"There needs be no strife between mortal and deathless fey, but peace and understanding," you offer earnestly, for truth and crafted script converge. "The mortals I can reach, or for those madmen and fanatics who will not be moved remove them from the board entirely, but it is harder by far to reach the fey. Many more are there in the Court of Stars I would wager who chaff under the chains binding them, willing to take out their frustrations on mortals, or hurting them not from malice, but simple obliviousness. I ask that you bring them to my side in shadow and in secret, the lords and princes none the wiser..."
"That would be war thou would pledge me to, a battle by stealth and trickery," he counters, suddenly seeming such surer of his footing.
"So then I am at war with every being to whom I do not proclaim my intentions from the rooftops?" you scoff. "Tis peace not war I seek, and any blood will be on the hands of those who shed it." It is not the fey alone who live by their tale. Your own hangs like a shadow upon your every word, a feather upon the scales of fate. Sometimes a feather is enough.
