He spends the majority of his time outside the keep, where a man can see for miles in all directions and count the stars at night and shit wherever he pleases. It is a simple lifestyle, and he prefers it to getting tangled in the complexities of war and politics. But the day court has its mysteries, and he is a sucker for an unanswered question. At night there is one room in particular that often stays lit into early in the morning. He cannot say why but it beckons to him, draws him like a moth to the flame. Perhaps it is the thought that he is not the only ghost in these sun-drenched lands.
It is on this night (the full moon, that gleaming temptress, mischievously keeping him from sleep) that he winds through the hallways of the day court, seeking the room that stays lit when all others surrender to the night. It does not take long for him to find a door cracked open, spilling candlelight into the hallway. He pushes it open to reveal a round room with shelves curved around the walls, full of papers. At the middle of the room is a table that hosts an unrolled scroll. On it are rows and rows of black symbols, lines and curves like nothing he's seen before, except for maybe in the strange shapes the dunes make in the Mors Desert.
As enthralling as the paper is, his attention is sharply drawn away to the woman who stands at the other side of the table. Emisary. He knows who she is, but she is a stranger to him. Funny how that happens, our presence preceding our essence. She looks different in the glow of the candlelight, or maybe it is sleep deprivation distorting his vision.
"It seems to me you are everywhere." The stone walls bounce his low voice to and fro, making his words sound like waves. He hesitates, body poised to leave even as his face is turned to the woman of stone. A moment seems to stretch to a hundred-- the awareness of being pulled in two directions seems to slow time.
Suddenly it occurs to him that he had made up his mind the instant he saw her. Why lie to himself, he does not want to leave and come back another time. He does not want to let another ghost slip away. At this moment he would like to pinch himself, pull his mind back to his body. He is the sort of person who defines a difference between deliberation and hesitation, and values one but not the other.
"May we share words." Eik takes a step forward, entering the warm glow of the library. "Ser a pheen a." He says her name slowly, pulling it straight from his memory to his lips. He tilts his head-- it is his way of indicating that he has just asked a question.
