[ When they've had some space from this interaction, when she's had time to really fathom what this all means in the grand scheme of things, Hilda will probably find the humour in the situation. But so wrapped up in her own confusion her brow immediately furrows when Claude's barely restrained chuckle turns into an unrestrained laugh. In an attempt to remain Serious, her cheeks puff up as a poor attempt to keep the smile that always came hand in hand with his real laughter.
Even that can't detract from the fact that he so breezily spoke about his own half-brother trying to kill him along with any other nameless faces. The very thought kindles something white hot in her chest, turning the hand in her lap into a fist. In chiding she gives him a soft punch in the arm as the crease between her eyebrows returns. ]
Don't say that. No one is going to kill you. They'd have to get through me first.
[ The last part seems to take her by surprise - almost as if she hadn't meant to say it at all. Even though she's known for a year now that she had died for him on some bridge far away from Goneril, this is the first time she's verbally said something of the same effect. In the dim light of the room her cheeks flush and she's quick to move on before he can address it. ]
Although I'm sure being royalty you probably have guards and retainers for that sort of thing.
[ But then that begs the question: if she doesn't address that, does she have to address this other thing he's said? This other sentiment that still feels so fragile and hopeful and small like a fledgling? The only answer is yes because she's made that promise to him that they would try this. This being them. Threading their fingers together she squeezes them tight, feeling the heat in her cheeks grow. ]
I would have thought that someone in your...position [ Goddess that's weird to say that. ] would have to be with someone who means something in society.
[ Her heart clenches at the thought of Petra and Sylvain. People with titles. People that were talented, smart, brave - everything the youngest daughter of Goneril isn't. ]
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Even that can't detract from the fact that he so breezily spoke about his own half-brother trying to kill him along with any other nameless faces. The very thought kindles something white hot in her chest, turning the hand in her lap into a fist. In chiding she gives him a soft punch in the arm as the crease between her eyebrows returns. ]
Don't say that. No one is going to kill you. They'd have to get through me first.
[ The last part seems to take her by surprise - almost as if she hadn't meant to say it at all. Even though she's known for a year now that she had died for him on some bridge far away from Goneril, this is the first time she's verbally said something of the same effect. In the dim light of the room her cheeks flush and she's quick to move on before he can address it. ]
Although I'm sure being royalty you probably have guards and retainers for that sort of thing.
[ But then that begs the question: if she doesn't address that, does she have to address this other thing he's said? This other sentiment that still feels so fragile and hopeful and small like a fledgling? The only answer is yes because she's made that promise to him that they would try this. This being them. Threading their fingers together she squeezes them tight, feeling the heat in her cheeks grow. ]
I would have thought that someone in your...position [ Goddess that's weird to say that. ] would have to be with someone who means something in society.
[ Her heart clenches at the thought of Petra and Sylvain. People with titles. People that were talented, smart, brave - everything the youngest daughter of Goneril isn't. ]