“But a temporary intrusion, I assure you. Ears purchased by coin or favor rarely see the need in listening where only one person resides; surely you know, Lady Alys, that when one’s life depends upon the keeping of secrets, knowing when and where to speak of them becomes a delicate art.”
A wry smile twists thin lipsas mismatched hues fall upon the young queen. For a people of ICE && SNOW, the Starks had quite a bit of f i r e in them. - the ones who were still alive, that is. Slim fingers are placed over his heart as the elder offers a slight bow, a mocking GLEAM visible in his eye. ❛ I wished only to see the place my nephew once called HOME enough to stray from the OLD WAY. ❜
Well did she remember that wretch once known as Theon Greyjoy; such a sight did not readily depart one’s mind. A turncloak, a traitor to all that men held dear, yet for all his crimes never could Sansa reconcile them to what torturous exercises wielded upon him for amusement’s sake. Sympathy gave way to pity, an emotion terribly insulting to those of staunch blood; how would the boy’s uncle bear it, she wondered, to know an iron born inspired only sorrow in a woman’s heart? “Your nephew came here most unwillingly, I can assure, and often spoke at length on the superiority of his kin. One must make the most of their captivity, ser; Theon suffered no shortage of kindness and generosity to take advantage from.”
she was not a lady but a waddling fool! steps as ungraceful as the very duckling she felt kith with———princess AURORA WAS quick to lose her patience & stumble. HOW MUST she gain courage if she was naught of whom her mother yearned for her to be? how must she be a lady when she was but A WILDLING in the eyes of the seven kingdoms? A FOREST bred woman whom reigned over the roots & wilting thorns——- expected of more. expected of ruling her kingdom.
❛ ———- my hand HAS BEEN promised to lord phillip. i cannot BETRAY MY loyalty to lord phillip by dancing with others, my lady. not that i shall make a fool of myself doing such, anyhow. ❜
Well did Sansa remember that timeless refrain uttered throughout Arya’s brief tutelage — if only she would try! Effort seemed sufficient to excuse any natural shortfalls, the misfortune of being a second-born compared to prior daughter already well-imbued with grace, and charm, and beauty. Clear it was that Aurora expended what effort the other girl had not; how familiar, that frustrated wrinkling of brow, the hard gleam in narrowed eyes which sought success in every corner. Oh, she would learn! And quickly, for fear of disappointment oft motivated so well.
“Be that as it may, no insult ‘twas ever offered in accepting the invitation of just one dance. Your arrival presents a mystery most enticing, my lady; men and women both shall share little more than a few word with you and walk away proclaiming it solved. In a single evening you will have them all enchanted.”
Well did she remember those first hours of practice, stubbed toes and squeals of girlish frustration ringing out through frigid corridors. Though such festivities graced Winterfell but rarely, her people more inclined to toil than frivolity, Sansa could glide through every step with ease. As a child she believed a perfect dance, the right color of thread in her bodice, or an impeccably bestowed compliment might guarantee a happy future; such foolishness had long ago departed, and all the gentle courtesies remained. Perhaps they ought have stifled her laugh — Aurora had attempted the steps but twice —but saccharine memories of Jeyne, of torch-lit feasts and boundless dreams, won out.
“You needn’t fret, my lady; the dance shall come with only a little more time. And any lord here would find himself most honored to be trod upon by your dainty feet.”
“Oh, I have no doubt in that. You Starks, after all, place such a great importance on pleasure in a marriage.” Barbrey paused a bit to let the words sink in. They had been spoken with a light air, with a flick of the head–nothing, in other words, that would mark it as something unkind, but the implication was hidden like a knife under velvet. Barbrey did not know what exactly the Stark Queen knew of her history with her family, but by her reaction she would find out.
No woman half so clever as she would dare ascend to a Northern throne without the weapon of knowledge clutched firmly in her hands. What Sansa knew of her father’s bannermen — and women — amounted to trivialities in her youth, yet sequestered high in her Eyrie perch, a bastard daughter learned of far more than what dull maesters committed to dusty books. “A marriage requires no pleasure, my lady, only duty; to find both stands a blessing only few find the gods have bestowed. For those less fortunate ‘tis a lover who shall provide enjoyment, whilst never earning the honor of her paramour’s devotion.”
