[He doesn't know what he was expecting. Not the blanket, at least. He was certain that somewhere in that gate of his lurked some warming wine. Why the blanket on the back of the couch? It was old, and smelled of the church and dust.
He leans against the wall. Arms crossed in front of him. Glances to the hunched over ancient king making do with a blanket. There's a chill in his bones, or something deeper than that, but he pays it no mind. Tries to, at least. He isn't sure if he succeeds.]
no subject
He leans against the wall. Arms crossed in front of him. Glances to the hunched over ancient king making do with a blanket. There's a chill in his bones, or something deeper than that, but he pays it no mind. Tries to, at least. He isn't sure if he succeeds.]