(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

[nockgun]

[Though the pause is noticed, he makes no note of it. Half the time he introduces himself here, people have no notion of what a sergeant even is and it is too strange to introduce himself by name only.]

No, miss. I do sing, but not so well. But it's a poor soldier who can't sing at all.

[steeledskin]

Soldiers, ser, are not so renowned for their singing.

[ she settles on this title. not all soldiers are sers, but all knights are (in effect) soldiers. and so she touches upon the word with reverence and distance -- quick to appease someone who might be a violent man. ]

[nockgun]

[Sir is perhaps inappropriate for a civilian, but he does not object to it.]

Now there's where you've got the wrong of it, miss. There's no better sort for singing. A lot of men all lined up in a row? Why, there's no better choir to ask for. No one's a bad singer when there's a hundred more voices.

[steeledskin]

[ no one's a bad singer when there's a hundred more voices: she is struck by the poesy of the line. the shadowed grace and honesty. and most of all, the implied sense of belonging. a hundred men singing for themselves and for each other. oh, she craves that camaraderie! not to march to war, perhaps -- but she had never felt half so connected to other women and their children as she did on the eve of battle. singing. praying. singing again. ]

And I suppose the soldiers have a great many songs to themselves, ser?

[nockgun]

There's no shortage of them, miss. Though without a company of men, you'll not hear one from me.

[At least not eagerly. Harper was not a shy man, but he didn't reckon himself the sort of man likely to go singing war songs around nice, young girls. That sort of thing was best left to talented singers like Hagman.]

[steeledskin]

And so I will refrain from asking for one. Instead, I would ask for your name.

[nockgun]

Sergeant Patrick Harper, miss. What do I call you?

[steeledskin]

Sergeant Patrick! You know my...friend. [ oh. she's not used to using that word in quite that fashion. it trips her up. ] Sigrid speaks very highly of you.

[ in her excitement, she forgets to name herself. ]

[nockgun]

Ahh, Miss Sigrid. Now that's a fine lass, so she is. You're close friends, are you?

[The girl struck him as the sort in need of good friends. Better than old rifle sergeants, anyway.]

[steeledskin]

She is dear to me. As dear as dear can be.

[ at least, their friendship still boasts the dewy glow of newness. ]