Her hand lifts - thank you, Kitty. But - "It's alright. This is their choice. I heed them."
She rises, fishing for the silver chain and bows her head as she takes it off. Rolling it around in her palm. It was old, and yet, it had not aged a day. The silver markings, the snake eating its own tail. Different to the one Galahad bore. A design from a different century, a different place.
What had she done? Her thumb brushes against the coat of arms embossed on the back. What had she done with Sir Bors de Ganis? He had been such an old man, his bones looked so frail inside his skin for all his strength. Does she look like that, to them? Probably not, just old and a fool and stubborn.
"I understood him, that after the odd nine hundred years he had lived, you no longer see the world that way. I saw him no differently than the bandits that out of fear of starving took whatever food they could. If I accepted them into my army, why not understand him, also? People, time, take something from you seldom can get back. I took his guilt as genuine, I understood him, and I took him into my court." Her nails scratches against a bump, an old scratch. Gunfire, it looked like. That way of smooth and rough. "And for my trust, he died for me. I understand him, better now I think. I understood how hard it is to trust anyone at all when you know the wickedness or fear in their hearts. As for secrets - it wasn't one. Everyone knows of the blackwater drinkers, where it is kept, who wields it. They form a branch of a foreign government that defends the people."
Standing in front of Coupe, once more, she doesn't pass it to any of them. But she slides it, drops it so it hangs a moment from the chain, pendulum-like. Swinging like a clock count. "If this is your decision: I have given my word. But, as such, it means my duty as I swore it, has ended. If the Queen of Jhansi was the mantel I took up as a warrior for my people, and if I am no longer needed as one? Then - "
Forgive her Byerly, she meant to keep those words. But horrifyingly enough, she doesn't sound morbid, miserable. There is maybe a relief to this. "Self-immolation is what I would prefer since I cannot die in battle. I have set up what is required for it, but I would like another day so I may prepare my mind."
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She rises, fishing for the silver chain and bows her head as she takes it off. Rolling it around in her palm. It was old, and yet, it had not aged a day. The silver markings, the snake eating its own tail. Different to the one Galahad bore. A design from a different century, a different place.
What had she done? Her thumb brushes against the coat of arms embossed on the back. What had she done with Sir Bors de Ganis? He had been such an old man, his bones looked so frail inside his skin for all his strength. Does she look like that, to them? Probably not, just old and a fool and stubborn.
"I understood him, that after the odd nine hundred years he had lived, you no longer see the world that way. I saw him no differently than the bandits that out of fear of starving took whatever food they could. If I accepted them into my army, why not understand him, also? People, time, take something from you seldom can get back. I took his guilt as genuine, I understood him, and I took him into my court." Her nails scratches against a bump, an old scratch. Gunfire, it looked like. That way of smooth and rough. "And for my trust, he died for me. I understand him, better now I think. I understood how hard it is to trust anyone at all when you know the wickedness or fear in their hearts. As for secrets - it wasn't one. Everyone knows of the blackwater drinkers, where it is kept, who wields it. They form a branch of a foreign government that defends the people."
Standing in front of Coupe, once more, she doesn't pass it to any of them. But she slides it, drops it so it hangs a moment from the chain, pendulum-like. Swinging like a clock count. "If this is your decision: I have given my word. But, as such, it means my duty as I swore it, has ended. If the Queen of Jhansi was the mantel I took up as a warrior for my people, and if I am no longer needed as one? Then - "
Forgive her Byerly, she meant to keep those words. But horrifyingly enough, she doesn't sound morbid, miserable. There is maybe a relief to this. "Self-immolation is what I would prefer since I cannot die in battle. I have set up what is required for it, but I would like another day so I may prepare my mind."