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[ Thanduil hasn't been on the locket network recently because he's been rather busy hacking up the vampires that are trying to eat the Elves, and now there's an Unseelie army marching on the horizon, well within sight. It's from the Elven warcamp that he responds to Nuada, erected for the night before battle commences on the morrow. Candles are lit, the table before him holds scrolls of maps, cold meats on a plate, and the armour that he hasn't yet removed (half-off, given even he must rest) is clean but heavily scored, rent in claw-like lines over a shoulder. His right cheek bears the same scratches.

News has reached him via wing of Galadriel and Celebrian's departure. No victory lies in mourning their passing, but he does, and now Nuada's sister too is gone. He's starting to wonder if he shouldn't ask Legolas to check in every few hours. ]

Are you at Caer Glaem or the mountainhome?

[ Before sympathising, it's to business. ]

[ Nuada hasn't been settled for long at the castle. The majority of the last month has been spent traveling; to a neighboring city, to help Legolas train some of the aelfen fighters, and now back to Seelie central to check on a now-vanished sibling. With all of the disappearances - he's seen Maglor's announcement, but isn't sure he knew the other elves well enough to comment - it may well serve Thranduil's peace of mind to keep closer tabs on his son.

If Nuada was blessed with such a gift, the child would never be allowed to leave his line of sight. ]

Caer Glaem. I but recently returned to seek after my sister's welfare.

[ He'd tie a bell on the kid but it would drive everyone nuts during a battle, lbr. The tinkling would never stop. ]

With Elves dropping like flies both here and there — [ gentler words would come from someone who hasn't only recently put his sword to one side for cleaning by one of his servants ] — will you do me the favour of returning to the Maechenibryth and assisting Lady Arwen, if she is still there? While she is more than competent in her duties, she too has lost family.

[ Grief might bind their efforts together, he hopes. ]

If you cannot, know that I would be grateful for you to remain in contact with the realm of the southern Greenwood.

[ True, but it would be a little amusing for spectators. Sell tickets, even, and raise money for native charities. ]

She has returned home. [ His voice is firm, despite the heavy ache in his chest. Nuada cannot, will not, entertain the notion that his twin is dead, or even acknowledge anything said to that effect. With effort, though, he focuses on what the Elvenking is saying, out of genuine respect and affection. ] I am sorting through my sister's possessions, which may take a few days. But once my affairs here are concluded, rest assured I will travel to the mountain and offer what aid and support is necessary.

[ Lady Arwen, he recalls from his attempted ensnare of a certain fell beast. ]

I never spoke to her, but I am sorry to hear that. I know you must mourn her disappearance.

I do. There is no other like her in the world.

[ In any world. Nuala is unique, at least in her brother's estimation. ]

You say that like any good brother.

[Vanessa gives a small smile.]

As an only child, I only wish I had a sibling like you.

My condolences for your lack of insufferable older brothers, madam.

Forgive me, but I find that you seem protective, as well. Which is always a good thing.

I suppose you could consider it my duty, depending on the circumstances.

There are many who do not take that duty to heart.

It is a shame we are on different sides; I would like to know you better.

[ sansa does not know this soul. nor did she know nuala. but she knows the sentiment of being sister -- of having siblings -- and to fear with ice-cold dread that she might lose them to the vagaries of this land. she's already lost her lord father.

and that wound is still fresh. ]

I am sorry. [ ... ] Truly.

[ If left to his own devices, Nuada would refrain from speaking to this one. She seems heartbreakingly young, and oh so human, two of the things he detests most in the world. But he finds the gaping wound in his heart leaves little room for unimportant things. Such as pouring verbal venom over someone who cared enough to comment on a stranger's pain.

He watches Sansa with a steady gaze, letting the seconds tick away. Then, finally, he releases a breath and nods. ]

Thank you for your kindness, Lady.

