eachdraidh | Video | Forward-dated to June 2

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Video | Forward-dated to June 2

[Sigrid has the locket propped up like a mirror on her dresser. Flung over the arm of her chair is a mass of scarlet wool she is sewing into a new gown. Everything else in her room looks, to her, rather sparse and unlived-in. She's never had her own room all to herself. Nervously, she brushes stray hairs away from her face even though they were never in the way.]

I've kept my own house these last six years.

...What I'm saying is I need work, and I'm willing to work. I'm good with children, if you need any looked after. Otherwise I can do chores as you need them. I read and write well, and I sew, cook, spin, and knit. And clean, of course, and do laundry and all. Da taught me ciphering so I could manage our money. Anything else, I can learn.

Thank you.

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Of course, my lord.

[This buys her a little time to dash around like a hen trying to find the library. Not enough time to really look presentable. Her clothes, as always, are in a lamentable state. If only her new gown was ready.

She still looks as presentable as possible when she makes it to the library--ten minutes early. Okay. So there really is such a thing as being too early. She doesn't dare stand up and browse the books while she waits, so she gets a crick in her neck waiting for her potential new employer to turn up.]

[ He sweeps in perhaps a minute or two late, the crook of one arm filled with blank vellum and a plain-looking writing box. The other hand carries a spare clay crock of ink, and he nods to the attendant posted inside the library door as if they're well-acquainted.

He gave her a low nod of acknowledgement when he drew closer, as one might pay a servant or armsman, and neatly set his burdens down. The way he handles the things, even plain as they are, suggest a measure of personal fastidiousness. ]

Well-met, Sigrid! I hope that the indication of your need for occupation is good evidence that the day following the feast has done well by you.

Times being what they are...

[ It sounded a little bemused, and was certainly wry; he gave a tilt of his features to indicate their surroundings, ]

I hope you don't mind if I proceed in a rather nontraditional manner. My steward has seen to such matters long into my memory, and it's been a rare and dire occasion to cause me interview staff for myself.

[ His broad, blunt fingers flipped the latch on the writing box open with care, and he opened it with both hands; taking out fine-tipped writing quills, another, nicer pot of ink, a small, sharp knife for paring away corrections. And he arranged them between his space and hers, obviously meaning for the tools to be shared. ]

Who taught you your writing? Do you like to read?

[She rises when he approaches and bobs a nervous courtesy. Her hands clutch together in front of her and rest on her lap once she sits.

This is not the Master nor one of his minions. This is a kind and good man, as far as she knows. But she doesn't know him, really, and she can't be sure what to expect from him, or who might protect her if he has a hidden dark side. Her father never let her forget that she's a flowered woman vulnerable to any manner of violence. It's why she needs the dagger she requested of Gendry. Perhaps she should ask one of the dwarves for one after all, for Gendry will be long in returning.]

My father, if it please my lord. [And she's already out of saliva. She swallows hard.] He did it so I could manage the household while he was away working the barges. He said he didn't want anyone to come by and talk me into a contract I didn't understand, and such. And it was so I could teach my brother and sister too, especially my brother. Later I started helping him with our money, there was so little of it. I kept track of every copper.

[She feels utterly disappointing already. Why should an amateur be hired as a professional?]

I don't think it's ever been about liking or disliking, my lord. We've never owned a book that wasn't written ourselves, and those all had accounts in them.

Edited 2014-05-30 19:09 (UTC)

[ He's taken aback a little, by so much honesty all at once, and they move to sit as one while he chuckles, smiling despite himself

Ned watches her quietly, moving a sheaf of vellum before each of them, his brows lifting slowly. ]

By the sound of it, you're a credit to him, and his instruction; I'd have liked to meet such a man. I've one young daughter, half your age perhaps, who still can't be convinced to pull a comb through her hair regularly without prompting.

[ He waves a weathered hand. ]

You seem a... good-hearted sort. Honest, diligent. Clever, even, though I've known you little, and the opinion comes from a man who admits himself for being... not particularly clever at all.

Those qualities interest me more than your practical skills; I could hire a scribe here from the library, likely, to follow me in his after-hours and do what I need, and likely faster than a home-trained girl might.

But he would owe one allegiance already. And as a man who's been betrayed in such things before, I'd always be wondering if my letters were read and re-sealed. What would become privy to who. It seems to me... an unnecessary risk.

If your script here passes even a rough inspection, I mean for you to serve as a clerk, and if you're willing, to undertake other simple chores on my behalf. But the clerical aspect is most significant: in a short time, I mean to hold a few days' conference with the other shardholders who've come here in the same manner as we, and to make a proper accounting of persons, abilities, intentions, and so forth.

Most of us have been brought to this strange world friendless, adrift, instructed we're here to be fighting a war. I've spent much of my life soldiering, and to know that the powers that rule here brought a young maiden like yourself-- like my daughters, brought children and untrained men, boys even-- to wage war on their behalf, makes my guts twist. You should be still with your father, not...

[ He makes a helpless gesture at the library about them, mouth twisting, his discomfort obvious and real. ]

The only allies I think we can trust truly are those we find amongst each other. And with help like you can offer, I mean to help make those bridges.

[The more she hears, the more she knows she's in safe hands. Safe, and so painfully gentle that she is suddenly horribly homesick for her father. His earnestness is reassuring, and that he has placed her in the same categories as his daughters lets her know how he looks at her. Good. She can work with this man. She's always done anything that needed to be done, and he needs exactly the sort of person who will do that. He's a leader, the kind who could make everything better for everyone. The sort of man worth attaching herself to.

