❛ I’m not as precious as you think. ❜
He had to fight to keep incredulity from pooling across his face, deepest at his eye. How could she stand there and say such a thing to him? Though he wore the mantle of diplomacy well (and better than her these days, he imagined), there was still tension between them, an uncomfortable friction he cared not to suffer longer than was polite.
Her stance hadn’t changed, that much was clear. She wanted all the Horde dead, or at the very least, disbanded. She was hostile, and she was a threat. She’d dealt a very real wrong to his people on frenzied assumptions, and that alone was enough to lower her from any good graces he might have held. And yet, she was important. Surely she knew that. She wasn’t replaceable, despite her outraged shift from peacekeeper to avenger. Despite her hardly warranted betrayal. No one else could have held the power to do as she did.
In some ways, he couldn’t blame her for what she had done. Perhaps it was for all the wrong reasons (or wrong, according to his own perceptions) but was she not, in essence, attempting to protect her people? Such was a calling he could not and would not deny. After all, it was the song he sang in retaliation to the purge she had called.
His gaze never left her form; he was unflinching, as was she. He searched for reasons to be civil, reasons to empathize enough not to turn to winter in her wake. When he spoke, his tone was measured, his expression controlled.
❝Do such words come easily to you, Lady? Do they taste of pure water, or ash? I know not the meaning behind what you’ve just said, but surely you can understand my confusion.❞