“Then your Lord Baelish is truly a man without peer.” The words were dripping with the sort of false praise that she had grown accustomed to speaking over the years–cloying statements inevitably sharpened on her tongue. “I suppose the match is well-made then.” A smile formed at her lips, her mind unable to stop herself. “And would have pleased your family.”
“A status he remains all too pleased to remind me of,” she quipped, smile resting somewhat falsely upon rosen lips. One took praise from the Lady of Barrowtown as they did fruit from a poisoned tree: with great caution, and no intent to consume. Stark frost edged in along sapphire rings, the matter of her marriage, its reception, forever tied to lack of heirs in Sansa’s mind. “My father’s last promise to me was marriage to a man who would care for me as I deserved; no doubt he would consider such a vow fulfilled in Petyr.”
“Tell me, Lady Sansa — this is some of
the FINEST riding
country that I have seen in all of Westeros and yet I have been no
closer to it than the road allows,” the high board between them is
set with the morning meal and it is, in so many small ways, strangely
reminiscent of what might make a meal in her own Lōgrad ; brown,
heavy grained bread, tiny fish from frigid little rivers, bacon and
tea of the root of angelica ( called
snáwblósma
in the tongue of the rohirrim
). No syruped fruit or honey-cakes piled high with berries such as
they had offered her in the South. No, a true board meant to nourish
the bones. A horn of heavy black beer has put a VIGOUR
to her pallid cheeks and Éowyn
finds herself drawn to the stiff, sharp air that leaks through with
the wind and yet is sadly stifled by the warmth that seeps from the
very walls of the great castle of Winterfell.
Hailing
from the wide, free north of her own continent, Éowyn
is well shouldered to the HARSHEST
of winters. Now, after the sun and stink of their capital, she craves that cruelest climate and the high, clean wind, “I
wonder if Her Grace would ride with me, and tour me of her moors
herself … for no FREE
woman can stand too long to be caged, and your stablemaster could
not tell me when last he had saddled your mount when it was not only for
the business of travel.”
Feminine companionship had been most wanting during the Northern queen’s rule; unlike their southron cousins, women of her kingdom oftentimes shared a great many of their husbands’ burdens, disinclined to abandon such duties for a place at court. Whilst younger girls, daughters of lords and knights, expressed gratitude in royal appointments, those of a more appropriate age to share her ear served as visitors, rather than permanent residents of Winterfell. Though cheered by her kingdom’s progress, ill-inclined to disrupt what peace its people have found amongst the ruins of that which they once knew, still Sansa yearned for the camaraderie that once came to her so easily as a child.
Alas even queens might differ sharply, and it was with a chagrined bow of head that the auburn-haired ruler conceded a short-falling readily concealed to any other. “My stablemaster speak the truth, my lady. I have always sat a horse passably well, yet even that small pleasure diminishes when accompanied by an unwieldy guard.” No fewer than six men, a precautionary contingent that never failed to abolish what privacy she might seek, even with their conscientious distance. Petyr had no great passion for riding, and misliked their presence as much as his wife, rendering jaunts for pleasure all but obsolete. “Yet you do as well, for men oft speak of what beauty they encounter all about the keep. If it please you, I should like nothing more than to accompany you, and perhaps find some of the secret places so beloved in my girlhood.”
Even onland, Jack had an innate ability to sense even the slightest changes in the weather, honed from years of life as a sailor, hardened by labour and the elements. A storm was certainly brewing, although he had no mind to care much for it. Instead, his attention was caught by the young queen’s comment, turning his head towards her as his brows briefly furrowed. It didn’t take much for his indifferent facade to resume, however.
“Is that to be taken as a threat or a statement as to your state of mind? Only asking as the former would be rather unfortunate, your nibs.”
“And do you find me so threatening, ser?” Questions answered with only more questions, an evasiveness perfected by the songbird who so helpfully delivered her unto this frozen roost. At times she could still feel the pull of her, Alayne: a girl possessing no name, no lands, no prize save what modest dowry a wealthy father offered. Like shadows those memories lurked, ebon stains which colored judgement and spirit both, until it was an endless spiral bearing her down, down, down… Though walls no longer bounded her, chains still hung heavily across the breadth of Sansa’s thoughts.
