It grew awkward for her as well. If he did know who she was, and who she was referring too then she'd just bluntly threw that in his face. Aeotha knew she should have held her tongue at moments like that. More than once the 'young' priestess had stepped past the line and drew a new one. Unforgivable in the eyes of many. In fact, she'd gotten her own brother killed by standing up to a noble. Eiron was in attendance, and could be seen through the window, laughing with his friends. His countrymen. His slaves. Aeotha scowled at the window a moment before pulling her eyes away. She finished her flute and set it on the rail along side her other one.
Aeotha almost reached out to touch his shoulder, instead her hand found the rail. She slid her fingers along the cold stone there and took in a deep breath. There was much she could have said. Enough idol talk to fill an evening. She could have apologized, maybe she should have. Maybe the Goddess told him the truth. That this was all her fault. For turning away with fear in her heart from the path Lorien had put out for her. Her fault his father rested in the ground and his mother kept herself in her home. But at the same time, Aeotha didn't want that judging look to come out. Or that vile hatred. She didn't want him to hate her.
She'd tried. She tried to save Eibhear. She tried to keep him from going off to die but he..
He was a brave man. Bitterly the memory of the last time she saw him swam inside of her and Aeotha took a sharp intake of breath, turning herself away from him to collect herself.
"I hope they do not find us." Aeotha finally said. "Between their lackluster intelligence, and their exceedingly good looks I'd be out of place." Aeotha finally looked back at him.
The handsome Flaithriaoh. She'd heard many a priestess speak of it. Many of them were quite taken with his looks, and Aeotha now knew why. At closer inspection there was really no imperfection to be found. Maybe he had scars elsewhere, but none that she could make out in the moonlight. She was staring, it wasn't proper. Aeotha let her eyes drop again, finding instead the sword he wore on his belt. Not a dress sword. To that she smiled. He wasn't like them, was he? Was there hope left?