Ow, [ is his first complaint upon being rudely shaken into consciousness. It's odd: for centuries, trancing was no escape from the horrors of waking life, but ever since he crawled into Iorveth's bed that night they murdered that king, it's become more and more peaceful. He still has his moments of fitfulness, of course, and likely always will, but it turns out that it's much more pleasant to reminisce on the past when good things have actually happened to you.
So he's a little annoyed at being woken out of his reverie, especially in such a forceful way. He opens one eye, instinctively focusing in on the thin slice of light invading their tent. Unthinkingly, he shifts away from it. ]
I'm delicate, you know, [ he complains further as he opens his other eye, turning to glance at Iorveth. It's still light outside, and he can't fathom why Iorveth would wake him when he still has to be confined to this tent. It irritates him a little, actually, to be reminded yet again of his shortcomings, but any annoyance softens at the look on Iorveth's face. ]
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So he's a little annoyed at being woken out of his reverie, especially in such a forceful way. He opens one eye, instinctively focusing in on the thin slice of light invading their tent. Unthinkingly, he shifts away from it. ]
I'm delicate, you know, [ he complains further as he opens his other eye, turning to glance at Iorveth. It's still light outside, and he can't fathom why Iorveth would wake him when he still has to be confined to this tent. It irritates him a little, actually, to be reminded yet again of his shortcomings, but any annoyance softens at the look on Iorveth's face. ]
What's the matter, my love?