(third lemon cake) voice ✧ open to both courts

[steeledskin]

( VOICE: OPEN TO BOTH COURTS )

Fellow [ ... ] shardholders. Seven blessings upon you all.

[ sansa is back in caer glaem, but there is no visual recording to accompany this address. (perhaps foolishly) she believes she may be somewhat protected from joffrey's attention. she would avoid an address altogether, but she feels there are those in the opposing court who ought to be quietly warned against the evil presence in their midst. trouble is, she doesn't know their names. and so here is a quiet attempt to draw out some of those people she'd spoken with at the very outset of using these lockets. ]

These lands are impressive. I have spent the larger part of two turns of this moon travelling them. Their roads are hard, perhaps, but I find myself oddly...pleased that I made any progress at all. [ there is a quiet (and honest) reverence in her voice. improvement and daring is not a thing she expects of herself, and so the mere understanding that she can now build a fire or ride a horse for days? it kindles something in her heart. a spark of pride. ] Seelie. Unseelie. Both territories boast beautiful landscapes -- I should like to see them painted, perhaps. Are there any artists in either court? Painters? Sculptors? [ ... ] Have we any musicians? These kingdoms must have their own songs. I would fain learn them.

From what played at the first feast, I imagine fairy music must always be a delight.

[ a protracted conversations, perhaps. but she hopes to catch the ear of wary allies and would-be friends. and as for her public behaviour? ah, well. she will be alayne stone a little longer. she is not ready to reclaim herself in one headlong rush. small steps and little leaps must be made. ]

(ooc: this post comes on the evening of june 27th. if your character is in caer glaem and is more apt to find here somewhere around the castle, go ahead and hit me with an action thread instead. i'm good with it. )

Comments

[steeledskin]

[ she is in a rush to correct him: ] I did not mean you lack it! Only...only that its qualities are not so apparent. And--

[ she is out of her depth; whatever wit she has, she keeps it locked under panic. ] My apologies. I should have have spoken so roughly.

[caditquaestio]

At ease, Alandra. My pride has bled, but survived the wounding.

[steeledskin]

[ it bothers her, of course, that he does not use the name she gave him. but she had already made her thrust for its usage and feels too embarrassed to try again. ]

I would that I had not bled you at all.

[caditquaestio]

Well, then, we can have fair trade: you'll owe me a bleeding.

[steeledskin]

[ ...his words echo painfully in her ears. she'd bled enough for others, hadn't she? though she suspects the young man plays and japes, she cannot help but feel threatened.

softly, softly: ] Have mercy on me, Valentino. [ her tone is wry. forced-playful. so she might make herself joke along with him. ]

[caditquaestio]

...of course. Saint Valentino patrons love and betrothal. He must show all the mercies.

[steeledskin]

Betrothal!

[ she doesn't really know about saints. but she's confused by the sudden usage of this word. and why it might crop up now. ]

[caditquaestio]

Hold there: I didn't choose the man's skills.

[steeledskin]

How does one have skill in a thing such as betrothals?

[caditquaestio]

I leave it to you to rise to the heavens and ask the saint himself.

[steeledskin]

What is a saint?

[caditquaestio]

How do you mea - ...ah. Ahahahhaa...

[ And now, contemplative - ]

A saint is... but where to begin? Well, the beginning. Surely. Surely, all things begin with the beginning. But, hmmmm. See here, the beginning is quite vast, and I have my feeling that you don't much care for the nuances. A shame. We'd go to war for them. We wouldn't understand them either, but we'd wage a fine war.

[ And now with less rambling - ]

Saints are holy. Roma will say, they are those we thought to be mere men, but whom we know to be saint with certainty, and not saints in the potential, as all men who've died can become in the heavens. Only, what sort of answer is that to you? "Saints are those we are certain must be saints?" It will not do. And how do we achieve this great 'certainty'? That will not do either. No, saints are - ideals of virtue, made by man or summoned by God, at times with many of His powers. Often, they are martyrs, honoured and remembered for deeds done in God's name, or in His way. Even more often, their origins are uncertain.

Valentino, for instance, has many stories told of him: at a time when the God's faith was not kept and its proselytes were burned, he is said to have united believers in the rite of matrimony. Others say he simply spread word of God's way. By both accounts, he was killed after attempting to convert a ruler. Nowadays, he is called on for protection in matters of the heart.

[steeledskin]

[ a single god. a strong faith. she thinks upon what else she's learned in this strange land: ] Roma. Is that at all like Rome?

[ because she knows about rome. ]

[caditquaestio]

Rome - as fools and the French would say it. They are one and the same.

[ ...debatable whether he means Rome and Roma, or fools and the French, however - ]

Your father's journeyed to Rom - Rome?

[steeledskin]

I met a sweet lady from those lands. She teaches me slowly -- day by day -- of Rome and Catholics and popes.

[caditquaestio]

Splendid work. A fine woman. And does she begin with the orgies or the slaughters?

[steeledskin]

[ sansa...does not know how to respond to those words. so she pretends they don't exist: ] She tells me her father is one. A...pope.

[ not an orgy or a slaughter because people can't be those things. ]

I am so sorry.

[caditquaestio]

Ah! Daughter to a pope. Then you've found another bastard. We are many in these parts. Perhaps we should raise a fellowship. What shall we be named, what shall we be named...

[ Thinking... ]

...Seeds of the Unlaced? Lambs of the Licentious? Those Who Came after the Banquet? Base Babes of the Unwed Tit?

i'm not!

[steeledskin]

[ how crude. how awful. the crass nature of his chatter puts her in mind of marillion, and the very thought of that singer makes her shudder. ]

I may be a bastard but -- I beg you -- do not count me in that number. [ her stomach turns. ]

[caditquaestio]

...you speak fairly. Sometimes, the woman is wedded, if to another man.

[steeledskin]

My l--[ no do not call him that. ] Saint Valentino -- [ she stumbles; makes mistakes; is clearly easily flustered. ]

I ought to go. This talk is not wholesome.

[caditquaestio]

No - it isn't. Much of bastardhood is not. You've been... fortunate, I think it, if you've known so little of it that talk can still rouse your... frustration? Sorrow? Anger? As you will.

But here, have no worry: are you... reasonably kind on the eye?

[steeledskin]

[ there's no wench half so lusty as one bastard born -- the singer's accusations echo. and others, besides. aye -- sansa has been fortunate. but only in that she's only lately become a bastard, and has therefore been spared that talk.

in a dull tone: ] I am very plain. [ today she would rather be plain. ] I have seen a hundred here already who are far more beautiful.

[caditquaestio]

...oh. [ An unmistakably disappointed 'oh', culminating in an obligatory sigh of eternal woe and resignation. ]

Well... [ Well? ] ...well. Well. Well, well -

[ ...well? Reasonably, now, as if bartering at the market: ]

As long as you're not... diseased, have no fear for the fate of your children: if no one else should come, I'll marry you.

[ And now, a pause. ]

But if you are diseased, you should well tell me.

[steeledskin]

[ what can she say? she cannot shout or spit or curse -- and her heart does not incline her to do it, so inoculated is she against the wilder passions. and she cannot deride him for his market-chatter, because she knows that marriage is just another market. if anything, the man peels back the artifice and reveals it for what it is.

and she cannot tell him she is already married. so, with painstaking softness and with only a handful of missed beats, she answers: ] How kind of you to offer. [ courtesy is a lady's armour. give it another breath or two and she might flee this whole conversation. ]