eachdraidh | ❧ video; 01

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❧ video; 01

[ Tiny, delicate little hands are the first sight to be seen when the locket begins to broadcast, closely followed by a pair of bright grey eyes. A fairy flutters from Thranduil's arm to sit on his shoulder and, pointy-eared as he is with a river of pale blonde hair (not to mention a crown of red berries and leaves), they make a fine pair, though neither of them appears particularly human. It isn't locked to one court or another, singularly because he isn't aware it can be, displaying the brilliant golden walls of a private solar in Caer Glaem. A king's chambers.

The feed shuts off abruptly.

Minutes later, it clicks back on to the sound of the tinkling laughter of the same fairy; someone is clearly learning how to use the locket's functions via trial and error. Judging by the first glimpse of him, he needs the practice. The third time he speaks, the message runs along the screen like a river of inked words taking form: A charming tool. And they will be able to respond in kind, you say? I think I will, yes. How do I —? Ah. Thank you, little one.

Fourth time is a charm; the locket is held at arm's length, affording the best view yet of a fascinated elf. ]

I am Thranduil, Elvenking of Eryn Lasgalen, that which is the Wood of Greenleaves in the land from whence I hail. I would welcome those with greater knowledge of the Drabwurld and the creatures within it. Well do I understand the nature of being summoned thus — that is not a point of contention for me, as it is with many of you.

[ The fairy shimmers insistently, drawing a glance. ]

Lothdithen will visit any who wish to further discuss with me the matter of the war and lead them to where I will be in the castle until nightfall. The library will suffice with its maps of where we might strengthen this fortress with our differing experience and arts.

[ There is no thanks, no goodbye. The feed simply ends with the tone of one who is not accustomed to bandying idle words. ]

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[ He will be patient with her, when it comes to it; there is something anxious about the girl and has been from the off, which he will not pin down unless she herself unravels her woes.

His smile is not entirely broader than usual, but his eyes do shine. ]

Yes, their magics are somewhat confounding, I find. [ A pause, and he angles the view on his son for her benefit. ] Legolas, however, is weathering the storm far better than I.

[ The reason for his joy made known; a child returned. ]

...Your son is here?

[ she feels a sympathetic joy. to reunite with family! it's a sweetness, and one for which she devoutly wishes. and so sansa doesn't begrudge him his happiness. rather, she will revel quietly in it as if it is her own. she feeds on it -- vicarious. ]

How wonderful for both of you. [ indeed, her aims to request a private audience and confess her sins are set aside in favour of this news. ] At least -- it is wonderful, isn't it?

It is. Would you care to meet with him before he leaves the castle? He will be patrolling the forest after tonight.

[ He would have them know one another, if only to give the girl another opportunity at making a trustworthy friend. ]

I would be honoured, your grace. [ perhaps too honoured. a little nagging voice in the back of sansa's head tells her she should doubt the king's motives -- as she has had to doubt other kings. but lord renly has assured her that she might flee to him should any worry befall her. and renly, at least, she trusts. ]

There -- there is something I would speak to you about, first. [ after all, she realizes it may alter his mind on whether she's worthy of a princely introduction. ]

He will find you when best it serves you to be found, then.

[ Whenever that is, he'll let Legolas decide, not in the habit of tailoring his son's circle of allies as much as giving him a nudge in the right direction and letting him do as he is wont.

Thranduil eases back in his chair. ]

I am listening.

[ not here; not like this. she ill-likes the lockets and if she can be witness to the king's conversations then someone else could be witness to hers. it will be harder to confess in person, but she is a stark. and therefore she must be brave like one.

so -- veiling her concern in further courtly manners: ] Perhaps your grace would allow me to say it in the library. I have nothing to offer you by way of fortifying this castle, so I promise I won't take up too much of your time.

[ A solemn matter then, moreso than she trusts to the inconstancy of the locket-magic. He can understand that. ]

Certainly. Come to the library when you are ready. I imagine I shall be occupied there for much of the morning, if not the day.