[ she knows better than to think it honest kindness. sansa is not being kind -- she suspects the stranger knows it as well. instead she is baring similar misery. when she spoke it was as if at a distance, but not without familiarity.

she does not falter beneath his gaze. she has stood a statue under hot anger. frost does not frighten her. ]

These lands are made poorer by every Shardbearer that leaves. [ contrite. careful. ]

[ It must be amusing to her, then, that the stranger takes the commiseration as honest kindness. Surprised, yes, that she would offer such a thing, but willing to take it at face value. For a loose definition of the term, anyway. Sansa is human, after all, and he has suffered grief at their hands more than once.

But the young lady does not back down, and that, Nuada supposes, is something. A small show of courage if little else. ]

You think so? Any land is made poorer by the departure of its people. This one also, regardless of Shardbearing status.

[ But most grievous in his sister's case. ]

[ she too has suffered under human hands -- and aside from kin and the select few she might consider allies, she has little love for the population at large. and yet...

and yet compassion has not escaped her. not yet. she hums quiet agreement (and thinks to herself she is glad westeros is all the poorer for having lost so many starks to these lands, where these courts might better use them.) ]

You speak the truth. I'm sorry. [ she revises her position. ] Sharded or shardless, this war has likely stolen a great deal from these lands. And from the lands of others. To where does your sister return?

[ somewhere good, she hopes. unlike what her lord father had returned to. ]

[ Like calls to like, isn't that how the old saying goes? Nuada might be tempted to commiserate on the cruelty of humans, if only Sansa wasn't of their number. Is it possible to reassure a creature of the fae that he is not found fearful or repulsive simply because he is not human? His experience -- at least in his own world -- tends to the extreme negative. ]

Aye, here and elsewhere. Would that greed was not so prevalent a vice, and more of us might be able to get along. [ Himself included, for is he not greedy when it comes to saving his people? ] To the world its human inhabitants call Earth. Specially, I hope, to the land of our birth, now similarly called Ireland.

And you? What land claims your blood as native born?

[ once she might have hated him because he was different. or if not hated, then feared. now she fears him only because he is unknown to her just as any other person is unknown to her. but that fear is well mastered. fed in the pit of her stomach and less often is it ever allowed to touch her face. these lands teach her much about what is different and what is the same.

instead, she answers in measured tones: ] I know of Earth. I've heard of Earth. But not of -- Ireland. But it sounds like a pretty word; I pray it is a pretty place. [ hmm. she wants to speak of the north. of winterfell. but such specifics never serve her. she settles for a broader scope: ] I come from Westeros.

[ It is that unknown that most often breeds violence and contempt. Fear for the things he can do that humans are denied. Still, he watches, trying to decipher what goes on behind her carefully polite mask. ]

It is the most beautiful place my eyes have ever beheld. The whole of the island is a patchwork of green hills and majestic forest. Rich, fertile land. [ He sighs, shaking his head. ] Or it was, until humans came. Still, even now it can regain what has been lost, should I be so fortunate as to return and claim my vengeance.

Westeros. What it is like, your land?

Westeros is...[ gods! she cannot discuss her world and lands as sweetly nor as passionately as he can talk of his. her voice drifts softly as she tries to minimize the hurt beneath her tone: ] It is unkind. One would think the south to be a warm and honeyed paradise but it isn't. Everything is too hot and I think the heat makes the people...angry.

[ this is a poor line of conversation. she alters it: ] But the North! Oh. I never knew how beautiful it had always been until I could see it no longer.

People make people angry, Lady. But perhaps the heat stokes their ire.

[ It would be impossible to adequately convey how he feels about his homeland. The variety of colors, the smell and the roar of the sea. How brilliant a blue the sky can be after a storm. How breathtaking the storm itself is. How freeing it is to ride a horse across emerald fields, just for the sheer joy of doing so. ]

How so is it beautiful? Paint me a picture with words.

