"It is," he assured her, glad that she had not indicated any regret about the afternoon's meeting. In fact, it had made her miss having friends. That was astonishing to him. He had less excuse than she for rarely speaking to others. Knights were privileged, gifted in both rank and means; his fellows moved among the upper crust of Denerim's inhabitants and never wanted for company. It was his own choice that made him a recluse, as well as his own personality that made what few interactions he had stilted and uncomfortable.
What had made the past hours any different? It was her, most likely, not him; he was no less reserved and no more eloquent than he ever had been. That she was interested in him was baffling. Surely she had met knights before, and those with more to their being than a single dismal cause.
Oddly enough, as they spoke of it, Ordhan felt his usual inclination to silence stealing over him. Perhaps it was easier to speak, before, because he was thinking of something other than how difficult it was. The growing din of the mess hall ahead masked his quietness. The smells drifting from the open doorway were distracting enough. There was a feast waiting in the hall, to be sure--perhaps the last some of those within would ever have. It was a disquieting thought, marring the cheerful and companionable atmosphere.
As they entered the room, Ordhan glanced over the crowd surrounding him, searching for familiar faces. After having spent over a month at the Keep, many of them were recognizable, but he had only spoken to a very small number of these. Those he considered friends were no where in sight: he could not see the gleam of gold hair slightly above the crowd of heads, or hear Conlan's laughter--and spying Falina among this many people would be next to impossible. He followed Imenry and gathered his own plate of food as he went behind her until they were both seated.