You're not wrong.

( an exhale. )

Thranduil is trying to do this with care. That new elf, Iorveth—he listens to reason. You've been here the longest and you're brilliant. I have skin in this game, even if they never think to consider the rest of the shard-bearers, I suppose I mostly—

( it takes her a few moments to order her thoughts. )

If I can help, if you can help, good. But your opinionated and charmingly violent lover isn't the only one who regards you as deserving. I know I've said some things about rifters. And I don't regret all of them. ( some. she thinks araceli mostly agrees with the things she'd still repeat. ) But you're one of the most brilliant people working for the Inquisition. Your hand isn't the most useful thing you've got. I know you know. Only don't look at all this and think no one else does.

( is this the drugs still )

I've always said rifters ought to be more grateful, but the Inquisition ought to be grateful for having you, as well. Not the general you, this you. If we lost half these imbeciles down a ravine I wouldn't cry over it—

( no, it's just the worst and most heartfelt pep talk. )

I'm sure we can find something more productive to cut off than their noses. Did any of that make a blind bit of sense?