Where the Mists Meet the Storm || Tristan, Xanthe Jul 18, 2018 13:12:49 GMT -7
Post by Xanthe on Jul 18, 2018 13:12:49 GMT -7
Being in the heart of an enemy fort - no, not an enemy any longer, but still an invader - was keeping Xanthe's nerves on edge as though at any moment they might spring an ambush and strike her down while she was trapped here. That was not the purpose of these talks, and they had shown no current interest in doing such a thing, however she was no diviner and they could simply be very good at acting. The fort itself was so steeped in magic she could feel it thrumming all around her, like electricity but not as familiar to her. She wondered vaguely if allowing the invaders to stay in her country once peace was established would be a mistake. Would she ever feel truly comfortable around them knowing what they had done to her people? To her Atton? As smoothly as Tristan spoke to her, his words reassuring and kind, she couldn't help but think of how easy trust and kindness could be betrayed.
Feofil was watching Fort Fabelle through the divination window as though looking for something, and Gilles was standing as impassively as ever nearby, the two of them having exchanged words (brief, in Gilles' case) while Xanthe and Tristan had been speaking. She looked down to the paper to see that gold scribbles in different loops and shapes had been inscribed to capture their words, and her eye strayed back to the jagged X that had appeared when she herself had spoken. When Tristan, while sharing with the others, said she could knock her fist to the table twice if he misquoted her - assuring her that she would have no need - she almost fired back a retort that she could speak his language well enough to say it out loud if he did such a thing, but she knew even if she spoke in common the paper wouldn't be able to record it. She almost replied that if he should lie or betray her trust by misspeaking it may not be the table that her fist was knocked against, but she held back the retort as threatening violence at a peace talk probably wasn't the way to go.
"It is," she responded instead, speaking in common for the simple phrase. Strangely enough, perhaps because of the magic of the ring, she could hear an echo of it in Attonian to her own ears. With everything settled, for the most part, she pulled out a chair from the table and took a seat. The sooner they discussed this and signed a treaty the sooner she could leave their fort and its overwhelming magics and they would be one step closer to a free Atton.