AN: According to my stats the last chapter got no views. I don't know if this is an error on the recording end, if the chapter hasn't uploaded or everyone just decided they were done with the story, but I'd appreciate people letting me know if there's been some error. I re-uploaded the last chapter a couple of times just in case, but it didn't seem to do anything. Hopefully this chapter will not also disappear mysteriously.
Settling the Elves
The first task of your week is to see the new arrivals settled. Rising early, you head to their lodgings to get a general idea of how they feel. Though only a short time has passed, and there will be an even shorter time to determine how the elves feel, you are confident that you will learn much from the exercise.
The first discovery surprises you. Solas has done something very similar. He is talking to some of the older members of the group.
"Naturally I understand your concerns. It is never wise to depend on the charity of others, though I am certain that if you simply asked Nelyafinwë would be more than happy to find work for you." He assures them.
"I will do one better." You interject, walking up to them. "I will happily assign people roles even if they do not ask for them."
The group, except Solas, starts at your sudden arrival. Those with less courage briefly wear fear on their faces until your words fully register. Mihnowen and one other elf are wiser, and they regard you with caution instead.
"What exactly do you mean by that?" The healer asks. "I'm not sure if you're aware but slavery is illegal in Ferelden."
Giving the old elf a look filled with all the fury you refuse to express, you respond, "I am offended at the mere suggestion that I am a slaver. All positions are paid, and I will not cast out those who do not work. I will simply make them feel very guilty as others work while they lie idle."
"I must confess, I am surprised to see you so early." Solas remarks casually. "I had thought that Merrill wanted to work on something with you."
"That can wait, this cannot." You reply in a similarly relaxed manner. "I said I would care for those who came to dwell here, and I am an Elda of my word."
"Admirable I suppose." Solas remarks, "Yet it seems that most are still abed. You set a rather punishing pace to reach here."
"I wish to observe the people I have recruited in less formal circumstances than an assembly." You reply. "This is hardly the best opportunity to do so, but I find myself short on options."
"I see. Well, please do not let me prevent you from doing so." Solas states.
"I have one question before you return to what you are doing. What has you up so early?" You ask, more curious than suspicious. "It is as you noted, rather early."
"I wished to help my people settle in their new accommodations." Solas replies calmly. "I would not have them return to their alienage without first exhausting every other option. To that end I thought it best to speak to those among them who they consider leaders."
"I see, please continue then. I appreciate the assistance." You state, turning away to look for an out of the way place to watch your new arrivals.
When you settle into an unobtrusive window seat, you watch the elves as they emerge from their rooms. Solas takes breaks from his conversation with the elder members of the group. With more time to think on the matter you note the lack of the gravely injured and those too old to work.
Perhaps it has something to do with the dangers and rigours of the journey. A quiet, pessimistic, part of you suggests it is because such people do not survive the alienages very long. As the last elf exits their room and heads towards breakfast, you put such speculation behind you and follow after them.
At the table you find yourself in conversation with Solas and two of the older elves.
"What are your plans for this week?" Solas asks. "I know you want to find work for everyone, but surely there is only so much that can be done?"
"Truthfully I was hoping to keep a small portion of the group available for general labour." You answer. "I hope to expand the farms, and that is becoming a labour intensive task. As for the rest? I am not certain, what are your own plans?"
A gleam of something stubborn and proud appears in Solas' eyes. He looks over the elves, who have taken seats far from the humans. His eyes narrow further, and something hard and immovable takes shape within.
"I think it is time I began taking steps to remind them who they are." He says quietly, yet with a certain finality. "Too much has been lost, for far too long."
"Are you certain that is wise?" You ask. "However much I pity them for their lost culture, they have likely formed a new one, should they not be eased into such things more gently?"
"I will thank you not to dictate the fates of My people." Solas responds sharply.
"I am not the one trying to dictate their fate." You observe leadingly.
Solas glances at you. "I know what I am doing."
You maintain eye contact with Solas for a long moment. He meets your gaze fiercely, something you do not quite recognise swirling in his eyes. Eventually, you must accept that you will not sway him on the matter.
"I will trust you on this matter." You inform the elf. "I do not wish to intervene without due cause."
"Your intervention will be unnecessary." Solas proclaims.
With that conversation taken care of, you turn your attention to something more pressing, namely what to do with your new elven staff. You have promised to assign them roles, but the question is what they should do.
