She laughed at her own comment, but in light of her recent words, Ordhan wondered if it affected her more than she let on. He realized that moments before, she had compared her life to his; she was bound by one job and then another, in a profession both dangerous and demanding. It did not seem that she expected her lot to change.
It was true that she was not like most women, but not so opposite to be unfavorable. She was a warrior, yes, one who could likely beat him in any duel, but was gentle in her own way. "That is not a bad thing," he answered, though as he said he knew it was not quite the truth. Most men married to have housewives, delicate and domestic, perhaps with a good dowry. Those who didn't fit into this mold were usually reserved for flings--"having a good time," as Imenry put it. Such were quite common in Ferelden, and even more so in many neighboring lands (stories from Orlais could make a brothel keeper blush). As for Ordhan, the leaden guilt of his reckless life in the guard weighed too heavily upon him; as lonely as the cold nights could be, he had no desire to add to that guilt. His reservation was old-fashioned, to be certain, perhaps something borrowed from Nathaniel long before, or a desire to be as unlike his father as possible.
As for what he thought ideal, he had given it as little thought as possible until he collided with it. How to act upon it, or whether he even ought to act upon it, was the true conflict.
"I would not know," he admitted, avoiding her eyes. There were very few reasons one would not know such a thing. He hoped earnestly that Imenry would not question further. If she asked, he would answer, and truthfully, as uncomfortable as the answer would be. She was good company and pleasant to talk to; though she did not strike him as the judgmental sort, he did not want to have to see the too-familiar distaste in her calm gray eyes. Perhaps she would think him an orphan and ask no more.
As for Nathaniel... "I suppose I did," he answered. "I had little need to be strong, then," he added awkwardly. Whatever had strengthened him then was frail indeed to have shattered at their first separation. That was no fault of his brother's, of course--only the misguided self-destruction of a young man angry at life.
His brows drew together in thought as he tried to recall the knights and guards he had known to marry. Ordhan never pried into their private lives, so he only knew the details of their meeting their future spouses if they freely told it--and even then, he was hardly interested. "Some are arranged, I suppose, and many have met them at events, such as tournaments and dances." He lifted his shoulders in a shrug, seeming indifferent, but something in his face showed a faint aversion to both methods. "A friend--" he avoided using Conlan's name, "--met his wife at a market, though...that ended badly."
He hesitated, unsure if prying into her life would result in the same towards his own. "Your family...you were close?" It was not truly a question. "Did your parents have to leave often?" There had to be an answer to his wonderings, and even if their wasn't, the doubts he had bound himself with were beginning to fray, strand by strand.