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"Don't get ahead of yourself, Sir Hael," you give a calm and measured response to the sword digging into your neck. Shamhat wants nothing less than to jump into your hands and shatter Robert's mind, but such action would be counterproductive right now. Perhaps if he does not see reason, you will reveal your Divine Spear. For now, your eyes glow as you draw a trickle of mana to wield your gift with gentle precision. "Baron Şoimul has not died just yet. His heart has merely stopped."
"His heart has merely-" Robert repeats what you said with a scoff of disbelief. "I'm not sure how you Elves see that with all your faery nonsense, but we call that <span class="mu-i">death</span> her. Give me one good reason why I should not cut you down here and now."
"I will give you three, if it please you," you tell him.
He pulls his sword back from your neck. Not to sheath it, but to raise it up in preparation for a death stroke. He takes a deep breath in for a moment, and the stroke does not come immediately. "Alright, Childe Lagneia, I'll hear them. But if they're not to my satisfaction, I'll be taking your head, and damn the consequences."
"Well, I was going to note that executing a criminal without a proper trial before a jury carries with it a death sentence itself by your own laws," you tell him. Though the codex in the Gymnasium that you studied was near as old as you, such a fundamental law changing in such a short period of time is rather unlikely. You eye Robert though, and consider his own words. "But..."
"As I said, damn the consequences," Robert points out, to which you can only shrug. "The other two?"
"Well, first, I am currently keeping your lord as far away from the edge of death as I can hold him," you inform him with a blithe stare, giving a meaningful look at the sword raised and ready to cut your head off. When he gives you a flat look of disbelief, you sigh. But you don't remove your hand from Azar's neck. "Blood is iron and rust given life. The Divine Gift granted unto me when I made my vows is the manipulation of metal. Look at his chest rise and fall with his breath - what his heart cannot do right now, I do for it. Separating my head from my shoulders would end your lord just as surely as it would end me."
"That... is a damned good reason not to take your head," Robert admits.
He lowers his weapon and sheathes it, though he is no fool. He calls in the other two guardsmen before squatting down next to where you sit, looking to verify the fact that his Lord indeed still breathes - albeit weakly. When he is satisfied that you are not simply making a puppet of a corpse, he stands back up. "I trust the third reason was that you possessed some magic to restore his heart, then?"
"That, and the fact that I only refrained from melting your sword as a courtesy to your own noble heart," you say. Both you and Robert give a hollow laugh, before you continue with the details. "I know of two means by which I could heal the heart that I have - literally - broken."
