Haidar put his fingertips together before his bearded face, lost in thought. He let her perfectly respectful arrogance slide; frankly, with the differences between himself and Garawin, she was probably right. He pulled the dagger from his belt; it had been a gift from P'Tulla years ago, the hilt carved from a fang taken from one of the dragon skulls her tribe held so sacred. The handle was wrapped in soft, braided leather, and the blade was finely edged, finely balanced, castle-forged steel. He began to toss it up and down, catching it by the point between two fingers each time it came to him. Then the king held the weapon still for a moment, looking at his reflection in the finely polished metal.<br/><br/>Did he really want this? To deal with fucking<em>philosophers</em>? Would he really get anything for his kingdom other than a few bloodless weeks of borderline rioting? The eyes staring back at him out of the gleaming steel judged. This wasn't who he was. He was a warrior. He should have been claiming Aserit heads, using their escalating war with Theiri to force their soldiers to spread thin and, for the first time in decades, gain a solid foothold in their territory. But then, if the negotiations with Theiri went well, he would still be able to do just that. AND extract a reward from Theiri. The price he hoped for? A bride. Preferably one with a legitimate claim to lands that could then be annexed into Nydewia.<br/><br/>But none of it mattered right now. What mattered right now was that he was sitting bored in his chambers, and none of his weapons had tasted blood for a fortnight. He needed something to entertain himself. He would have to tell P'Tulla to send for one of the serving girls later. Being the king did have some benefits, though he admitted them begrudgingly.<br/><br/>Haidar rose wordlessly, unbuckling his belt and tossing it to the floor. He slung his sword over his shoulder, dropping it momentarily as well. His cuirass and bracers came off next before he retrieved his falchion, taking a few more strides then sitting down in front of the crystal clear waters of the pool. His boots and breeches were the last to go, leaving him stark naked with his blade off to the side of the pool, in easy reach. He slipped into the water with a satisfied sigh. Olivia was used to his silences, particularly when he was thinking. Outside battle, Haidar was a man of few words.