eachdraidh | (first lemon cake) voice ✧ seelie & unseelie

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(first lemon cake) voice ✧ seelie & unseelie

I offer my gratitude to those fighting the worms. [ here is a voice both measured and composed, albeit young. ] And gratitude is all I can give, barring my prayers. And they are given whole-heartedly for all of us. May the Warrior give you the strength and courage required for your victories. And may the Mother bless us all.

[ sansa stark has long come to doubt the efficacy of the seven new gods. she isn't entirely certain the old gods listen, either -- but their rustling leaves and independent ways give her more peace of late than anything the seven offer: incense and rituals. however! she has resigned herself to being alayne stone to those who are not immediately known to her or trusted by her. and alayne stone worships the new gods, not the old. she is meant to be exactly as petyr baelish described her: a pious bleater, whose ardent faith discourages unwanted questions. so she speaks of blessing of the seven, but holds the old gods in her heart. she only hopes that arya and her allies will forgive her this identity fraud across the lockets.

most of all, sansa doesn't want to disappoint the people to whom she'd promised her help. like in maegor's holdfast during the blackwater, sansa hopes to lift spirits and rouse bravery. perhaps if she voices her thankfulness, others will follow in kind.

before she ends, she has only one question -- the paranoid fugitive in her needs to know: ] These pendants are truly remarkable. Magic, is it? But more efficient by far than any raven. [ ... ] Can they be used to talk only to one person, and privately? If anyone has managed it, I would thank you to tell me how.

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[ The 16th saw the worms burrow through into the bailey and Thranduil almost fell, but for his son's bravery. Snapped up by a huge serpent and tossed like a ragdoll into one of the walls, he has suffered puncture wounds around his ribs and a perforated lung, not to mention a broken arm and slices from badly-made armour that was stabbed inward along with fangs. The Elvenking has since been removed to his private rooms by the matrons to gather his strength in the way of his people, certain to recover. Elves do not die easily, after all. So while the battle rages on below, in the lofty Keep things are generally quite peaceful. A blessing and a curse, requiring the silence but eager to learn how the fight is coming along. Something of a mess to see in his bed, he flicks open the locket and requests an audio line. Having made it his business to know how to lock conversations to Seelie forces while commanding the now annihilated war-tent, he ensures she receives the privacy she desires.

Sansa ought not to see him like this even if his weakened voice cannot be helped, the usual strength sapped. ]

Like so, Lady Stark.

[ It's a sight better way to spend the day than staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep while his wounds are still largely raw. ]

[ she sits primly in her solar -- granted, she doesn't understand why she needs a solar. but she supposes she is grateful for the additional space. after all, she is heir to winterfell (or so the world believes), and it is also pleasant enough to sit with ample space around her.

at king thranduil's response, she cocks her head and keeps her face impassive. it does not matter that the locket isn't watching her in real-time -- she assumes her careful mask all the same. ]

Marvelous. [ the word comes out like a soft sigh. ] Does it only require asking for it?

[ she doesn't miss the lack of robustness in his voice; however, she isn't quick to comment on it either. let the pitter-patter of polite conversation sort itself out, first. ]

As far as I have been able to surmise. Yes.

[ A stifled exhale leaves him and his eyes close on his end of the call, a short pause ensuing where he takes a couple of steadying breaths. Not too deep, not too shallow. ]

You are safe, then?

Shaken, your grace. [ a beat. ] And thirsty.

[ but if others ride out to fight the worms, or fight them even within these walls, then she must do her own part and not tax what remains of their supplies. this isn't the first time she's lived in a city during siege conditions -- but this will be the first time she knows enough to live more modestly while others suffer. ]

But it's a smaller price to pay than the one paid by those who keep us secure. Has the campaign seen much success?

[ she does not think he might be so close as to be in the second wing; and yet something worries her. ]

[ He thinks what to say to her, how to let her know without worrying unnecessarily. ]

I have water here. [ A glass jug of it, in fact, on his bedside table. ] Lothdithen and her companions may bring it to you, if you wish.

[ Skirting the topic of the fight, for the moment. ]

I would not deprive you of it. Sitting and praying, your grace, is not so trying as commanding and fighting.

[ though she nearly accepts his generosity: the only thing that stops her, in the end, is the understanding that he is a king and she would not have him believe her greedy. ]

[ Ah, we come to it. ]

I am not fighting, Lady Stark. My son saved my life but I am not yet fully healed, unfit for duty.

