*narrows her eyes, every line of her face sharpening with disdain (and now you must see it—the cold, immovable beauty that earned her her reputation as an ice queen)* *her diction clear and clipped with, yes, fury too great to find footing* She is a child, playing childish games in hopes of provoking a response. I refuse to give her any satisfaction.
*looks at your hand over hers and inhales slowly, feeling the warmth of your palm, the strength of your hold* What would you have me say to her, if I so chose? Even if I were the sort to answer her petty taunts—which I am not—there is no leverage with which I could threaten or cajole her. *lifts her gaze to meet yours, uncertain of exactly when her legs folded down to the grass, shifting her body to face you (and you are so near, she fancies she smells the forest air clinging to you)* The most I could do would be to remove Ingil to Taniquetil, but I would be taking him from that which he loves best. *faint smile* I daresay Írissë will have far worse than myself to deal with, should she truly harm Ingil.