Ordhan had not expected a conversation about apples and paintings would earn such a profound compliment, or the friendly touch on the arm, or the sweet way she was smiling up at him as if they had been friends for a lifetime. Not only that, but what she said of him was something he wanted to be. He smiled his gratitude and fondly laid his hand on her shoulder. "Thank you," he said before removing it. "It was just a guess. Maybe they were just hungry."
The smile was, once again, short-lived. Talking with Falina was a dichotomy of joy and worry, discomfort and contentment. A moment of hardness passed over his face. She was not offended, all to his great relief, but the truth was hardly what he expected. Ordhan did not understand what a mother should be from experience. His own remained nameless to him, as he was no doubt to her. He had seen their place in the lives of others, though: the bann's wife fretting over Keane and smiling proudly at Nathaniel, the letters the younger guards received from home, women in the marketplace holding their children close when the crowds pressed. Mothers were supposed to protect their children. Not...force them into harlotry.
Was the practice common for the poorer dwarves? The way Falina spoke made it sound as if it were, with even a title of its own. She hesitated as she spoke, seeming nervous and embarrassed; it was an unexpected sign of trust that she had opened up about it.
"I am glad you are here, Falina," he said, meaning every word though not quite understanding why he said them. Yes, she was adding to the ranks of the Grey Wardens, coming to protect a land that wasn't her own, but that wasn't why. He wasn't even sure what to think of the fact she'd be fighting, as resilient as she may be.
"Thirty-six," he answered. They were at the door of the library now. He ducked his head as he entered, not because he needed to but because of habit--one developed after learning that some of the world's architects had a grudge against tall people.