Her posture is relaxing--less rigid, more poised. Her hands now lie loose on her lap. Her chin rises at the end.]

If you want to know what I do best, my lord--I do what must be done. I've done that ever since my mother died, whether I knew how to do it or not. And if I didn't, I learned. Everything must get done whether there's someone there who knows how to do it or not.

[ His own posture relaxes as she speaks, and he nods, maintaining eye contact. The blunt fingers of his broad hands lattice together over the paper before him.

A corner of his mouth twinges to hear of the loss of her mother. Where would he have been, without Cat to balance him?

Where would he be, without her now? His chest went tight, ached fiercely. ]

I've no doubt of it, Sigrid. And it is such talents that... I find myself needing. Where once I'd had a handsome staff of dozens, I will only have you, and what few others I might take into my service. But, blessedly, my needs have grown likewise smaller.

Most immediately will be the conference of Seelie shardbearers, which I mean to hold in short order; and for the most part, you would be keeping great lists, and helping me to take notes until both our hands cramp-- on maps, in ledgers, on spare sheets, calculating costs and time and routes and labour for those who might not have the skill to do it for themselves.

Following that, we will be researching together at great length about this land and its people. Information is a tool; we must have as much of it as we can stomach. Pending what others profess to plan and the results of our time spent in learning, I will know best how to proceed and plan for myself and my House.

If any of it proves too great a burden for you, you need only say so and I will set you to other necessities; rest assured there will be plenty. And when my daughter returns, you may take up the work of a handmaid if you feel that suits you best, or if you would prefer to remain on for me, I will provide the manner of seeing you trained to a steward's work.

In either event...

[ he leaned back in his chair a bit, rubbing at his bearded jaw. ]

A servant of my house is oathed into their service; as I am oathed into my duties to them in turn. Their pay is negotiated based on their skills and service; I would hear what you consider fair. You would be provided with clothing bearing the mark of my House for winter and summer, a good horse with good tack, all the tools you might need for your trade, and provision that my House sees to all your other cares and comforts as needed.

[And room and board are already provided, in the castle. What does she have left to buy, then? But Da told her never to work for free, not least of all because people value what they pay for. Ironically, he never paid her for practically raising his other two children.]

I don't even know the currency here, my lord, let alone what pay is fair.

[ A corner of his mouth quirked up. ]

And with bed and board provided already, and many other comforts besides, what's the worth of my word? You're a lady given much to practicality; what tools or items then, would you ask of me, that you would think worth a week's labour? We can barter 'til we find the going rate.

[A week's labor. She doesn't have anyone she's responsible for here. Clothes can be made from materials provided. Shoes are a different matter, of course, but you only need one pair of them for a good five or ten years, if you take care of them right. She needs to pay for the irons and dagger Gendry is making for her--and that's what gives her the idea.]

Protection.

[That's the ticket right there, really. That's what she needs most, in this friendless world, and it's the one thing she can't get for herself.]

And I don't mean ceremonial, I mean practical. I don't need a guard at my door, but I need a good dagger and shoes I can run in, and I need you to speak in my favor if someone is telling lies about me.

[ Eddard studies the features of the young woman before him, expression gone very thoughtful. She has risen herself in his esteem with this, and proven herself as clever as his opinion suggestion; and, he thinks, more perceptive than he himself. ]

Protection which is not practical and real is not worth the name. And it is part of my oath, to a sworn servant or bannerman, that I protect you. Speaking on your behalf, battling on your behalf, even posting the guard or being it, where necessary. Guarding your honour in all things, for it is also mine.

But if it's something practical you prefer, and your protection you'd like seen to before aught else... I believe I can do better for you than a dagger and shoes, though those also I will happily provide for you.

Begging your pardon, [she says almost apologetically] but there are an awful lot of people who take oaths to protect people they won't really protect. It's just something said to get into an office.

[Thinking of something, she hesitates.]

Were you elected as lord, or were you born into it?

[ The corner of his mouth keeps rising, the expression wry, and he leans a little into the back of his chair, looking thoughtful. ]

Aye, that's true enough. Or to gain support of bannermen. Men use false word to gain themselves all manner of things.

I was born into my title; and Starks have ruled Winterfell since the time of the First Men. But that may very well mean nothing to you, and I won't trouble you with the sad stories behind it; the heart of the matter is a simple one. Trust.

Are you willing to trust me?

[Her eyes fall just a little, like she's seeing through him and looking back at her own home.]

Yes, I think so. We elect our lord, and anyone who's elected is only likable until they're in power, I think. Someone born to it is reared for it their whole life, or should be. That's better than just deciding you want to do it and getting a lot of people to like you long enough to vote for you. And you've been honest with me and you don't patronize me.

[And he has daughters. He reminds her so much of her own father she feels a bit heartsick.

Swallowing, she lifts her eyes to meet his.]

When...would I start today?

[ Oh, the sadness creeps into his eyes, slow as frost growing across a windowpane.

I wasn't groomed for it.

But all the same he rose a little in his seat, and extended his hand to her across the table.]

My intention would be to begin here and now, unless you've other duties to tend to. For a period of seven days, upon which you'll be paid as promised in morning's light, and we can determine if the arrangement suits both parties well enough to continue it. If yes, then I shall take you on in formal circumstance; if no, then we may at least part ways with no grievance.

[Sigrid knows the significance of a handshake. It's as binding a contract as any, and not to be done insincerely. So she also rises and takes his hand in a firm grip, looking him straight in the eye.]

Agreed.

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Video | Forward-dated to June 2

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