"Coin," comes so easily, a little like a joke in spite of it's truth. "And chance."
The idea of reward that didn't outweigh the risk and loathing he had for southern Thedas had carried him many places. It had carried him all the way to her, in a way. All the choices he'd made in his life had brought him here.
But that's nothing new to consider. He's chosen her and he's chosen Flint over and over. If he looks back at the winding path that had led him to it, he has never seen anything that could be altered.
"The same things that brought me north, if you're curious," he tells her, lifting a hand to thumb a few snowflakes from her cheek.
Madi smiles at the gentle brush of his thumb, and chuckles softly at the snow clinging to his hair and eyebrows.
"Of course I am curious. I want to know everything," she says and shrugs one shoulder. There is always something to learn; about life, about people, about him.
"Coin," John repeats. "And a fair amount of chance."
Everything else had come later. Why he'd stayed becoming a tangled thing, threads of connection looping over and over until there was no breaking away from them.
Her cheek is warm under his fingers. When he cups her face, fingers gentle at the nape of her neck, he can feel the steady beat of her pulse, feel the hum of each word she speaks.
"It's not so exciting as you might imagine."
Survival, focusing solely on moving through the world evading danger and scrutiny, is more monotonous than she might think.
She stifles the urge to roll her eyes, her smile softening the edge of playful annoyance. She curls her fingers around his beard, his chin, and gently wobbles his head.
"I thought you were supposed to be good at telling stories. What kind of answer is that?"
"A truthful one," John answers her. "I'd rather give you that than a pretty story."
Yes, he could turn a good tale. Some of it would be true, and some of it wouldn't be. But he loves her, and a sparse, dull truth strikes him as a better thing to impart than unspooling embellishments.
While she has hold of his beard still, she may as well pull him — gently, of course — closer for a kiss. Her hands shift to lay flat on his chest, feeling the thrum of his heart beneath her fingers, and she smiles.
"Do you remember your first snowfall?" She asks, her attention lingering on his features for a moment before she turns her head to watch the slow drift of white over the garden. The grey sky, the bare trees. "I did not expect it to be so...quiet."
"I think this may be one of the few times it is every so completely quiet here."
Even the gardens can be subject to the chaos of the company housed in the Gallows. How often has John witnessed people dashing through the gardens at breakneck speed, or plow through in the midst of conversation? The Gallows is not a small place, but it can feel small.
John's free hand comes up in answer, closes over hers at his chest.
"But to your question, I don't think I do," he answers her. "I might not have found it as awe-inspiring as you do."
Or because thinking that far back is beyond him, even for something so small.
"By tomorrow I expect some of our younger colleagues will be throwing it at each other."
Even after such a short time out here, Madi's fingers have gone cold. The warmth of John's hand brings the chill into sharp relief, and she finds she has to lift her shoulders slightly to bunch her wrap up closer to the exposed skin of her neck.
"It will be nice for them to be able to enjoy themselves," she says, moving closer. There's already so little space between them that with that half-step it's reduced to the thickness of one of his hands. "There is much work to be done yet, but even a brief respite is invaluable."
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no subject
The idea of reward that didn't outweigh the risk and loathing he had for southern Thedas had carried him many places. It had carried him all the way to her, in a way. All the choices he'd made in his life had brought him here.
But that's nothing new to consider. He's chosen her and he's chosen Flint over and over. If he looks back at the winding path that had led him to it, he has never seen anything that could be altered.
"The same things that brought me north, if you're curious," he tells her, lifting a hand to thumb a few snowflakes from her cheek.
no subject
Madi smiles at the gentle brush of his thumb, and chuckles softly at the snow clinging to his hair and eyebrows.
"Of course I am curious. I want to know everything," she says and shrugs one shoulder. There is always something to learn; about life, about people, about him.
(It could be useful.)
no subject
Everything else had come later. Why he'd stayed becoming a tangled thing, threads of connection looping over and over until there was no breaking away from them.
Her cheek is warm under his fingers. When he cups her face, fingers gentle at the nape of her neck, he can feel the steady beat of her pulse, feel the hum of each word she speaks.
"It's not so exciting as you might imagine."
Survival, focusing solely on moving through the world evading danger and scrutiny, is more monotonous than she might think.
no subject
"I thought you were supposed to be good at telling stories. What kind of answer is that?"
no subject
Yes, he could turn a good tale. Some of it would be true, and some of it wouldn't be. But he loves her, and a sparse, dull truth strikes him as a better thing to impart than unspooling embellishments.
no subject
"Do you remember your first snowfall?" She asks, her attention lingering on his features for a moment before she turns her head to watch the slow drift of white over the garden. The grey sky, the bare trees. "I did not expect it to be so...quiet."
no subject
Even the gardens can be subject to the chaos of the company housed in the Gallows. How often has John witnessed people dashing through the gardens at breakneck speed, or plow through in the midst of conversation? The Gallows is not a small place, but it can feel small.
John's free hand comes up in answer, closes over hers at his chest.
"But to your question, I don't think I do," he answers her. "I might not have found it as awe-inspiring as you do."
Or because thinking that far back is beyond him, even for something so small.
"By tomorrow I expect some of our younger colleagues will be throwing it at each other."
no subject
"It will be nice for them to be able to enjoy themselves," she says, moving closer. There's already so little space between them that with that half-step it's reduced to the thickness of one of his hands. "There is much work to be done yet, but even a brief respite is invaluable."