Eventually gravity won out over hesitation, or whatever force it was that seemed determined to bind the two together, and Lex turned to look at him. An attempt to guard her expression was more difficult here, she found, as it needed to combat with both her exhaustion and injuries. “Yes?” As cold as the air was, she could feel her scathed lip crack at the word, as if the caution she was required to present might begin to fray.
It was an admirable effort, and far better than what he could muster: bruised and battered, the holy knight’s shell cracked, sheer gut instinct overriding all else. His hand rose, almost as if to touch her cheek and reach to trace the thin line of a healed cut. He recognised the tell-tale touch of magic already cast, its work already done, his assistance not required.
So he hovered, reluctant and indecisive. He mentally rearranged the scene in front of him, trying to remember what they looked like from the outside, and what they were supposed to look like from the outside. Rictor could feel the guards’ eyes on his shoulderblades; one of them was a compatriot from the Cathedral, watching closely.
Lliryn was just another church mage, just another arithmetician passing by.
“How was it?” Rictor asked, striving to keep his voice even and measured. (But there was the slightest little raggedness to his tone—one could perhaps argue that it was the exhaustion, and nothing else.)
Lex tried to step aside and away from those attempting to pass by—certainly there was no intent to step nearer to him, that was unintended, a mere byproduct of keeping conscientious of those around her. No hand wandered out to take his own, no look was given, save to his shoulder. Everything then, bottled as quickly away she could.
“Challenging,” she offered, and this time she did not mean to be quite so vague. If only, she thought tiredly, her gaze wandering down to his boots as more people shuffled past.
Now, slightly closer as she was, they were afforded a better look to each of their respective wounds, and Lex found it even more difficult to keep herself from inquiring on his state. Should he need any immediate healing, then certainly—
Then certainly his compatriots in the Blades would assist. Of course. “And for you, korporal?” Title tacked on like a shield, weakly raised.
“Chiaro, Banes, and some Wendices. The definition of a good time.” He was painfully conscious of the open space between them, measured on the ground as if with yardstick and ruler. While keeping up appearances, their conversation didn’t sound quite the same: it was stilted where it normally flowed easily, both of them reassembling a barrier that didn’t technically exist anymore.
It was harder than he’d expected, maintaining this front.
“And you’re all right?”
“Of course,” she said (perhaps too quickly).
A pause, a consideration, and a slight obfuscation: “We’re headed back to the same place, you know,” he said. “We could catch the same cart and save ‘em from having to send two.” Another beat. “For practicality, of course.”
Lex looked over her shoulder to the gate just beyond. She knew the path back to Cathedral would be a long and tedious one, especially when in consideration of the snow and wind, and all her multitude of wounds healed and not-quite mended. A sigh of consideration was released, forming a cloud of condensed frustration.
She ought to decline, she knew. It would be entirely for the better—and likely for the benefit of them both (the reasoning felt stilted, even in her own thoughts). “Perhaps,” she conceded after a moment. “Do you expect to be much longer?”
Lex eyed him again, having warred against the urge as best she could. It seemed he had some function here, after all, for why else would he stomp over toward her (as if she was some dubious criminal, no less)?