A few options present themselves. There are a number of roles that will enable you to make money, which is a tempting prospect. In the end, you decide against such avarice. Instead, you will teach these elves to fill in the holes in your roster about Endatuarëo.
Quickly you plan out what you need. You have more cloth than you need, so increasing the number of tailors will solve the looming clothing crisis. In fact, you might even be able to start creating a stockpile if you add another weaver and additional tailors.
Of course, the carpenter will need someone to cut wood for them. If you reserve some farmers and leave a pool of labourers, you can get a new farm done in half the time otherwise. They will need a leader, and with so many people here there should be more healers.
The last role you decide to fill is that of your blacksmiths. Maintaining weapons and armour is expensive but having sufficient blacksmiths on retainer will let you sidestep that issue. The only trial will be training them.
On that note, training is going to be the primary bottleneck of the entire affair. If you try to teach each group the very basics then you will finish the week and still not have taught everyone what they need to know.
Fortunately, you are not the only teacher in the building. In fact, if you assign teachers with sufficient care, you will not need to teach anyone this week. Still, you are getting ahead of yourself. First you must assign people to their new roles.
There are a number of possibilities, but the easiest one is to avail yourself of Solas' services.
"Solas, you volunteered to find a future leader for the elves, has there been any progress on the matter?" You ask the elf.
The bald apostate raises an eyebrow. "That is a rather sudden change of subject. Besides, it has been only a single day, it is far too soon to have trained anyone."
"True." You reply. "Yet, I had hoped in your discussions this morning you had found someone who was the most likely candidate."
"I have not. May I ask why?" Solas states unhurriedly.
"I believe it will be far easier to allow the elves to organise themselves, rather than assigning them tasks as an 'outsider'." You explain your reasoning. "As it is I suppose we have no choice."
"Why not simply let them choose their own roles?" Solas asks?
You give the elf a flat look. "If we do so, there will be half a dozen people who want to do a task that requires one, and one who wants to do the task that requires ten."
Solas grimaces. "True enough, I suppose, but I still think you're making a bigger deal of this then it needs to be."
"At no point did I say I could not do it." You repudiate his claim. "I merely believe that it would be better if the task was done by one who knows the elves better. It would soothe the assigned and be most likely to get people somewhere they will be content."
Solas pauses a moment, head cocked in thought. "Perhaps there is an option. We could hold an election."
"An election?" You clarify. "To what end? I hardly see how such a proceeding will be of any benefit."
Solas gives you an amused smile. "I meant for the position of leader. The elves can elect a representative."
"Elect their leader?" You ask, stunned. "What absolute madness is that?"
"It would grant them legitimacy that they would lack if either of us chose them. It also increases the chance that they will be well connected locally, thereby giving them the knowledge you are seeking." Solas replies calmly.
"Even if that is true, it is simply wrong." You protest fiercely. "They will not choose the best leader; they will choose whoever they think will benefit them personally! Even that outcome assumes they can agree enough to choose a single individual!"
"Leadership can be taught," Solas answers unmoved. "And you have not addressed my other arguments."
For several long minutes, you wrestle with your distaste for the proposal. Solas has a point, as much as you dislike it.
"I am willing to… try." You eventually force out through gritted teeth. "It will go horribly, I am certain, but I will attempt your idea."
To your surprise, and suspicion, an androgenous looking male named Saris is elected by a two thirds majority. He takes to the task of assigning roles with vigour. You notice that those who voted for him tend to end up in the better paid positions, but you are willing to wait until they have been in their roles a time before you assume corruption.
Once everyone has a role, they are assigned to someone who already has that role. They will observe and assist this week to learn the ropes, and next week they will begin to take on responsibilities and receive pay.
Solas wanders off with the group, and you are about to follow, when the three who have yet to receive work approach you.
"No offense boss, but surely you don't expect us to do that sort of thing?" The leader of the criminals smirks. "Waste of our talents it is."
As much as you are tempted to assign him to farming just to spite him, your reason prevails. Their profession has granted them skills that can be put to better use elsewhere.
As distasteful as you find such matters, you are in desperate need of information on your neighbours and what goes on in Ferelden. Trusting criminals with such tasks would seem unwise, but you hardly want them to do anything truly dramatic at this junction.
