Lagertha Loðbrók (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} couldntkillme) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} wariscoming, |
She was standing a few paces away, a tray of coffees in one hand and a bag with two muffins in it in the other. She had been on her way to the inn, to see Grantaire, as it so happened, when she had noticed the hunched figure sitting on the curb. She had recognised him immediately and, for a moment, had wondered whether she should disturb him or not. She wasn't blind. She could tell that Grantaire was dealing with emotions that he wasn't even beginning to want to explain to her and she didn't want to try to force him. She may be blunt by this world's standards but she wasn't heartless or even unsympathetic.
She had been on the verge of turning and silently walking away when she thought better of it. She knew that Grantaire wasn't Athelstan, wasn't even remotely like Athelstan, but she liked to think that the priest had known she was a friend to him, even in his darkest times. If she could provide the same for Grantaire, she would like to try. So she had spoken. Now all that remained to be seen was whether Grantaire would welcome the company.