@launncelot
“so even the likes of you might be called to a place like this?” you do not look at him. he doesn’t deserve to feel your eyes on him--he is nothing, you tell yourself, less than nothing, dirt beneath your heel, too many times a traitor. there was a time you’d forgive him for anything, but that time has long passed, and you are carved from cold marble, now. no room for him. no room for anything.
you sigh with an air of practiced indifference, rest rhongomyniad against the firm silver of your pauldron. “well. i can rest a little easier knowing your allies are all the weaker for your absence. agravain should be able to coordinate a suitable retaliatory act on his own.”
and only now do you let your eyes meet his, every sign of mercy stripped so carefully from your gaze. is he still as resilient as he used to be? if you drove your lance through his chest, would he make it out the other side with a smile? you don’t want to find out. not yet, maybe not ever. “i am still your king, sir lancelot, despite your actions. you should kneel.”