The sound of the stein crashed against the table.
“It isn’t fair. After all the patience thou hast shown to their bickering games, they move to keep thee hidden... Dost thou remember when I called them jackals? T’was too kind.”
She could not, of course, grow inebriated - but it was a facet of who she was, and what she must present to the people. The same people, she reminded herself, that would be denied a view of their patron of the Dark Sun, because it might ‘upset’ them...
... Her brow knit in embarrassment at the outburst, and she bowed her head low in apology.
“Ah... Mine heart spoke out of tune with mine lips, dearest sister... Though I do stand by my words.”
Even without that new mask he wore, his eyes were so somber - and saw so much. Gwynevere mulled her words carefully, like the mead from that province, blessed with its bounteous floodplains...
“I do not wish you to be uncomfortable, sister. But I beg thee - a quick appearance, without telling them. I... I know that if they just see you, for but a moment, they will respect you! And they shall love you as I do, as the sun loves the moon..!”
Stammering from formal to informal speech, she drew back breath, and wondered when he had become so regal. Yes. They would accept him, they must -
“Just one appearance, at your own debut. That is all I ask. You are not some treasure, to be - to be hidden away, and left uncherished..!”
@ofthedarksun