Edited 2015-02-22 17:21 (UTC)

[ no one has so adequately asked her to wax nostalgic on the one place that still holds a hint of home for her. too easily she lets westeros go -- claims the cothromach instead. and why shouldn't she? most of westeros has given her nothing but heartache.

but the north! ]

There are moors. And there are heaths. And even in long summers, it snows. Soft little flakes that fall and melt in your hair. [ and for a moment, her voice trembles. ] Parts of the North are filled with strong Ironwoods. Winterfell's godswood has trees within that are as old as the whole Seven Kingdoms. Dark green sentinel trees, too. My brothers would come back with their sap all over their hands my Lady Mother would scold them.

[ hmm. ] It was my family's. Once. Not any longer.

[ He listens as she talks, eyes half-lidded in order to better imagine the visuals inside of his head. For someone literally born with magic in his blood, it's not terribly hard to conjure up images of a place that sounds an awfully lot like the highlands of Scotland, save for it does not always snow in summer there.

But the love she bears for the land is easily recognized, as is the loss of it. So, unasked for, Nuada offers a little advice: ]

If the place you love the most, and the people, are held inside your heart, my lady, then they are never truly lost.

[ In other words, they can't take the sky from you Sansa. Not unless you let them. ]

That does sound beautiful, so much that it would likely be treasured by my own people. Of what age are your kingdoms? If you do not mind sharing so much.

-- I wish it was a question easily answered. The Seven Kingdoms as they now are will count their years from the date of Aegon's conquest, some three centuries past. But the lands are older still. The North stood as its own kingdom for thousands of years before Aegon landed. The First Men lived for ten thousand years amid the weirwoods.

[ it is difficult to discuss history with someone who doesn't know who aegon is or who the first men are. all she can say, really, is: ] The blood of those First Men flows in my veins. And in those of my brothers and my sister. We make our home in the Cothromach, now. It isn't Winterfell. But it is ours.

[ It's not entirely dissimilar. Humans date his homeland from the arrival of their first leaders -- although the science-inclined are aware it's much, much older -- and he does understand marking the length of a king's reign to measure the years. But ten thousand ... ]

I cannot lay claim to being unimpressed. Ten thousand years is a long time to hold land. That is nearly the length of my own life.

[ Although he's not going to say whether he's older or younger. ]

And this is not Eire, but it is the land I call home until such time as the situation changes.

Your spirit is commendable, Lady. The Cothromach has a good leader.

[ she is a young thing. and her math is imperfect. she recites the sums given to her by maesters and tutors and history books. but who knows how long the first men have truly held the land? the only constant is the old weirwoods. and the new kings. but sansa repeats the things she ought to say -- on and on and on. ]

You sister. The Lady Nuala. She may -- [ sansa's voice shakes; she doesn't want to give hope to a stranger, because hope is a thing easily broken. and yet: ] Those who leave do, at times, return. I have seen it with my own eyes.

[ it is her way of thanking him for his gracious words. ]

[ It is still an approximation of time, and can be used as a rough judge of change. ]

My sister ... [ For a split second there is so much pain in his gaze that it might as well be an endless chasm of grief, before he blinks and all that remains is the gold of his irises. ] is too tender for the trials of this place. Should she return, though, her presence is always welcome at my side.

[ But better that she stay away and remain unharmed. ]

Kin ought to remain together. [ she agrees -- never for a moment thinking that his sister would be anywhere but at his side. she is blessed indeed to have brothers and a sister here. not all of them: little baby rickon is still lost to the strange sorcery of these shards and gems. and their parents... ]

Have you any others from your Eire? Allies? Associates?

Yes, they should. Kith and kin are the most important bonds a person can ever have. [ With rare allowances for when those bonds are with people chosen to become family. Shieldbrothers and sisters-in-arms. ]

Eire is the name of a goddess for whom the Men of my world entitled our land. And no. I have -- I am alone here. With only the allies my deeds and words might bring.

