I keep my eyes closed and run the assessment. Habit.
I’m lying on something deep and soft. Furs layered thick over a solid surface. A fire crackles somewhere to my left. The weight of furs press down on me, heavy, warm. Almost hot.
My fingers itch with the painful tingle of blood returning to damaged tissue. I curl them experimentally beneath the furs.
I’m wearing my underlayer. Dry. My coat and outer clothes are gone. Someone stripped the wet layers off me while I was unconscious.
I’m alive.
I open one eye.
The ceiling is lost in shadow. Vaulted arches of dark stone curving up into blackness that swallows the firelight. Both eyes now. The scale of the place comes clear.
The hall is enormous. Not merely large. Built for creatures twice my size or more. The fire pit at the center could roast a horse. The pillars holding up the roof are stone, each one thicker than I am tall. The walls stretch back into shadow, the far end invisible, and every piece of furniture is wrong.
Chairs tall as my shoulder. A table that could seat twelve humans but holds a single cup. Doorways arched wide enough for something much larger than a man.
I’m lying on a raised platform, high off the floor. Furs and blankets nested deep. Beside it, a small table has been positioned within arm’s reach. Human-proportioned. Completely out of place among the giant furniture. There’s a lighter patch on the far wall where it must have stood before, the stone darker around it from years of shadow.
A cup of tea, cold. A plate with bread and dried meat. A pile of extra blankets, massive Jötunn-sized things folded over and over on themselves until they’re small enough and thick enough to cover a human body. Someone took the time to do that. To fold their own blankets down to my size.
Someone adjusted this space. Thought about what a creature my size would need and provided it without being asked.
And then that someone retreated to the far end of the hall.
He sits in a chair made of timber and hide. Massive. Still.
His gaze is fixed on me, and the intensity of it tells me he’s been watching since before I opened my eyes. Watching me sleep. Noting when I stirred.
Twenty feet between us. Maybe more. He has positioned himself as far from me as the hall allows while still maintaining a clear line of sight.
I sit up and the world tilts. Nausea rolls through my stomach. My vision grays at the edges. I brace my hands against the furs and breathe through it.
“Don’t stand. You’ll fall.”
Low. Rough. Carrying through the space without effort. That same resonance I remember from the snow.
“I won’t fall.”
I push the furs aside and swing my legs over the edge. My legs dangle before my feet find solid ground. I slide down.
I stand up.
My knees buckle immediately. I catch myself on the platform edge with both hands, arms shaking under my own weight. The floor came up fast.
“Told you.”
He stays exactly where he is. Twenty feet away. Watching me struggle.
I lower myself to the cold stone floor. Back against the platform. Gather what remains of my dignity.
“You’re far away,” I say.
Nothing.
“Big hall. Lots of space to choose from. And you’re all the way over there.”
Silence. The crackle of burning wood.