"Here is what I want you three to do." You instruct the smug humans. "I want the three of you to go to a city each. There you will find employment, ideally in the castle, but anywhere close will do. You will then pass regular reports back to me of the goings on therein. Can you all write?"
"You want us to spy for you?" One of the elves asks disbelieving.
"The word 'spy' has connotations that do not apply in this context." You clarify. "What I desire, is information that is publicly available but I cannot access from here. If troops are massing, what is available to buy, are people hungry?"
The three glance at each other for a moment, then they nod. "Alright boss sounds doable. You givin' out letters of recommendation?"
For a moment your consider agreeing, but decide against it. "No, I think it would be unwise to leave an obvious link back to myself. To return to my question, can you all write?"
The three nod or mumble their agreement and you begin making arrangements for how information and pay will be processed.
When you have finished with the 'alleged' criminals, you catch up with Solas. His language lesson is not going well.
"Why are you wasting our time with this nonsense!" One of the blacksmiths yells. "I need to learn a trade from square one, I don't have time for ancient language lessons."
There is a broad chorus of agreement from the assembled elves. Solas remains unreadable, but you suspect he is growing frustrated.
"This is an important part of who you are." He replies, a hint of passion colouring his usually dry voice. "If you wait to learn until you have 'nothing better to do' you will wait until you die. If something is important you have to make time for it."
There is a chorus of disagreement. Solas notices you at this point but makes no sign that he wants your aid. True to your word, you do not interfere. A part of you respects Solas for not asking for your aid, while another part scoffs at his arrogance.
Eventually the apostate manages to quiet the room enough to attempt to convince the assembled elves they should learn their hereditary language. You admire his persistence and even agree with his sentiment, though you question his timing.
You look forward to seeing what he does.
Solas wracks his brain for how to get these elves on board with learning their language. He had not expected this level of resistance to the idea. Perhaps he was truly disconnected from his own people, too separated by time and culture to truly understand them? No, he refused to accept that.
An idea finally worms its way into his head. The elf grits his teeth in annoyance. He knows that some children are taught with songs, and he has heard his host try to use them with adults. It feels undignified, but it has seen some success.
Solas runs his hand down his face and sighs. The strange elf is going to be so insufferably smug if he does this, but what choice does he have?
"I understand that many of you feel like this class is a waste of time, so I will not keep you long." The ancient creature projects his voice over the susurrus of the room. "I think it will benefit everyone to learn a little of our shared language."
The faces of the crowd look mutinous, and Solas' eyes flick once more to the elf leaning against the back wall. Thus far he has said nothing, something which should surprise Solas, yet does not. He is beginning to accept that even if he is right about the elf's parentage, the 'Noldo' is an elf of his word.
The other elves are still less than pleased, and Solas needs to calm them.
"Strange though it sounds, I think it will benefit us all to learn a song together. Please stop me if you already know this one." He says.
The song he chose is one that was rather popular when he was growing up and therefore, due to the perpetual stasis the Evanuris brought to Elvhen culture, very popular when he was last awake.
'The Singing Cuckoo of Summer' it was called, and it had been sung at many a spring festival. It should work extremely well, given the simplistic call and response at its core.
From the dull unrecognising gazes he receives as he finished the, admittedly lengthy, ditty; it had not been recognised. Even Nelyafinwë, who at least looked alert, seemed to be struggling to comprehend the words.
For a moment, there is silence in the room, then one of the more belligerent elves starts yelling about mocking other elves, which leads to the whole room shouting questions at Solas.
"None of those words were even elvish!" One woman yells in annoyance.
"What kind of a song even is that!" A more musically inclined individual complained. "Its rhythm is all strange and wrong! Also, I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to put rests in the middle of lyrics."
At first, Solas attempted to answer their concerns calmly, hoping that a more measured mood would be infectious. "The words are elvish, though you may find that pronunciation has drifted somewhat. As for music, it was sung correctly, simply in a different tradition to Ferelden's music."
His words are soon swallowed by noise. Contrary to his hopes, answering the questions he is asked has only dug his critics deeper into their opposition of him. Noise surges, and reasoned arguments are quickly replaced by heated insults.
Solas could calm them, he has played crowds like fiddles in the past, yet he sees in this an opportunity. Thus far silent, Nelyafinwë still leans against the back wall. What he does to calm this situation might reveal much of his nature.
Feigning desperation, as though the situation has spiralled beyond his control, Solas locks eyes with Nelyafinwë.