Make them swiftly, then: your words and your actions. [ sansa is no warrior. she is no magician. she has her politics alone -- bolstered by good contacts made in her early days. she still feels a fraud, at times, in her own city. waiting for someone to question her. ]

Allies will follow. Some say these lands lead us to division. But I have found then uncommonly encouraging of cooperation.

[ where else would names like baratheon and tyrell find themselves in service of a stark? ]

It is not always prudent, or advisable, to act without thought. As much as I would like to imitate the fierceness of a lightning storm sometimes.

[ And he often does, if primarily in battle. It is where his skill and talents shine the most. No doubt Sansa is in a similar place, to allow her own abilities the chance to breathe and shine. ]

We shall see, little one. We shall see what allies come forth, what division or cooperation my deeds sow and reap.

[ If only he knew the importance of those names in her world. ]

[ little one. it ought to be offensive -- to have someone call the lady keeper of an entire city by such diminutive terms. and yet she swallows the small smudge of pride she's accumulated within the cothromach. nuada already claimed years and years for himself. perhaps respect is due where age commands it. she is not so foolish as to speak out of turn and demand humility from someone who shares years with the most holy trees she knows. ]

Be safe, then. If nothing else. [ she has liked this conversation and would see him do well. ]

[ He means no disrespect by it, truly. The term is often one he used for his twin when they were younger. It is, in fact, a sign he does not dislike her, although the potential of that dubious honor is left for Sansa to decide on her own. ]

Likewise, Lady. Look after you and yours.

[ The ghost of a smile, less mockery and more genuine, ghosts across his dark lips. ]

I will. [ perhaps something sentimental in this conversation has tripped across her gentler nature. she is candid. ] I swear I will.

[ very little of what she does in these lands does not lead directly back to protecting the starks who have gathered under the cothromach's mountain. ] I am told it is what wolves do best: safeguarding their own.

[ he smiles; she sees it. and yet she does not have the boldness to return a smile of her own. ]

... Wolves. [ He had thought to let her close the conversation, forgo more of her company, but wolves. They are a potent symbol for his people, though not perhaps the most important. ] Wolves hunt in packs, and mate for life. They also honor the most powerful females of their clan.

Are you such a personage for your city?

[ Oops? ]

[ she cannot say she is the most powerful of anything in any clan. she falls upon her title by accident and by circumstance -- or so she continues to tell herself. a father left and a brother wasn't blooded enough. so it fell to her. ]

Direwolves. I am Sansa -- [ she finally names herself ] -- of House Stark. And my family's sigil has always been that of a direwolf.

[ sansa would never call herself a she-wolf. and yet day by day the title grows more...desirable. she wants the strength and means to defend her family: from morla; from the unseelie; from the lannisters; from anything that might threaten them. ]

[ Large wolves, he thinks. Dire and deadly predators. He likes them, but, then again, he's also something of an oddity among his own kind. So take that regard for what it's worth. ]

Sansa Stark, Lady of House Stark. Keeper of the Cothromach. [ He says it slowly, almost like a litany - high in importance. And, as she names herself, so will he. One good turn deserves another. ]

Nuada mac Balor, called Silverlance, Ruling Chief of Clan Bethmoora. Our symbol is -- and always will be -- the world tree.

Well met, Lady Keeper Sansa.

[ -- what he shares is so rich in meaning. at first, her mouth seems to echo (wordlessly) one simple name: balor, which she figures within her mind as baelor. baelor the blessed; baelor breakspear; the sept of baelor, where her beloved lord father was beheaded. but then her gritty surprise is reset again by other words. other revelations.

in the old faith, they made their obeisances at trees. old trees with bone-white bark and blood-red leaves. trees with faces carved into their bark. sansa has an inchoate grove of such things here within her city -- grown and sustained by some magic she dares not think on too deeply before she invites a headache.

and last of all she learns she speaks with a leader. a ruler. her breath catches and her voice is a little smaller when she answers: ] Well met, indeed. Chief Nuada.

