[ That he fights for no one now, at this moment, is of no consequence. He has fought before for someone, and she is certain that if he were released from his bonds, he would fight again. What matters is who he fights for, where his loyalties, and thus his sword, will lie. Is he a craven sort of warrior, the one who will bow to his captors and mind courtesy over dignity? Or is he a man who, at the first opportunity, will deliver vengeance where it is owed? The sort of man who will see to safety those he is sworn to protect?
His breath of a laugh betrays no insult at what she has said - he is not an inconveniently pious man, then - and she runs her fingers in thought over the collar of her woefully simple gown. It is no small part of her that wishes for rubies still at her throat.
He fights for someone, he must, but he asks of the vision she most certainly did share in, and there is a wrenching pang in her chest. If what she saw is true, then her children are dead, and she should be, too. Why this detour into a relatively minor offshoot of hell, then? Why not be done with it all? Grief is too dangerous when turned in upon herself, so she shoves the needles of it back, in the form of aggravation now, upon her captive companion. Her eyes turn hard as gems, and she knows that if all is true, then he is not without his grief, too. And grief is so easily forged into violence. ]
They want you to believe that. If you have nothing left to fight for, you will surrender, and then all will truly be consumed. Do you feel you have nothing left?
no subject
His breath of a laugh betrays no insult at what she has said - he is not an inconveniently pious man, then - and she runs her fingers in thought over the collar of her woefully simple gown. It is no small part of her that wishes for rubies still at her throat.
He fights for someone, he must, but he asks of the vision she most certainly did share in, and there is a wrenching pang in her chest. If what she saw is true, then her children are dead, and she should be, too. Why this detour into a relatively minor offshoot of hell, then? Why not be done with it all? Grief is too dangerous when turned in upon herself, so she shoves the needles of it back, in the form of aggravation now, upon her captive companion. Her eyes turn hard as gems, and she knows that if all is true, then he is not without his grief, too. And grief is so easily forged into violence. ]
They want you to believe that. If you have nothing left to fight for, you will surrender, and then all will truly be consumed. Do you feel you have nothing left?