[ Giving pause, he seems not to understand her question. Why, indeed. They had met, once upon a dream; they had defended one another for just and righteous cause, and they had shared a kiss. But more than that, she is a person, not so simply a something or a sacrifice, and if Sion Astal, the Hero King, is guilty of any crime at all, it is of loving profoundly, easily, and far too much. Of becoming so enamored with the world and all which stood before him that he went mad with the sentiment, defiled and destroyed by his will to protect.

(And how he would protect her, protect anyone at all.) ]

We are to fight a war together. [ —he answers plainly, simply, for it is all which he might be able to offer her. He sees it, the vague suggestion of annoyance in her features, and cannot help but wonder at it with a slow cant of his head, a hand rising to touch the place where her fingers had lingered upon his cheek. ] Whether you are at my front, my back, or by my side, you will always be a concern of mine; the safety of an ally is paramount.

[ There is no contesting that. ]

Even if you should be in possession of a weapon which might ensnare, crush, and shield in turns. [ Fluidly, seamlessly, he abandons his throne of beach-weathered rock, standing beside her as his eyes fell upon it, the vivid bolt of the Sinner's Shawl marking the ground. ] Shall we put its versatility to the test?