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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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.

So you've told. And so -- forgive me for it -- I still have a difficult time believing.

[ or perhaps it's just her envy clouding her heart. would that true death had skipped over so many of her loved ones. ]

It is a strange thing, to think never to see ones loved ones even after a death. No Elf knows where the souls of Men go, nor will we ever, perhaps.

Two She-Elves there were who died for love of a mortal. Their names I am hesitant to speak, given one is here in this very castle. [ Hushed, ] How strange the folds of time are, within Allaidh Darach.

[ some old romantic fancy stirs in the pit of her stomach. died for love of a mortal. she's certain the tale of it must be fascinating, but she can't bring herself to ask for it. not now. not after seeing so much death with her own eyes.

sansa doesn't value so destructive a love any longer. however: ] Very strange. I know a man who should be dead. I'm glad he isn't -- but that doesn't make it any less unsettling.

Who should be dead? [ The weight behind the words is allowed to linger. ] A joyful place this could be, if only we were not meant to do battle.

[ the way he questions her choice of words. it makes her feel -- what? shame. maybe. ]

Should, yes. [ hesitant. ] Because when dead men walk, your grace --

[ why haven't any of the others come? she abandons her words, and tries to change the subject. ] But battle will be expected. Do you think it cruel that we're allowed to speak with our would-be enemies using these lockets, as well?

I think it will allow for Seelie forces to be diminished if they trust too keenly on what the Unseelie tell them. Perhaps they are not entirely evil, just as I am certain many here cannot be called strictly honourable, but they will have been charged with slaughtering us on sheer principle. "Shard-holders" is what we all are in this land. Perhaps we are even a currency, after a kind.

We ought to take advantage of the lockets and discover as much about them as possible.

I learned. I --

[ a huff. the girl had seemed so angry. so unfortunate. sansa doesn't want to betray her, now. but this little bit of information cannot hurt, can it? ] I don't think the Unseelie are asked into this conflict, as we were. One claimed she was taken against her will.

[ but now sansa wonders if it might be a lie -- such a twisting of a fact would, indeed, make her think twice before cheering on an offensive move against the unseelie. petyr would have applauded such an underhanded way of playing on the enemy's sympathy. ]

That they live amongst orcs and other foul creatures has not left me in any doubt that their living arrangements are disagreeable, compared to ours.

[ The fact remains, they are not Seelie, for some reason or another. ]

Be careful, child. I know you will, yet it bears saying to soothe an old heart.

I will -- I will, I promise. [ insistent. earnest. but his concern is like a balm to her. she wants to tell him that she's been playing this game in closer quarters, but their fledgling friendship is not one built on boasts. ]

They are far away; I am here. It's only words, your grace, and words are wind.

(first lemon cake) voice ✧ seelie & unseelie

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