"Help me."
You will never understand the distaste for music common in this land. In your experience most people will sing songs if left to their own devices, yet so many in this land act as though singing were some secret shame acted on alone and never in company.
Such thoughts fall by the wayside when Solas requests your intervention. It takes but a moment to discard a number of more conventional interruptions. Near thirty people are in this room yelling and talking over each other, you can make your voice carry well but it still liable to be lost in the chaos.
With only one clear option, and perhaps inspired by the content of the lesson, you take a deep breath and let out a single note.
Silence so thick it is almost a physical presence flows from your lips. The elves pause in horror as their words fail to materialise, even as tongues and lips move. When the power of your note fades the silence remains, so stunned are the occupants of the room.
"Perhaps we could speak one at a time." You state mildly. "I hope I do not need to explain basic manners to you."
There is an embarrassed tone to the silence now. Elves shuffle from one foot to another, Solas excepted of course. When nobody proves willing to be the first to resume criticising the apostate, you speak again.
"Now, I think it might be best if people with an assigned task go to meet their teachers." You instruct, remaining calm but leaving little room to doubt that doing so is not optional.
It takes no small amount of time to direct everyone to where they need to go. Once most of the elves have exited, there are a few labourers still there, and of course Solas.
"Now, I think it would be wonderful to have a celebration to welcome our new friends to Endataurëo, do you not agree Solas?" You ask.
Solas nods slowly. "I suppose there would be singing at such an event?"
You smile brightly. "Of course! Perhaps you could teach us that cheery song from just now. We will put together something of a choir and make a proper show of it."
Organising said choir requires you to fetch some of your other staff, Crowsfoot in particular. Learning the song is an engaging task and it almost makes up for the work you need to put into organising a party at short notice
The Unusually Silent Sister
The elves enjoy the small feast you have put together for them, singing and dancing happily as though they had not been screaming their resistance to such activities not an hour ago. The secret to unlocking Thedas' musical spirit seems to be good food and drink, you will remember that.
For your part, you are not partaking in the festivities. You have a more pressing concern, and as soon as you are certain you will not be noticed, you slip away.
Since the last time you spoke to her, Sister Nova has been avoiding you. She can be seen at mealtimes, but her previous eagerness to teach you has vanished. In corridors she will duck into side rooms so she need not pass you, her seat at dinner is always at another table.
In others such behaviour would not concern you. Many in your family prefer their own company, and you begrudge none who dislike you. Though few in this land have cause to do so, you refuse to dignify their wrath by reciprocating.
Yet Nova is different. In her eyes you have seen the obsession that unmade your father. Perhaps she has decided that you are unteachable and thus chooses to shun you, but you doubt it. Far more likely, she has some machination she wishes to lie hidden until she springs it upon you. It may prove harmless to others, but you cannot simply allow it until you are certain.
For this reason, you seek the Sister within your home. Finding her proves a challenge all its own. She is reclusive around all others, not merely yourself and none can tell you where she might be. This concerns you yet further, for you have no desire to drive the woman into isolation.
You try her room and find her absent, so you begin a search of other likely places. Eventually you find her inside an entertainment room, admiring the Elvhen style mosaics upon the walls.
"What do you think of them?" You ask as an introduction.
Nova whirls around, staring at you. "What?"
"The mosaics. I am interested in your thoughts." You repeat, walking towards the topic of your question.
"They're nice, I guess." She replies cautiously. "I don't really know what they mean, but they're pretty enough."
"I do not know what they mean either." You admit, admiring the patterns. "I modelled them on the decorations already here when I arrived, rather than a creation of my own."
"I see." The Sister says, glancing at the door.
"Why have you been avoiding me?" You ask casually.
"What was that?" She asks, startled from her thoughts of escape.
"You have been avoiding me. I wish to know why." You repeat yourself calmly.
"Why do you care?" The woman spits in fury. "Do you wish to lure me into another trap, to twist me up with your words until I find myself doubting all I know to be true?"
"Hardly, not that I have done so previously." You reply, glancing back at her. "I ask because I am concerned. You isolate yourself from all who dwell within my halls. None know where you are or have spoken to you in weeks. That is not healthy."
"You expect me to believe, after everything you've said, that you care about my wellbeing?" Nova sneers. "I find that hard to believe. Is this perhaps another threat?"
