[The king's words are tempting and troublesome. There was a life, a Crowe, before the Kingsglaive, and what she retains of it is...lacking. It is a time she prefers to keep to herself. Hearing Regis extol the work she and her fellows have done on his behalf (she does not dare think for his safety because though others ground her order into dust beneath the heels of their words, the king respected and felt for the refugees able to fight with his power) hurts also. How many of them were paying him only lip service until something better came along?
What would such a life entail, one with no war and no hard promises? They were so sure of defending their home, as it were, from Niflheim, to the last man. It is all she knows how to know...or so she tells herself.]
I'm a Glaive. Sir. Choices or not, war or not, I don't think I could ever stop being one.
[To survive, you must live as one, and in doing that you will likely die as one. Crowe knew the offer she accepted all those years ago, and now she knows the price of her loyalties. ...And maybe the exchange was fair. She thinks about punching Nyx on the arm and exhausted but good-natured toasts in the dark of a noisy bar and the sight of Niffs retreating in the rare times they managed it.
Ah- he said Nyx. Crowe laughs aloud and silently.]
He always was the kind of hero who needed a big show. [But it is full of affection and respect and worry. The chair she's sitting in becomes suddenly uncomfortable and every shift that touches a new surface creates a static pinch.] I'd bet he'll find a way to make it grander than it needs to be when he tells it later.
[Crowe that's the King of Lucis.] Ah, um. Your Majesty. [Can one clear one's throat mentally? She's trying.] Best of the best, though.
no subject
What would such a life entail, one with no war and no hard promises? They were so sure of defending their home, as it were, from Niflheim, to the last man. It is all she knows how to know...or so she tells herself.]
I'm a Glaive. Sir. Choices or not, war or not, I don't think I could ever stop being one.
[To survive, you must live as one, and in doing that you will likely die as one. Crowe knew the offer she accepted all those years ago, and now she knows the price of her loyalties. ...And maybe the exchange was fair. She thinks about punching Nyx on the arm and exhausted but good-natured toasts in the dark of a noisy bar and the sight of Niffs retreating in the rare times they managed it.
Ah- he said Nyx. Crowe laughs aloud and silently.]
He always was the kind of hero who needed a big show. [But it is full of affection and respect and worry. The chair she's sitting in becomes suddenly uncomfortable and every shift that touches a new surface creates a static pinch.] I'd bet he'll find a way to make it grander than it needs to be when he tells it later.
[Crowe that's the King of Lucis.] Ah, um. Your Majesty. [Can one clear one's throat mentally? She's trying.] Best of the best, though.