A small smile comes to her lips then, a twist of dry humour, bitter and cold as an autumn wind from the mountains. There is no gentleness in it, no softness, but it is a smile, even so.
"It may strike you, then, that you have the measure of my people. Against such encroachment, what else should we be but stone?" She looks, for a moment, more distant; looks past him and through him as though she sees him not at all. "You would not be the first to break against those stones, Jaime Lannister, nor the last. Stone and steel are harder than gold, and they do not bend."
But they do erode. They break, and wear, and are chipped away by the years and the storms. She feels it in herself, how the stone has begun to winnow into sand, how the wind runs through her. Still, she is stone, and she is harder than he is, and he will not prevail in this fight of wills she finds herself entangled in. He gleams and glitters and jokes, but it is shine, not substance; she knows that, even if he does not.
"But maps are drawn by oaths, and oaths may be stronger than stone. Those borders have been set for five hundred years, and the Mark stands not alone in guarding them." She is not sure she believes that, truly. Gondor has not come to their aid before; why believe that the age-old pact will be honoured against another foe? Gondor will bestir itself to fight only when the war reaches their own borders. "Do not claim, then, that you came hither unknowing; but tell me, and tell me truly, what you hoped to gain by it."
He will not tell her truly, she is sure. He will tell nothing truly that must not be pulled from him with tortuous effort, and it does come to her again that it would be simpler to see him dead. There, then, would pass the threat of gold-hunger, there would pass the threat of knowledge escaping with him, there would pass the burden of his keep.
There would pass peace, if his father is as powerful as he seems to think, and knows where his son has gone. And there would pass honour, for despite her threats, he has committed no dire crime worthy of execution, and they are not Orcs, to take prisoners only to slay at leisure.
"Where are your lands? Under what banner? How far did you ride?"
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sforzinda
no subject
Date: 2021-09-12 10:57 pm (UTC)"It may strike you, then, that you have the measure of my people. Against such encroachment, what else should we be but stone?" She looks, for a moment, more distant; looks past him and through him as though she sees him not at all. "You would not be the first to break against those stones, Jaime Lannister, nor the last. Stone and steel are harder than gold, and they do not bend."
But they do erode. They break, and wear, and are chipped away by the years and the storms. She feels it in herself, how the stone has begun to winnow into sand, how the wind runs through her. Still, she is stone, and she is harder than he is, and he will not prevail in this fight of wills she finds herself entangled in. He gleams and glitters and jokes, but it is shine, not substance; she knows that, even if he does not.
"But maps are drawn by oaths, and oaths may be stronger than stone. Those borders have been set for five hundred years, and the Mark stands not alone in guarding them." She is not sure she believes that, truly. Gondor has not come to their aid before; why believe that the age-old pact will be honoured against another foe? Gondor will bestir itself to fight only when the war reaches their own borders. "Do not claim, then, that you came hither unknowing; but tell me, and tell me truly, what you hoped to gain by it."
He will not tell her truly, she is sure. He will tell nothing truly that must not be pulled from him with tortuous effort, and it does come to her again that it would be simpler to see him dead. There, then, would pass the threat of gold-hunger, there would pass the threat of knowledge escaping with him, there would pass the burden of his keep.
There would pass peace, if his father is as powerful as he seems to think, and knows where his son has gone. And there would pass honour, for despite her threats, he has committed no dire crime worthy of execution, and they are not Orcs, to take prisoners only to slay at leisure.
"Where are your lands? Under what banner? How far did you ride?"