A deep breath, and then two. Then three. He wished he had a pipe, or a flute, so that the constant sound of her honest but lacking attempt at yelling could be drowned out. Eragos tried to believe that he was doing something other than seething, but any other explanation he came up with did not fit. Eithne did not understand, couldn't understand, and she thought... she honestly thought... that Eragos was angry with her. That he wanted Palam alive at their expense, or that he was not aware of the fact that he dropped his weapon. There was enough there to make him angry ten thousand times, each of them enough justification for stabbing her in his mind. If not in his heart. She'd come in here, he thought, to try and help. Her ignorance was the main stumbling block. It was not one that he could remove, but perhaps if he tried to explain things more calmly, she would listen.
"I am not angry with you," and when she started to roll her eyes he snapped at her. "I am not! She earned her fate, and you did what you had to do. I will not say that I forgive you, because there is nothing to forgive."
Another fifteen years, and what would he see then? Her aged somewhat, him ancient, no longer with the strength to lift a sword. Was she the future of the White Riders? But not as she was. As she was, she was too brittle, too hard. Anything that punctured her exterior would destroy her. So she worked hard at making sure that nothing did. Eragos stared at the bed but deliberately did not lay down again. He took another deep breath, and a fifth after that, before he considered speaking again. To explain yourself to a child after a wicked display of temper. It was half-embarrassing and half-irksome. Eithne did not deserve an explanation - had not even asked for one, really, another sign of her blatant stupidity - but he owed it to her now, if only because he'd completely and utterly lost his temper with her for being exactly what she was.
"I told you a story about a pretty bard once, not so long ago. I loved her as much as I've ever loved anything," and each word was a hammerblow to his chest. "And I failed her, three times. I killed the father of her child. I left her to die in that city. And I couldn't find a way to save the last bit of her left in this world. It never should have come to you and Palam. I should have... done what an honorable man would do, found some way to... it is what it is, Eithne. But I don't regret the fact that you survived, or that Bahn survived. I'm not a fool. I know what had to happen."
His hand unclenched, briefly, only to clench again. The knuckles of his fist were turning white.
With anger? He didn't know how angry he still was.
"I don't expect you to understand... what that feels like. But if you ever had any feeling for me, you'll leave me be. Please. I don't need to compare scars, and I don't need to be told that this doesn't matter. If it doesn't matter, then I truly am a sorry example of a knight."