[color=#1A1A3B][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]		    had began to turn as Ophelia had originally, well and ready to depart and even as the Queen had urged them to tarry a moment longer, he had ignored her. Thus, half turned, the words washed over him [i]“Thou speak of the Lord of Providence”[/i].

So froze the Azure-eyed Hunter.

He grew still, features hard, as if he were a statue whose grim features promised death.

[i]“Gods help us… we had read about the baneful Gilded Trickster…”[/i]

That deathly stillness, like stone briefly embodied within his flesh, fell away, the faint twitching of his fingers occurring momentarily before he turned once more to face the Queen. A smile shimmered in his eyes, his lips barely upturned.

[i]An ally against the Bastard wrought of Gold.[/i]

How fortuitous that the Queen’s grace might be matched only by her wisdom. Further, as Ophelia and she exchanged further words, it was more than a relief–a boon for true–that Queen Analise had her own protections against the Golden Bastard.

Further, the tidings that she brought, speaking of something she had once read, surely before the forcing of that horrid mask upon her, only made Farren’s gladness grow.

Ophelia laughed.

Farren smiled, broad and true, teeth bared. A predator’s rictus joined with the smug amusement of a man finally–conclusively–proven right.

As Ophelia’s own laughter tapered away, Farren’s deeper chuckle could be briefly heard. Vanishingly rare, and gone as soon as it had come.

Farren did not kneel, but even as the Queen offered her warnings and advice–and Ophelia replied, then rose and began to turn towards the lantern once more–Farren, still smiling, though perhaps less sinister than before, swept into a bow nearly to the waist. [color=#1A1A3B][b]“My thanks, your grace. To know with greater certainty the bent of the Golden Bastard’s mien gladdens me. Indeed, the Church’s ill words of you and yours must indeed be utter tripe, for I see before me only wisdom and temperance veiled beneath thy cage of iron. Assuredly…we shall see to it that you are burdened no longer by your mask.”[/b][/color]

Then, though his bow was no truly noble thing, Farren rose, gave her a respectful nod, and waited a beat to ensure that any response of hers was held in his regard, before he turned away.

It was a measure of respect that before that moment he’d merely played at, his prior manner a faint ghost of proper etiquette.