"I confess, compassion was not the reason I initially sought you out." You admit. "Yet, when my search revealed that you had not spoken to others in weeks, I grew concerned."
"Really? You grew concerned for me?" Nova asks, disbelieving.
"I understand it may seem hard to believe." You say, "Yet, I do not wish you harm. I dislike you, I find your manner of speech offensive, but I would not stand by if you were in need of aid."
"That's rather different from what you said when we first met." She snarls. "Not one moment after my allies were gone, and out came the threats."
You pause, taken aback by both the vehemence in her tone, and the truth of her words. As much as you had tried to soften the matter, you had essentially threatened to imprison her.
With an effort of will, you force yourself to do what you know is right. "I… apologise."
Nova stares at you open mouthed. For your part, you are less than pleased. You acknowledge you had perhaps been more forceful than necessary, but the woman had driven you to it. Still, allowing grudges to persist will not put an end to the hostility between the two of you. Even if you do not think you were wrong, you still must apologise.
"I understand that it is no excuse, but I feared for the lives of my companions at the time. I overreacted. Please forgive me." Your will extends only as far as your words and tone, you cannot force yourself to bow.
Nova is taken aback by your words. Her entire conception of your relationship unmoored, now is the best chance to propose a way to finally make a connection to her.
Idly, you consider if a fresh start may be the best path forward. Though she has not made much of an impression on you, perhaps if given the chance she might prove her initial impression false. Tempting though it is, you put aside that option. If reeks too much of fleeing responsibility for your own actions.
"Tell me Nova, how did you become a Sister?" You ask.
What this situation calls for is a personal touch. Revealing oneself to others is the first step to connecting with them. If one wishes to truly change someone's mind, they must come as a friend who seeks to help, rather than a foe who seeks to destroy.
"What?" Nova asks, suspicious. "What kind of a question is that? You just apologise and then move on as if nothing happened?"
"Hardly, though I understand why you might feel that way." You reply, inspecting the tall, robed figure in the mosaic. "Quite to the contrary, I am attempting to make up for my rudeness by learning who you are."
"How is that even related?" The human asks, annoyed. "You're acting weirdly, stop it!"
Is that the symbol on your helmet? The one that represents Falon'din? With a shake of your head, you turn to face the human girl. You look at her, a potent cocktail of fear, anger and despair on her face.
Looking the human in the eyes, you say, "I understand my behaviour seems strange, but I assure you that in trying to form a personal connection, I am very much attempting to make up for my less than hospitable welcome."
You hold up a hand to forestall her reply. Despite her clear ill will, she does not speak. She glares at you fiercely instead, but you will take your victories where you find them.
"Your goal is to convert me to following the Maker you worship." You remind her, to her clear irritation. "I am worried by your isolation and lack of a friend. So, there is an elegant solution that will get us both what we want. I will simply become your friend."
"You expect me to believe you want to be my friend?" The woman snorts. "Don't be ridiculous. You can't stand me, nor I you."
"I agree that is very much the case right now." You agree pleasantly. "Yet it is nothing that cannot be changed. If we take the time to learn of each other, I suspect we will find something we can respect. That will, perhaps, be enough for friendship."
Nova's face take a thoughtful cast. Her eyes flick form you, to the mosaics then to the window.
"How does that help me in my goal exactly?" She asks. "It seems as though you are getting all you want, while I get nothing."
You smile at her. "If I were to tell you that everything you believe is a lie, would you heed me? No. If a close friend, one you trust with your life said the same, surely you would listen? If only to find out where they have been misled."
For a long moment all is quiet.
"I never really saw any other choice in the matter." Nova says, looking at the mosaic. "I was raised in a Chantry orphanage, and I always wanted to be like my caretakers. They were so wise and kind, and I thought 'surely these are the messengers of the Maker'."
"It is fascinating how those around us shape our lives." You muse, looking at the mosaic in question. "Do you enjoy the work?"
"I enjoy bringing the Maker's light to those who need it." Nova answers. "I also find it deeply fulfilling to carry out my duties to the Maker and the Chantry."
"What duties are those?" You ask. "I grew up far from any chantry, and I confess I have no idea what your duties actually are."
"Well, there's the daily prayers obviously." Nova begins. "There's a lot to memorise, and we try to go through the whole Chant of Light at least once a week. Then there's the charity work. Mostly that means going to alienages…"
As the human speaks, you consider what you will share in turn. What parts of yourself are you willing to reveal to the stranger?
