"Giving you to Ramga requires a convincing betrayal."
Her voice was soft, insistent and still very much stubborn. Her smooth brow creased and she stepped closer, though not enough to be uncomfortable in his presence. He was choosing a fine time indeed to ask her for something that she'd set out not to do.
"You pick a poor time to play with snakes. I am a good actress, I am sure that you have realized that by now. Yet so has he."
Pressing her lips together, she could only stand watching Lord Ilúvatar straighten his cape for so long. Fiaethe reached up and brushed his fingers away. It wasn't that he was incapable, but...she pulled at the clasps to get his cape to fall the correct way. Her fingers nimbly shut the clasps afterward. She was by no means an expert at them, she did not spend much time putting clothes on people, but Fiaethe knew what Ilúvatar should have looked like, standing there full of so much heroism and foolishness.
Fiaethe touched his collar and met his eyes again. Ilúvatar, she had always thought, was colored darkly for a Sylvan. She knew too many with light, fiery hair and eyes that seemed otherworldly. Most Wild Ones were otherworldly, moving through the forests with such violent silence. This fierceness that lived inside him was a different sort. Ilúvatar's eyes showed his pain in the blackest parts, along the border of his irises. Had he spoken to her with any other eyes, Fiaethe wouldn't have believed him.
"I do not like the idea," she said quietly. "I trust your steel more than any in Astarii. And I can play a part to the bitter end, if that is what you truly want of me, if that would help you most. I never was above doing what was necessary."
Her fingers curled against her palm as she took her hand back.