He had no desire to see the other man cry, though Are's smile returned swiftly enough for Jigano to hide a snort into his beer. Was that all it took, then? So swiftly did the storm clouds of guilt and regret wash away for the cobbler! The lorekeeper had never been so carefree, he considered silently. Not, at least, since he'd left boyhood behind and begun walking darker roads. He might have hoped that Caido would provide quieter, if not easier, paths... but the gods who warred here had dashed that particular hope quite thoroughly.
And what price had their freedom been bought at?
He let slip his pride, just a little, in the thawing of his attitude towards the hapless cobbler, and allowed himself a moment's defense of the insult he had been given. He had hoped for respect, but instead...
As Are spoke the chill returned to his mien, and he gave a deceptively gentle shake of his head. "Do not mistake tolerance for friendship, son of Jorm," he said, his voice not as cold as it had been but holding a touch of that frost. "Especially when you so quickly fall back into old habits that cost you that friendship in the first place. If you know that skalds may also be warriors then that made your insult to me last night a personal one, rather than a slight against skalds and bards in general," he pointed out. "'You keep to stories and books, skald,' wasn't it? 'Let the warriors keep to theirs?'" Gently, he set his mug down, and gently he pushed it away, folding slender fingers on the tabletop with controlled precision.
"Perhaps you would not need to question how well I fight," he said, soft enough that Are would have to strain to hear him above the sounds of the bar around them, "if you had done what a baker and a farmer and a mere skald had the courage to do, and entered the Spire to rescue those within - those who, I would point out, weren't even our friends. And in the case of former captain Roana, was a woman who had made herself our enemy. And still we went in after them," he spoke in an even, almost conversational voice, but the hardness was back in his eyes. "Into poison and darkness and danger, to try and pull them out again. So you tell me, son of Jorm, which one of us is stronger?"
And what price had their freedom been bought at?
He let slip his pride, just a little, in the thawing of his attitude towards the hapless cobbler, and allowed himself a moment's defense of the insult he had been given. He had hoped for respect, but instead...
As Are spoke the chill returned to his mien, and he gave a deceptively gentle shake of his head. "Do not mistake tolerance for friendship, son of Jorm," he said, his voice not as cold as it had been but holding a touch of that frost. "Especially when you so quickly fall back into old habits that cost you that friendship in the first place. If you know that skalds may also be warriors then that made your insult to me last night a personal one, rather than a slight against skalds and bards in general," he pointed out. "'You keep to stories and books, skald,' wasn't it? 'Let the warriors keep to theirs?'" Gently, he set his mug down, and gently he pushed it away, folding slender fingers on the tabletop with controlled precision.
"Perhaps you would not need to question how well I fight," he said, soft enough that Are would have to strain to hear him above the sounds of the bar around them, "if you had done what a baker and a farmer and a mere skald had the courage to do, and entered the Spire to rescue those within - those who, I would point out, weren't even our friends. And in the case of former captain Roana, was a woman who had made herself our enemy. And still we went in after them," he spoke in an even, almost conversational voice, but the hardness was back in his eyes. "Into poison and darkness and danger, to try and pull them out again. So you tell me, son of Jorm, which one of us is stronger?"
