[The Forgemaster searches her face for something to exploit with unblinking intensity, panting softly, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he wrestles with his more violent impulses. But then, in an instant, the fierce inward struggle ends and his thin, pale lips twist into a crooked smile.]

How fortunate a woman you are –- [He purrs, lifting a hand, so slowly, with the intent to stroke her face with the backs of his gloved fingers.] -- to have a powerful guardian.

[He had one, once, whom had died long before her time.]

We were not all so... blessed. [He adds musingly, not without a hint of scorn.] But... there is a danger in relying on them, in becoming rather... comfortable with the idea that they shall be there for as long as we have need for them. For one day, sooner or later... they all disappear.

[A gentler smile comes as he finishes.]