[ a gentle nod. and a long awkward pause as she tried to end the conversation by means other than simply closing the locket. she fails; frowns; eventually snaps the pendant shut without a spoken farewell. after all, their conversation is not yet complete -- and anything else would just be strange and empty. sansa is fine with hollow courtesies when they are needed, but she would rather tailor her conversation to the king's own style. and she seems a man -- nay, an elf -- loath to waste breath.

she spends her time preening, instead. dropping the locket gently into place and straightening the crisp edges of her wrapped dress. she still wears the dark and dreary colours of alayne stone, not brave enough to dress herself like sansa stark deserves. but after that it's only a matter of tracing the halls back to the library. she hasn't stepped inside of it before today, but had noted its position on an earlier stroll about the stronghold. sansa's skills were hardly impressive to the heroes gathered here, but she has a good eye and a strong mind for detail. space -- its shape and its build -- is not a mystery to her, and she remembers her way back to the library with laughable ease. it's been two years and she still recalls every turn of winterfell's halls.

but, once she's passed the room's doors, it's another matter entirely. she feels small again. the constant weight of her confession pulls on her arms, drags them down into stiff locked positions by her sides. and she casts a wary glance about the library. a girlish twinge wonders just how many fantastic stories must be housed behind the leather bindings, but she has no time for it. her footsteps sound dull as she ventures farther inside, looking for the elven king. ]

[ Rifling through the maps on the table when he hears the approach of feet along the corridor outside, he straightens and slides an open book aside (Dorchadas Wights) in order to greet Alayne as she enters the tall doors. He wears an over-robe which hints he may not be spending too much time out of doors today, though his crown remains for the benefit of anyone who might seek him out. He is the Elvenking at home and must be widely recognised as such here, what with as many wildly strange creatures as there are normal mortals. Distinguishing oneself is important. ]

Lady Stone. [ Two chairs are tilted to face once another at either end of one side of the desk, and he offers her a seat. ] Shall we?

[ distinguishing herself is the very last thing sansa wants to do. safety lies with blending, mingling, and becoming dull. but she must carve herself a little bit of notice today. because kindness deserves kindness and -- as with the turmoil back home -- one had to choose their allies carefully. if she chooses him, then she needs must be a little straighter.

and so she looks pained when the king addresses her. she offers a shallow bob of a curtsey and hesitates on the very threshold of taking the offered chair. a deep distraction in her heart told her that penitents should not sit in comfort when they stand trial. ] Your Grace.

[ she does not look at him. she looks, instead, at a spot just beyond his tall shoulder. ] I have come to confess something. A lie.

[ He reads her timidity as an open book, remaining on his feet as she wishes to do so herself. Gently, he explains, ]

Many have lied to me in the past but my ire against them does not hold sway against you, child. [ If he were entirely honest, he might have admitted he thought something was wrapped up in a large invisible shroud from all her mannerisms thus far, muffled as they were when she stymied them at the feast. ] If you feel you wish to unburden yourself now, I welcome the truth. If you cannot, then I will not ask you to do so until you are ready and we shall speak of this no more.

[ The way she says Your Grace ... A girl who stringently follows courtly rules, so he offers a clarification for her benefit. ]

You are not beholden to me in any way.

[ but i am beholden to everyone, it seems. at least, sansa has not lived a single moment since arriving that did not see her currying someone's favour. even in solitude, she plots how best to be someone who won't be hurt or blamed or discarded. ]

In name, your-- [ she hesitates; she tries to decide if he's freed her from the little linguistic pattern. but in the end, she falls once again to caution: ] Your Grace. I lied in name; I gave you a false one.

[ There are so many reasons a young girl has for providing a false name, especially in shockingly new circumstances such as these, and he tries not to assume anything. A pause, then a nod. ]

I would consider it a privilege to know your true one, then.

[ she nods. she lifts her chin. gods, she looks briefly proud for once -- because she cannot fathom speaking this name without girding herself with pride. her name is stark, the blood of the first men fills her veins. and, to her best knowledge, she holds the most immediate claim on winterfell. none of this brings her shame. only the lie -- the lie stings, still. ]

Sansa Stark. [ she supposes there would be a small matter of titles -- but who is she now that her brother has been defeated and her castle sits in ruins? maybe the name is title enough. ] Alayne Stone is -- she is an unfortunate girl. Lonely and without prospects. Her name is -- [ sansa can't describe the mechanics of bastardy to a king, so she shrugs instead. ] She isn't someone a king would see introduced to their son, your grace. Not truly.

[ His hand raises subtly at his side, dissolving the furthering of lonely and without prospects. Well does he understand poverty, though his people have not lived with it for an Age. ]

It is a fine name, Lady Stark, and befits you better than that of the cold and unyielding.

[ No anger is apparent, nor does he push for an explanation as to why she lied; she admitted the truth of her own free will, that is all that matters. ]

From this moment on you will also be Siladhiel to me, she who shines, the reclaimer of her strength — for I see pride return to you when you speak of Sansa Stark as Alayne Stone was never loved in your countenance.