[ ... ]

You've been hurt. [ not a query. once, she'd prayed for a king's death. but that king was nothing like this king and she feels genuine sympathy today. ] It seems your son is terribly brave, but I am very sorry to hear of--

[ hmm. she frowns to herself. ] Is there anything you need?

Your voice is a balm, Siladhiel. [ There is mild fondness in the Elven-given name, a kind that neither oversteps bounds or pushes at familiarity. ] My thanks, yet I would not have you look upon me as I am.

Of course, your grace. [ she isn't insulted by the rebuff. why should she be? if she were king (hah) and injured, she thinks she would hate to let anyone see her vulnerable. it's stressful enough to be a lady and a constant source of perceived weakness. ]

All I ask -- if you'll tell me -- is whether the wound is serious?

[ A weighted pause, and then he answers truthfully. ]

Not any more.

Thank the Gods.

[ it's a strange way to say something: not any more. but she doesn't question it. what matters is that he is out of the woods, so to speak. ]

Tell me of those you name gods, Siladhiel. We have nothing but time.

[ she settles against a cushion. nothing, indeed, but time. and stories might distract from an empty belly. ]

There are seven new gods and countless old ones. [ then, by way of mild explanation: ] Alayne Stone worships the former. Most southerners do. The Father, the Mother, the Warrior, the Maiden, the Smith, the Crone, and the Stranger. Seven gods -- or else one god with seven faces.

Strange. There are seven lords and seven ladies of the Valar, those who were granted insight into the thoughts of The One at the time of the beginning. Why do you suppose it is always seven?

It is a wholesome number. [ though now she wonders if she believes it only because her mother devoutly followed the seven. ] Septs have seven walls, your grace. And it is written in The Seven Pointed Star that the Father tore seven stars from the sky and fashioned them into a crown for the king of the Andals. There are meant to be Seven Hells. And there are meant to be Seven Heavens.

And, of course, there are the Seven Kingdoms. [ ... ] Or else it is a coincidence. Who are the Valar?

[ Seven for the dwarf lords, he thinks, dismissing it. Seven is better than nine, at any rate. ]

The Valar are those who serve the One, Eru, whose name is spoken sparingly. They built the land and sky, the stars and seas, the beasts and birds. Not gods as Men think, but highly revered. Elbereth is most beloved by my people, the Lady of the Stars, Varda Elentári.

When Elves weary of Arda, they sail west to the Undying Lands, there to live amongst the Valar in peace and joy.

[ it's a lot to commit to memory, but she attempts it all the same. the biggest challenge lies in the fact that these words are spoken -- not written. she has to try to listen to strange words from a strange language. ]

Your Valar, then, have left your world already? [ no. world is the wrong term. she hums and tries again. ] Your...land.

They dwell across the sea where only Elves may discover the hidden shores. That is where my son left for, some time ago. Their fairness inspired his own, as you will no doubt be able to see when we stand together.

[ although he's told her otherwise, she cannot help how she continues to mistake his valar for gods. after all, they number in sevens. only... ]

Your grace. Do you recall when I told you about the trees the northerners worship? The weirwoods?

I do.

[ A prompt, a gentle one to go on. ]

I'm not certain I can keep faith with the Seven. As I said, Alayne Stone must -- she is of the south. But Starks, good king, are the north. [ kings of it, in their day. but she does not dare to voice such ambition before a king. ]

Your Valar are across the sea. The Seven Gods of the Faith are...I don't know where they reside. But the Old Gods! They are in those beautiful bone-white trees. And they watch us from the faces carved in their bark. And when we disappoint them, their eyes weep red sap.

[ a soft sigh. ]

The stars, the beasts and birds, the running rivers and forests, all are proof of the Valar's influence. The world we come from is our weirwood, so to speak.

[ And though he wouldn't like it to weep; ]

I should one day like to see one of your bone-white trees, Lady Stark.

And I think I should like to show you one. The First Men...inherited them, perhaps, from the Children of the Forest.

[ she once thought the children looked short and knobbly and goblin-like -- but ever since meeting elves, she didn't half-wonder whether they instead looked like thranduil and his kin.

it made it all the more impossible not to respect him. ]

We have been called by such a name. [ His thoughts run linear to her own, a smile in his voice. ] Perhaps the First Men of your lands knew a people not unlike mine. Men have inherited the world that I know, all the Eldar have sailed west save those in my realm. Once, our numbers were so great they stood as far back as the horizon. Alas for those days.

The gift of true death is one that no Elf ever abides for long.

(first lemon cake) voice ✧ seelie & unseelie

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