too small for him and it makes for an evening’s worth of entertainment seeing him go about his business when he’s squeezed into them. It also gives you an excuse to steal his robes, which are far too long for you. It’s a little hard to turn the pages when the sleeves go over your hands, but it’s snuggly and it smells nice, so you don’t care. Even when Lissa makes fun of you for trudging to the barracks in them in the middle of the night.
“No.”
“Okay, then.” You go back to reading, confused at his sudden attempt at conversation.
A few moments pass before he speaks up again. “Are – are you cold?”
“Not really.”
“Oh. That’s, um, that’s good.”
You know he wants something, because he’s very clearly fidgeting, but you’re too absorbed in your reading to pay much attention to him. The silence is even less lasting this time before he says, “Robin?”
“Lon’qu!” You snap the book shut on your hand and hold it up meaningfully. You feel a little bad when you see his kicked puppy expression, but you’ve had a long day and you really need to read up on these strategies.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “You’re busy.”
You soften. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
He gives you a small smile that lets you know he harbours no hard feelings, and you return to your book.
He’s going to speak up again. You can feel it. You count down in your mind.
Three… two… one…
“Robin, would you come over here?”
“What? Why?” You give up on reading. Why he’s chosen today of all days to pick up a conversation, you have no clue, but he’s clearly agitated about something.
“I-” He’s struggling to find words again, and you’re almost tempted to sneak one last peek at your page before he can continue. But you know that would only put him off speaking, so, stifling a sigh, you put your book away and turn your full attention to him.
“What is it, Lon’qu?”
“I – I – I want to hug you. Or something.” The words tumble out in a rush and he's gone a funny red colour.
“What?” You stare at him. “I thought you were still getting over your gynophobia.”
“I am,” he mumbles, now huddled in a ball and talking directly to his feet. “But you’re soft.”
“I’m – what?”
“You’re... soft. And warm.” His words are becoming more and more unintelligible. “And – and – andIloveyou," he mutters, his discomfort obvious.
You shift in your seat and squint at him. “What’s gotten into you?”
“I’m sorry.” He sags a bit. “I saw you smiling at Frederick and Lissa earlier today. He treats her like a queen.” He scowls at his feet. “So differently to the way I treat you.”
“Oh, Lon’qu…” you start, but he waves his hand at you.
“I know I’m distant,” he says. “I’m sorry. You deserve better. I thought maybe… If I could be more like Frederick… You’d be happier.” He is deliberately looking everywhere but at you.
“Lon’qu,” you say, and move to sit next to him. You refuse to talk until he looks at you. “I am happy with you. I promise.”
“You shouldn’t be,” he says. “A woman like you shouldn’t have to settle for the way I treat you. You should have so much more-”
“But I love you.” You smile as he turns to look at you again. “Lon’qu, I didn’t marry Frederick, or any of the others. I love you. I love being with you. I wouldn’t change anything. I promise.”
He doesn’t say anything, but he hesitantly brings his arms up and puts them around you. You snuggle into him.
“You are soft, though,” he says quietly, and you laugh. “And warm. And I do love you.”
You sit in comfortable silence for a bit. Until he breaks it again.
“And I do want your cloak.”