As her smile widened, so did his. Ordhan was not accustomed to smiling often, but Falina's were contagious; few things cheered him more than the sight of her beaming face, and it was certainly impossible for him to feel glum at the moment. It didn't matter that less than pleasant means brought about their meeting; she was happy to see him, and that made him happy as well. "Of course," he replied. "I enjoy talking to you very much." If it could be called that. His answers always seemed too short, his questions uninteresting; he would often fall silent when another happened across their path, having, as ever, little to add. But he always enjoyed it. She was a joy to listen to even if not talking to him, and despite his shortcomings, seemed to be happy when they talked. Though the words of his compliment were absurdly stiff, their formality was softened by the smile lines around his eyes and the touch of a fond hand on her shoulder.
The cloak was much too large for her; it dragged on the ground at her feet, and could have wrapped half around her again. Its ample size was a good thing, at the moment. Her ankles were bare beneath the folds of cloak pooling around them, and it served more as a blanket than an article of clothing. Ordhan fastened the clasp beneath her chin, allowing her to bundle the rest around her as she was comfortable. "Not at all. My armor is warm enough," he answered. The guard house was drafty and the night harsh, but he was accustomed to far worse on the road.
Falina thanked him with a word and a peck on the cheek. Ordhan was surprised by the gesture, to say the least, but not taken aback. Eileen used to do much the same when she were excited or grateful. Falina was much different than he remembered his sister to be, but the occasional innocent mannerism would send a lance of ice and warmth through his heart. Something of this showed in his eyes as he smiled in return and squeezed her shoulder lightly before releasing it.
Ordhan's brows drew together again as Falina answered, first in confusion, then in worry. He felt foolish. Dwarves did not dream? With all of the reading he had done of that people, he wondered how he could have missed such a bizarre fact. Perhaps it was simply not in the books, but he realized that his interest had been more in their battles and battalions than their everyday lives. But such thoughts were brief, swallowed by pity as she described what the nightmares were of. His dreams, also, were often visited by the creatures: milky eyes and monstrous grins, victims' blood fountaining beneath their blades. Countless times he had woken with shrieks' cries still echoing in his ears, or the ghosts of the dreadful humming throbbing in the silent air. One did not fight Darkspawn and remain unscarred. Even though he could not understand the depths of horror that lay in the Wardens' visions, it turned his stomach to think of Falina being tormented by dreams anything like his own.
"That is..." he began, then faltered. She didn't need to be told that it was horrible. She knew very well already. "I am sorry," he concluded lamely. "I understand why they'd bother you." ...Another pointlessly obvious remark. It seems he was even worse at comfort than he was at conversation.
"No need for more monsters, then," he offered with an attempt at a smile. He was crouching near a low bench, so he shifted to sit on it, leaving enough room for Falina to follow suit if she wanted. It was made for legs slightly shorter than his, and they stretched out in front of him, the heels of his boots propped on the wooden floor. "I was thinking about our mission. I have done little but fight for a very long time. I am not certain how I will aid." It was only part of the story, but it was easier to be transparent about these insecurities than those about his oldest friend and newfound...whatever Hilda was to him, now.