To your final question, on how she finds charity work, Nova replies "In truth I always find myself uncomfortable in the Alienages, I worry that I am going to be robbed or worse. I know I am there to help and that most elves are simply desperate not criminal. It doesn't help though."
"We cannot always control our thoughts, only our actions." You offer an opinion on the matter. "So long as you are not allowing your fear to bar you from offering charity where it is needed, I think there is no evil in feeling that way. With luck, time will soothe such fears."
Nova laughs quietly. "You sound like Sister Evora. She said something similar."
"The truth is what it is, with little care for allegiance or the feelings of mortals." You observe to the human.
For a moment there is silence as the Sister reflects on your conversation. For your part you are surprised and pleased by what she has revealed. It may not be much on the surface but learning how she feels is a great step forward in many ways.
"Enough about me." Nova says, shaking herself. "It hardly seems fair that I reveal so much when I know so little of you. I think it is your turn to talk."
"Have you a question?" You ask.
The Sister thinks for a moment, then shakes her head. "No, I don't think so. This whole affair was your idea, so tell me something that will convince me that this was a good idea."
"Then let us begin with my birth." You jest, though only partly.
When Nova glares at you, you chuckle and raise your hands. "I was born in Tirion, on the island of Aman. My father was a great smith and my mother a stubborn sculptor. I have seven brothers, of whom I am the eldest."
"I can't say I find this particularly enlightening." Nova notes, deadpan. "It sounds like the kinds of things one might find in a genealogy."
"True enough, but it is important context for the more detailed tales." You explain. "Tirion was the largest city of my people, and its beauty is without compare. It stands by the silver glass of the sea, and its white walls are a sight to behold."
For a time, you lose yourself in describing the proud capital of Eldamar. You speak of the markets that bustle with the finest crafts of the Noldor, of the proud towers that rise elegantly above the city. Then you lavish detail on your childhood home, on the brightly coloured nursery where you slept a time, the great forge where your father worked and the warm hearth around which your mother sang to her sons.
"Truly there is no city like Tirion, not in all the mortal world." You finish, you had heard that Gondolin came close, though you have never seen it.
Nova seems interested, not quite captured the way Solas had been, but still fascinated. "I have never heard of such a city. While I doubt that it is objectively the most beautiful, it still sounds lovely. I would love to see it one day."
You smile sadly. "I fear you will ever have the chance."
Nova's eyes narrow. "Ah, you said 'in the mortal world' the city was destroyed then?"
"Not as such." You reply carefully. "More that I was banished from it a time, and I fear it has since closed its gates to outsiders."
"Banished?" Nova asks, something between concern and predatory excitement in her voice. "That sounds like a story."
"For close friends and those I trust." You put an end to that line of inquiry before it can begin. "Instead, I wish to talk about the days before that time, in elder days before I took up the sword."
Nova examines your face for a time, then seems to come to a decision. "Yes, that sounds like quite the tale itself. How does the son of a smith and a sculptor become the master of a fortress in a forest?"
"I suppose the blame for that lies on my grandfather Finwë. As a child I visited his court and became enamoured. From there I entered his tutelage, and any other I could convince to pass on any scrap of wisdom. From there, the history writes itself." You reminisce fondly.
"Your grandfather was a noble? Was your father a bastard?" Nova asks.
The thought of calling Finwë, High King of the Noldor and lord of Tirion, being called a mere noble is too funny for you to correct. "Eldar have no bastards. The succession laws of the Noldor are a little complex, and it is necessary for princes to have some trade beyond their title."
"How does that lead to you learning from your grandfather?" Nova asks, honestly confused. "Is being a noble a trade?"
You shake your head. "No, it is the arts of diplomacy, politics and law that I learned from my grandfather. Leadership is the role of a noble, and it can be learned elsewhere."
"I see." Nova nods a few times. "I thought I'd find that harder to believe, but you certainly act like a noble."
For a moment you feel flattered, until you remember the typical behaviour of human nobles. "Where do these cruel accusations come from? I had thought we were having a rather pleasant conversation."
Nova barks a sudden laugh at your words. As you press her to withdraw her insult her laughter only increases in intensity. Despite the hurt her words engender, you still feel pleased by how the conversation has gone.