[ another name. for the span of a heart's beat, she wars with herself on whether she should accept it or not. two names might be enough for one young maiden. but when he describes it -- translates it -- the sentiment catches her attention and holds it there. she nods. ]

You do me an honour -- [ sansa says it simply and without ornamentation, which seems to underscore her sincerity. ] Sila...Siladhiel. [ and she attempts to say it, sliding her voice hesitantly through the vowels. ]

[ His smile is grateful as he moves to face the table, inviting her to see the maps and books. ]

'See-lath-ee-ehl.' A tricky title, perhaps, but respectfully bestowed.

Siladhiel. [ she echoes it once more -- this time with enough comfort that does not sound completely clumsy. but she is a far ways off from mastering even so few foreign syllables. but it draws the ghost of a smile to her lips and she at long last takes her offered place at the table.

the name is never far from her mind. she hasn't earned it, for the reasons she abandoned one name and took her false one were dark indeed. she doesn't feel as though she shines -- but she will take the name like a knight might take a title, and she will hope to live up to its meaning. ]

How fare your plans? [ sansa doesn't ask for details. merely broad strokes. ]

Very good. [ The praise is not without merit.

He tilts his head at the main map, leaning over the table enough to tap Caer Scima. ]

Through the efforts of my friend Professor Charles Xavier we have determined the enemy has also been recruiting, as has the Seelie Court. They are mustering their forces, as are we.

[ sansa decides she likes being at the king's elbow; being shown maps. it's an indulgence two which she's unaccustomed. petyr, perhaps, had trickle-fed her pieces and shades of strategy but never too much, and so she doesn't expect much today either.

instead, she traces what her careful mind suspects might be the simplest route from this stronghold to caer scima. but simplest isn't always best. all to often, simplicity invited danger. ]

...But why are they our enemy, your grace? Or -- [ her palm flattens briefly over caer scima. ] Why are they enemies of the Seelie Court?

[ it would be natural to expect so young a girl to ask so broad a question because she dreams naively of peace and cooperation. not sansa. although she'd never lifted a sword or marched in any army, westeros's civil unrest has left her incapable of expecting so neat a solution. clearly, the two courts have reason to take up arms against each other. she only wants to know why. the childish part, perhaps, is in how readily she depends on thranduil for this answer instead of asking a fairy for herself. ]

Edited (whoops.) 2014-04-10 01:12 (UTC)

They fraternize with orcs and dark things from the deep. The former are foul creatures that will eat a man alive and wear his skull as a crown, the latter we have only just began to scratch the surface of.

[ He slides over one of the books, Dorchadas Wights, and flips to a page concerning redcaps and goblins, trolls and ogres. ]

Every great enemy of the Free Peoples that I have known has associated with beasts like these. If there is a peaceful way to amend the feuding between the two Courts, I have not yet seen evidence of it. [ But, so as not to worry her too greatly, ] It is not an impossibility; the library is vast and long will I tarry, ere I fan the flames of war unnecessarily. I will continue to search for a solution that will end in the least bloodshed.

[ her eyes dart across the words. all of them fantastical, but all of them believable when pressed against her experience of this land already. sansa wants to put faith in the elvenking's aspirations: the least bloodshed. her gut tells her she knows the vague outlines of what their solution might be -- to find what motivates a man, any man, and use that motivation to move him. it is the the basest mechanic of the game.

and perhaps, if she proves herself, she might become more than a mere pawn in this land. ] This court has a High King. [ her fingertips are still tripping gently across the map, though she isn't far from shifting her tactile attention wholly onto the book. ] Does the other court have one as well? We ought to know what he is like.

Edited 2014-04-10 10:44 (UTC)

It stands to reason. [ He believes there is, more likely than there isn't. ] If I find anything in the lore of this land, you may rest assured I will not keep it to myself.

[ His attention on her tilts up inquiringly. ]

You have a mind for strategy, Lady Stark.

No.

[ a flicker of her gaze dismisses the suggestion that she might have a mind for anything. the only truth is that she knows a man who strategizes amidst the best of them, and she knows as well that he would be cross with her for treating with some king he did not know. telling the king her name; allowing him to name her in turn. petyr would be very cross indeed. ]

I've merely learned a crude point or two.

Then you learned them well.

[ He sinks into the opposite chairs at a slouch, legs folding. A king's privilege, especially when as tall as Thranduil. ]

I should like to know more about this stronghold. It will take weeks to know it inside-out, given the size. How have you fared, so far?

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