Work Text:
She loves and fears the war table; the heady rush of knowledge that she and her advisors are a bulwark against the end of the world, pitting their wits and their resources against the inexorable crush of an eldritch foe and winning. But the flip-side is terror. Every decision is a knife-edge, every choice has consequences. This is no thrilling game of chess, every piece on the board represents hundreds of lives under their care. There are days when the shadows under the Commander’s eyes are like bruises, when the Ambassador’s smiles are too fixed, when her Spymaster’s calm façade is spiderwebbed with fear, and her own heart seems transfixed by ice. There are days when the looks in their eyes tell her there are no good choices. Outwardly they never seem to waver, but she reads their eyes, and they read hers. If they falter, they are lost.