[ she prays she can call him chief. perhaps she should call him lord? her confusion colours the last of her words. ]

[ Baelor is not too dissimilar, though Balor is - or has been until recently - the horned king of their people from time before time. Nuada does not know how old his father was, only that he figured in all of their legends, back to the very dawn of the world itself. Age tends to lose all real meaning at that point.

But the tree. Symbol of royalty. Symbol of strength, of shelter, of growth and all good things. Perhaps someday he will learn her people have druidic tendencies - it's one he would approve of. For now, though, he seeks to turn the tone of her voice.

Such a small thing is displeasing, though the sidhe refuses to examine why. ]

Lord Nuada, if you insist on formalities. My father was king, I do not yet claim that title for myself.

What would you have me call you?

Lady Sansa will suffice. [ it is always terribly awkward to be asked -- and she always prays she does not answer in the wrong. perhaps true formality would require that she be lady stark or lady keeper stark. but too many others have watered down her name for her. she compromises.

she learns. ]

Lady Sansa, then.

[ He watches her through the little view screen, wondering what she is like in person. It is difficult for him to find enough cues to figure her out. These devices, while intriguing, do not lend themselves well to taking the measure of others. ]

Perhaps, one day, you and I shall converse face to face.

Edited 2015-02-22 22:21 (UTC)

I would like that. Very much.

[ gentle honesty. on occasion, it serves her well. ]

Until then, I will recall your kind words.

[ It's a tricky thing, honesty. Often as beautiful as a rose, but just as likely to draw blood. ]

Good day, my Lady.

{The absence of so many Elves makes him feel ill at ease. There are those he mourns - those he knew better than others - but the impact of them as a whole leaving the world in droves is frightening. Why are they being sent away?}

I do not know why so many Elves are being taken -

{It clearly unnerves him.}

Do you require anything?

[ Nuada is not yet at the point where he can think tactically about his sister's disappearance. About the absence of those he did not get to know. His grief is still too great and all-encompassing, a fit punishment for the crimes his own hands have rendered. ]

You think they are ... [ a pause. ] That this is deliberate?

I require the other half of my soul, but she is gone.

[ He makes his voice lighter with some effort, sense of humor a little macabre at the moment, and well aware it may backfire. A- for trying, though. Right? ]

{Who can blame him for succumbing to grief? Aragorn has the benefit of being somewhat separate. His heart aches for Arwen and Maglor, but his mind is clear to see the greater picture.}

Many Elves from my world have disappeared as well. I cannot say there is no reason for it.

{The other half -

His smile is sad, grim. He has often felt that way about Arwen. Being parted from her is always painful, but imagining her death - as he did in Middle Earth - is an agony he does not think he can withstand again.}

I would fetch her happily if it were in my power.

[ Not quite succumbed, but close enough, despite the placid exterior he presents for the sake of his own pride. He is not a little envious of those who can still claim kith and kin, and loved ones beside. ]

When put in such terms, it does seem unlikely to be completely random. You've my condolences as well.

[ Surprise flickers across his face, fleeting enough to avoid suppression. ]

If it were in your power, I fear there is next to nothing I would not do to have her with me again. [ But, in all honesty, it's probably a good thing Nuada is on his own now. Otherwise, his sister's presence might develop into a real, destructive crutch. ] It is an offer of kindness I did not expect from one of your race.

A mere 'thank you' almost seems inadequate.

Edited 2015-02-07 22:12 (UTC)

The condolences should lie with one I love best in this world and any other. (Arwen, of course. Any pain he feels is inconsequential compared to the pain she feels.

He looks curious at Nuada's surprise, head cocked.) Payment wouldn't be necessary. Anyone who has felt the pain of loss would surely do the same.

(His race, hm?)

Have you encountered cruel Men, my lord?

You would think 'anyone' would, but that is not true. Far from it.

[ A light shrug, casual and perhaps easily mistaken for affable. ]

The majority of Men I encountered have been cruel, my lord.

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