Sigrid of Esgaroth (
kingsdaughter) wrote in
eachdraidh2014-05-29 05:55 pm
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.
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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He does not expect to see one of Bard's children there, not the little Princess Sigrid who is now long dead. She looks nothing like he remembers her, forced to concede that she, like Bilbo, is very likely from an earlier point in their world's time-line (and it hurt him to lose his little elf-friend, but at least Bard's children have no direct cause to know him while Sigrid is so young). Best not to say anything of that. It isn't often he feels his age.
When the Elvenking connects the lockets, he doesn't very much resemble his usual self at all; gone are the silver robes and crown, replaced with bottle-green and brown riding gear, the fine silken grey of his collar beneath leathers and the style of Mirkwood-made armour, with the same sigil as his marchwardens wear while about Lake-Town on business, are all the visual clues on offer.
And his long, thickly braided hair over a shoulder, of course. The ears.
Not unkindly, he speaks as he would to any of the young ladies he has come to know in the castle, Hermione or his Sansa. Sigrid, he is in no doubt, deserves no pandering, and neither is he in a mood to give it. ]
Your father is Bard of Lake-Town, I believe.
[ King of Dale? Not yet. An elf from the forest she would know, that is all he needs to be for the time being. Declining to respond to the main point of her broadcast is a small thing by comparison to touching base with homelanders. ]
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She's only seen two. Her father has seen a lot more, but he actually leaves town every day. This is definitely a wood-elf, and he's beautiful. More beautiful even than the elf-lady who saved her family. And he knows her. She has no idea how--no, she does, because just because you don't see elves doesn't mean they aren't there. Isn't that why they came in and saved them all from the orcs? Do they watch over her family? Why?]
I...I'm Sigrid.
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[ A small smile softens his introduction (hopefully), because while his face isn't terribly well-known, the name of the lord of the Woodland-elves ought to be. ]
I am Thranduil, Elvenking of the realm you must know as Mirkwood. [ Tilting his chin enquiringly, ] Has Caer Glaem been treating you well?
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Don't offend the Elvenking. Never, ever offend the Elvenking. He can put a spell on you, or you might disappear for what feels like a moment to you and turns out to be days for everyone else.]
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There is little chance of my return before that of one Alayne Stone, a companion of mine who is similarly about her travels. When she is once more within the walls of Caer Glaem, I would urge you to seek her out, for she is a good friend to have and closer to your age than many in the castle.
[ That, in and of itself, ought to provide some little comfort. Sansa is clever too, she'll keep Sigrid safe. ]
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Alayne is very kind. So are you. [She wants to ask him if he sent those two warriors to protect her family, but she's too distracted by how inane those last two sentences were. What was she thinking? There is no way to get through this conversation with dignity, is there?]
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[ A small jest, trying to ease her nerves. Ultimately, he rather supposes it will fail. ]
You and she, you have spoken?
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Yes, sire.
[Is that how you address the Elvenking? It's how you address the Master.]
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... I do not bite unless expressively provoked.
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[She is not going to call him Thranduil.]