“Pray, forgive me my riddles. Such weather might sully even the brightest of dispositions, and ‘tis the rare queen who wears her crown with naught save jollity. No misfortune shall befall you here.”
Oncoming storm hid stars and moon from view, an unsettling shroud of inky black draped over all save a few points of yellow-gold light. Though now the wind blew softly, warm for Northern lands, their queen could nearly sense a promise, a threat of colder days. She need only step through gated walls and that ibon curtain would swallow her, indiscriminate and uncaring, no more satisfied in its hunger for having stolen a woman crowned. “Nights like this, I become afraid of the darkness in my own heart.”
Although the winter’s chill was setting in the air, the frost was dripped across the grass in the early hours ; katniss was more cold now then she had been outside. perhaps it was more the mere room temperature but how this place made her feel, the the people south of the wall made her feel. the crows might have granted them passage and land, they were no more accepted here then a rat was in the kitchen. and now the queen was asking her to hunt for them —— their people. but she knew what would happen, they would take all the large game. the deer, bear, large birds and the wildlings would get the rodents, the pigeons and whatever leftover scraps. the queen might not believe it, or choose not to believe it, but the southern would try their best to avoid her gaze.
She spoke of tools, money, pupils —– but none of this inspired katniss. she hunted alone, she hunted for fun, she made her bow and arrows from the sticks she found, she made her cloths from the fur of the hunted. she survived without money beyond the wall she had no desire for it now. as for pupils? she would rather put a arrow in their head then put a bow in there hands.
She could read between the lines, understand she was asking katniss to be line between her and the wildings, the connection she may need to gain some kind of trust. but she was asking katniss to be some kind of martyr, it would surly end with her head on stick if she returned home with gold and not meat. but she couldn’t help how excited this would have made prim, new surroundings and new information, knowledge and the power to heal like the southern do. as she hesitated her gaze flickered from place to place in the room, although she was stubborn like her people ——– innocent prim was forbidding her to leave. scraping her feet across the cold stone she slumped herself in the opposite chair.
‘ —————- have you ever be on a hunt? ’
Negotiations served best when both parties spoke, rather than one committing her hopes to the frigid air whilst the other listened with a sort of paternal patience. It seemed such talk was to be endured, not considered, the wildling’s utter lack of consideration almost condescending in what Sansa perceived as its immovable nature. Though tempting she could not fault the young woman her fears: ever since a wall had stood between them, those on opposing sides learned of what atrocities their faceless, nameless kin committed. Down through generations unnumbered children consumed a concentrated fear until, when forced to live with one another, only suspicion and contempt stood firm.
Yet for all her aspirations towards understanding, whatever natural sympathy ached within her breast, there remained much Sansa failed to comprehend. To her the word of a queen was absolute, unquestionable — no lions roamed these halls. Whatever assurances she gave should be taken as no less than solemn vows, unchanged by their content or to whom they were offered. She had read the histories and listened for hours on end to blustering lords, well aware of how unwelcome these interlopers were made to feel. None of her bannermen bore a crown’s burden, nor did they answer to more than their share; could this wildling not see her honesty? Her hope for more than a frosty truce?
"Hawking,“ she conceded with a calculated smile of chagrin. "Though nothing more. Even in the North I fear most think it unseemly for highborn girls to haul spears and arrows off in search of wild beasts. My sister took great issue with that.” Sansa knew of her loss but not its gravity, and while she had hoped that lost siblings might serve as some bond, some narrow bridge of sympathy between them, now even the merest allusion to Arya’s stubborn ways gave her pause. When the queen spoke again she seemed to evaluate her guest, as if looking for some trace of grey eyes or the Stark chin in unfamiliar features. “She would have admired you a great deal, Katniss. Envied you, even; Arya always wished for greater freedom than the gods saw fit to give.”
should an exclusive partner go inactive for 1+ month, then i will become tentatively open to interactions with duplicates. when/if they return then exclusivity may resume.
