(fifth lemon cake) video ✧ open to both courts

[steeledskin]

Fellow Shardholders. [ what follows is a rehearsed speech, likely written beforehand and committed to memory. sansa stark (better known by most as alayne stone) sits before her locket in troichean beinn. she has, pinned to the shoulder of her fine silk dress, a direwolf. every instinct in her body tells her she should not say what must be said. should not announce what must be announced. but before his absence, her father had been giving her gentle instruction in how to meet these responsibilities. it makes her weep to imagine disappointing him -- yet she is far out of her depth. she needs help. but the speech she must do on her own. ]

With a heavy heart I tell you that Lord Eddard of House Stark -- Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and a Keeper of Cothromach -- has left these lands. H-he is gone. [ she does not elaborate upon the very grief of his absence, but the cause cannot be too difficult to surmise: else why should anyone's heart be heavy for a man returned to his own world? ]

Yet if Lord Stark has made you promises or oaths of any sort, no matter your court, I wish to see them honoured and fulfilled. [ it takes tremendous will not to beg for the opportunity. she swallows hard. ] And if any have in turn have sworn service to him, I tell you now that I am his eldest daughter and the noble city of Cothromach has deemed me heir to his title. And to his duties. I would be humbled if those sworn to him would consider entrusting me with those same vows -- though I understand asking you to put your trust in a daughter of his house is not a thing easily done.

Likewise, if any in these lands wish to take refuge or make their homes in Cothromach, I would speak to you. My Lord Father wanted to see the city built up to its proper glory, and any Shardholder willing to join us in the task will be welcomed within its walls. For now, Lady Meera Reed sits as castellan while my family travels. Once my efforts in Troichaen Beinn are finished, I look forward to to returning as Sansa of House Stark.

[ by now her voice is shaking and it was a challenge merely to say her true name. it had been a lie, of course: she does not look forward to being herself once more. she knows such honesty runs against every lesson taught to her in the south. honesty leaves her open. vulnerable. but in the south she'd not had jon. nor arya, really. nor any manner of true ally -- none like those allies who have helped her in these lands.

it is for those sweet supportive souls that she speaks her final piece. it is the most difficult thing to ask, and it isn’t hidden behind rehearsal. it is not courtly. ] To those who knew and cared for the girl Alayne Stone: I apologize for my falsehoods. I swear I meant no harm. Please -- forgive me.

[ this confession is done. and so too was alayne stone. ]

Comments

[steeledskin]

[ sansa does not panic her way into a monologue. she endures the fact that she is visible through her locket and yet not speaking -- but she would rather digest the lord of mair's words in full before spouting some knee-jerk response. hers will not be a minor reign filled with thoughtless threats and claims. she will agonize over every word: a strength and weakness both.

eventually: ] Should Cothromach fall once, it may yet fall again. Does your grace truly believe something so slight as a city changing hands will keep war from your borders?

[ no. she doubts it. she doubts it very much. too many castles have changed their lords in westeros these past years: there is no such thing as certain rule any longer. harrenhal has shuffled a half-dozen times and even now its lord by one side is different to its lord by another. she wonders even now if petyr baelish even believes the cursed towers his, or whether that title is appended to his name as a mere courtesy. another playing piece. ]

[dragmire]

It would be a relief all the same. The city would fall to one side and back to another in an endless cycle. I am told in previous wars, that was the very fate that befell my own city. How much preferable it would be to let that fate befall another.

[steeledskin]

Perhaps your towers are cursed, your grace.

[ haha good luck with your drabwurld harrenhal. ]

[dragmire]

I think not. If there is one craft I know only too well, it is the power of curses.

[Lucky drabwurld that he hasn't cast any yet.]

[steeledskin]

Too well?

[ a soft echo. a chirp. a bird, repeating and repeating -- pecking for more seeds. ]

[dragmire]

[He smiles thinly.]

They have their uses for tedious rivals.

[steeledskin]

[ that word again. tedious. it falls about her shoulders like a cloak too heavy. ]

Then it is a good thing we intend to be partners in trade, your grace. [ his smile is thin; hers is indulgent. hollow. a pretty lie that she knows she does not have to sell, because his threat has already been levelled. ]

[dragmire]

Indeed so. I shall look forward to your return.

[And there he allows her opportunity to end this conversation. Certainly he himself has nothing else to say.]

[steeledskin]

As do I. [ look forward to my return. for a hundred little reasons. ] Good day, your grace.

[ and the locket snaps shut and she can lean her head on her desk and scrunch her eyes shut so hard they burn. but she does not cry. ]