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Griss stood outside in the freezing cold weather and spread his arms wide open, enjoying the sensation of bitter cold. A blizzard had conveniently passed through Askr during the Ice Festival.
"Mmm. Don't you just love the sting of sheer cold blowing against your bare chest? It feels so stimulating!"
The Prince of Ice was made quite uncomfortable by his festival partner's posturing, and his pleasurable growls. "Griss... what are you talking about? You need to chill."
"Oh, you're hilarious! Don't act like you're the innocent one here. I see your clothes, your studs," Griss retorted, referring to Hríd's matching cape and body piercings. "A bold choice for the weather we're in. I like your fashion sense, Prince Hríd. We're like two peas in a pod. You keep a straight face, but I can tell you're enjoying this festival just as much as I am."
"I would be enjoying it. Don't get me wrong, I love the cold climate of my beautiful homeland. The cold itself reminds me of home and it brings me joy, yet I can't help but feel as if someone's still missing."
"Your sister's doing just fine with the goddess of your land... Wait. Let me guess. You wish the Summoner would notice you, don't you?" the mage picked up on these feelings and nodded at his partner, knowingly. "You're a man of higher standing. You should just walk up to 'em and say something, instead of waiting for your reward like some kind of peasant. What do you have to lose?"
Griss' bluntness about the matter flustered Hríd, to the point that the cold outside didn't feel so harsh in comparison. He and the rest of his people, cold as the ice of their land, weren't known for expressing their feelings openly. But maybe the mage he's speaking to had a point.
"Griss! I'll have you know I have no intention of pursuing the Summoner so... brazenly. I need to have at least some etiquette around this matter." Hríd answered back. He was thinking about his younger sister's feelings, never spoken of, just as strong as those he felt for the dear Summoner they both held in high esteem.
"Hah! You're so predictable. What are you afraid of? Getting hurt? Having your beating heart in the Summoner's hand, squeezed into a bleeding, broken pulp?" Griss couldn't help himself with those questions, the potential for pain really gets him going and he needed to bring it up in every conversation.
"It's not that, though I do have my fears and doubts about opening up to the Summoner. It was thanks to their help, and the rest of the Order of Heroes, that Nifl as a Kingdom still stands. I wish to repay the Summoner's kindness and bravery, and devote myself to them for the rest of my life."
Hríd spoke with an earnestness that would normally bring Griss into a fit of laughter. He couldn't bring himself to do it, however. With all this talk of repaying and devotion, Griss felt that Hríd was truly speaking his language. They may have butted heads over how they expressed their feelings, but they could finally come to an understanding. Hopefully.
"Huh... The way you speak so highly of 'em reminds me of Zephia. I was a poor whelp living all on his own. I couldn't speak, I don't think my parents even wanted me around so they left me to die. But Zephia took me in despite having nothing to my name. She took good care of me. She was like a mom to me... No, she was everything. And she always rewarded me for my devotion."
"With pain?"
"Yeah. You got a problem with that?"
"I mean, it is kind of strange. Still, your story is quite touching, Griss."
"You're one to talk. I've seen how you fight. You got hit really hard in that last battle. You flinched, but you were smirking through it all."
"Do you dare to suggest that I enjoy feeling pain?"
"Yeah. What are you gonna do, punish me? You gonna stab me with that ice sword of yours? Gods, I wish I could feel that cold sharp blade thrusting through my flesh. Mmm..."
"On second thought, I will ponder on what you said, about letting the Summoner know how I feel. Thank you, Griss, for opening my mind on these matters."