[ He has always believed that he would kill them all; he had been born knowing it. There has never been anything more certain in his blood, and he recognized that ferocity the instant a sword was first place into his hand. This was what he was made for - killing his enemies, killing his sister's enemies, and thereby making the world their own. No one could overcome him, that was swiftly proven by his natural talent with dog and horse and blade, and his ascent into the most noble brotherhood of knights was all the proof he could've needed: even kings recognized and bowed before his might. He will not think of that bittersweet moment as a footnote in another man's history, as a slanderous grievance in his own. He was the most feared knight across the realm, and there was no one he could not kill. Kings fell to his sword as helplessly as woodland bandits.
Tension forges her shoulders as stiff as wood, and he is as familiar with this pose as he is with that breath that comes before tears. But just as he will not let her fall to fear or grief, so he will not let her give to doubt, and he lifts a hand to brush along her jaw, the pad of his thumb finding her cheek. ]
I will kill them all. [ Guards, husbands, foes, any man she pointed out for him to unsheathe his sword against. Or to lunge at with nothing more than his hands and his teeth, but those would serve in a pinch, when he seems to have lost his steel. And even so, despite this solemn vow that he never tires of swearing, she is pushing against him, intent on freeing herself, it would seem. His breath leaves him as an impatient growl when he commands himself to take a step back, to create measurable space between them once again.
She remarks, of course, upon his stolen sword and the lack of a key to be procured, and he casts a glare out over the hapless fools in the yard, as if they are responsible for how he has found himself disarmed. Before he can remind her that he needs neither sword nor key in order to see the two of them released, his restless green eyes flick down to the hand she extends - the gift she shoves at him. Food, plain food, and something deep in his stomach coils in anticipation at the sight. He has not been fed to his own satisfaction - nowhere near - and he knows she has not, either, so it is without a moment's hesitation that he refuses her hand with a shove of his own, returning the meager gift to her. ]
I've outlasted twice as many hells as you, sweet sister. You eat.
[ Then, more carelessly - ] I'll tear someone's throat out if I get peckish, fear not.
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Tension forges her shoulders as stiff as wood, and he is as familiar with this pose as he is with that breath that comes before tears. But just as he will not let her fall to fear or grief, so he will not let her give to doubt, and he lifts a hand to brush along her jaw, the pad of his thumb finding her cheek. ]
I will kill them all. [ Guards, husbands, foes, any man she pointed out for him to unsheathe his sword against. Or to lunge at with nothing more than his hands and his teeth, but those would serve in a pinch, when he seems to have lost his steel. And even so, despite this solemn vow that he never tires of swearing, she is pushing against him, intent on freeing herself, it would seem. His breath leaves him as an impatient growl when he commands himself to take a step back, to create measurable space between them once again.
She remarks, of course, upon his stolen sword and the lack of a key to be procured, and he casts a glare out over the hapless fools in the yard, as if they are responsible for how he has found himself disarmed. Before he can remind her that he needs neither sword nor key in order to see the two of them released, his restless green eyes flick down to the hand she extends - the gift she shoves at him. Food, plain food, and something deep in his stomach coils in anticipation at the sight. He has not been fed to his own satisfaction - nowhere near - and he knows she has not, either, so it is without a moment's hesitation that he refuses her hand with a shove of his own, returning the meager gift to her. ]
I've outlasted twice as many hells as you, sweet sister. You eat.
[ Then, more carelessly - ] I'll tear someone's throat out if I get peckish, fear not.