He had to laugh, a lilting-sounding thing, at the threat that was not-quite-a-threat. They were both well-aware of their abilities to bring forth steel at a moment’s notice, sharp edges screaming against each other in an impulsive show of heated tension. Bright eyes flaring with the cracking pressure of war, of so many lives lost to battle and disease alike, a fire that could easily become an immolation with one wrong move, one wrong word.
But Ardyn is too tired for that, his sharp edges worn down too many times by the ravages of a campaign that had no end. If he wanted to fight, he would’ve brought his soldiers with him. They still possessed that flame in their veins, stoked by unerring loyalty, a desire to die for the last King of the Lucis line. The last living legacy of their great, ailing country, all of their hopes pinned on him. They would fight until either they or their enemies were left bleeding on the floor.
The thought of more blood only exhausts Ardyn.
“I’m not dressed for battle today, as you can see. I would sadly have to turn your very generous offer down.”
Another step, two, three, and he’s reached a distance suited for proper conversation. Ardyn took a moment to view her, in the way a man might view a portrait. It was almost surreal, seeing her in person, and not imagining her as some faceless ideal behind the curling words of a letter. Alone like this, lit by light reflecting off of marble, they are but two people here to negotiate. Titles would nigh be left at the door, if not for the responsibilities they still carried between them.
“But I agree. Here, we can speak uninterrupted, by both members of the court and time itself.”
Oh, he wondered how many of his advisors were waking up in the early dawn, covered in a cold-sweat and pondering just why they feel like some great, terrible thing was happening underfoot.
“And we’re already in possession of a skeleton of an idea. The joining of bloodlines, for the sake of joining kingdoms in forcible peace. Unless you’ve grown to balk at the idea overnight?"
no subject
But Ardyn is too tired for that, his sharp edges worn down too many times by the ravages of a campaign that had no end. If he wanted to fight, he would’ve brought his soldiers with him. They still possessed that flame in their veins, stoked by unerring loyalty, a desire to die for the last King of the Lucis line. The last living legacy of their great, ailing country, all of their hopes pinned on him. They would fight until either they or their enemies were left bleeding on the floor.
The thought of more blood only exhausts Ardyn.
“I’m not dressed for battle today, as you can see. I would sadly have to turn your very generous offer down.”
Another step, two, three, and he’s reached a distance suited for proper conversation. Ardyn took a moment to view her, in the way a man might view a portrait. It was almost surreal, seeing her in person, and not imagining her as some faceless ideal behind the curling words of a letter. Alone like this, lit by light reflecting off of marble, they are but two people here to negotiate. Titles would nigh be left at the door, if not for the responsibilities they still carried between them.
“But I agree. Here, we can speak uninterrupted, by both members of the court and time itself.”
Oh, he wondered how many of his advisors were waking up in the early dawn, covered in a cold-sweat and pondering just why they feel like some great, terrible thing was happening underfoot.
“And we’re already in possession of a skeleton of an idea. The joining of bloodlines, for the sake of joining kingdoms in forcible peace. Unless you’ve grown to balk at the idea overnight?"