driftfleet | open | text + action

Entry tags:

open | text + action

Who: Sansa Stark + YOU
Broadcast: Text, fleetwide.
Action: Blue Fish
When: This morning.

Jon Snow and Bran Stark have left the Fleet. Condolences to those who may have befriended them while they were here; Gods-willing, we shall see them again.

[ sansa's message is short -- abrupt, and almost stripped of its emotion. she avoids broadcasting anything but simple text because she does not trust herself to maintain her mask, so to speak. as it is, she's cried too much. losing bran and jon feels like opening old wounds packed with grief. it makes her feel like a little girl again: weak, and mewling.

but she does add: ] I dread leaving, as they have left. Do others in the Fleet want to stay?

[ later, she can be found sitting on the floor of her personnel office. she has taken the furs from her bunk and has spread them across the ground, and she's allowed jon's direwolf pups free rein of the cozy and comfortable area. sansa's eyes are red-rimmed, and they betray every lie she tells when she insists she's as well as can be expected. but at least her spirits lift, a little, when she's playing tug-of-war with the pups.

they bring her a bittersweet joy. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Why do you not believe in them? (He isn't accusatory; merely curious.) I can see the similarity between your Seven and the Valar. The Father would be Eru or Manwë; the Mother would be Varda or Yavanna if one considers the land a mother; the Warrior would be Tulkas; the Maiden would be Vána; the Smith would be Aulë; the Crone... I cannot say. I am equally perplexed as to the Stranger.

[ because the seven have proven themselves fickle, and without mercy. but sansa holds her tongue. instead, she tells an answer that's prettier. politer. ]

My family [ apart from her lady mother ] are a northern family. And in the north, the old gods are worshiped. They are nameless and they are countless, and they persisted long before the conquerors came across the Narrow Sea and cut down their holy trees.

(Slowly, he nods, perplexed by the idea of...multiple religions. The Elves have always been certain and solid in such matters.)

I suppose there is power in decimating another's beliefs. It seems foul to me to do so, but Men have done fouler before.

[ dully: ] And do fouler again.

Not without justice being done, I pray.

There is no such thing as justice. Not in Westeros. Not any longer. I pray your kingdoms are different, my lord.

Ah, child, justice exists in all places. There is simply no one to uphold it in your Westeros and that is sad indeed. You deserve better.

[ i don't.

she swallows her feelings. once again, she aims to be polite: ] My name is Sansa Stark. What's yours?

Well met, Lady Sansa. I am Maedhros or Maitimo if you prefer. (There is also Nelyafinwë and Russandol, but he doesn't wish to confuse her.)

[ kind of him to offer, but: ] Which do you prefer? Maedhros or Maitimo?

[ -- both are foreign to her, but she recreates their sounds with passing grace. she's gotten good at echoing the words of others, even when she doesn't quite understand them. she has a careful, curious ear. ]

I do not have a preference; whichever is easier for you to recall shall serve. (He smiles at her skill. Quenya and Sindarin are not easy languages.) I have been given many names, but such is not uncommon for Elven-kind.

(Particularly those that have done as much as him.)

Maedhros sounds strong. [ like a king of old. one of the earlier dragon lords. she associates those eliding, sliding vowels with ancient royalty and stories of old. of aegon, of jaehaerys, of daeron. ]

It means pale glitter. (Referring to the flash or glitter of metal.) Each Elf is given a father name and a mother name. My father name is Nelyafinwë, which refers to me as "Finwë the Third". Finwë is my grandfather, you see. My mother name is Maitimo, which means "well-shaped one". My mother is a sculptor.

(He smiles faintly, the expression sad.) My epessë - or nickname - is Russandol or "Copper-top". The color of my hair is rare for Elves.

Therefore Maedhros is simply a combination of Maitimo and Russandol. We enjoy crafting fitting names overmuch, I think.

[ her smile is weak -- unhappy, but not a whole lie. ]

Mine is rare for northerners, too. [ and if they share nothing else, they at least share the colour -- evident since she's toggled the video function a few messages past. ] Though I have thankfully never been called anything like copper-top.

[ it's clear she views it as a little too familiar. a little too unbecoming. ]

Your hair is enchanting. (He is fond of the color since he equates it with his mother and younger twin brothers.) Does the nickname displease you?

(His lips quirk, amused.) It was given to me by loving brothers and cousins. I cherish it even if it might sound childish.

It would displease me, I think, were it given to me. [ but it wasn't. it was given to him. and he cherishes it, and so sansa respects it as best she can. ] Although it's prettier in its native tongue than in translation.

You will find that is usually the case with Elven tongues. We can make atrocities sound like songs. (His brother Maglor has a gift for that with his creations.)

I only speak the common tongue -- [ she confesses. ] And enough High Valyrian to please my tutors and do well in my lessons.

Does High Valyrian differ much from the common tongue? I am most comfortable with Quenya, though I have learned some Sindarin as well as the languages of Men.

It differs enough. I don't think it's taught in Westeros outside of the Great Houses or the Citadel. [ ... ] I once heard that they still speak it in the streets across the Narrow Sea, but I've never been there.

I take it that it is more of a historical language, then? (Like Quenya is destined to be.) You must pass it on to your children. Languages are precious.

Should I start a family, my lord, it would not be me who teaches the sons and daughters of my house. [ ... ] There would be a septa and a maester to teach them. As they would teach them their sewing, their geography, their history, and how best to recognize the arms of even the smaller houses.

[ -- sansa isn't an innocent sort of soul. not any longer. but there is a kind of ignorance present in how she speaks about domestic life. no other option occurs to her, even now. as hard as her life has been, of late, she bears a very marked and obvious privilege about her. ]

Forgive me but that does not sound fulfilling. Parents should take part in their children's education. They need not teach them all, of course, yet there is much they can learn from each other by simply spending time together.

(He was once as privileged and innocent as her - perhaps worse. As the first-born prince of a fiery, proud father, Nelyafinwë had lived without complications or injury in Aman. His circumstances had changed rapidly in Arda and since then, he has been humbled. Extensively. One cannot sustain prolonged torture and losing a hand without being changed for good.

Or for ill.)

As you say. Of course. My apologies.

[ if she is abrupt, then it's only because she doesn't care to explain how doubtful she is she shall ever have a proper family again. she refuses to speak with her lord husband, and should she have her way she'll never return to westeros. and, without winterfell to hold, what use is there in bearing children?

no. best to simply agree with him and close the subject. ]

You needn't apologize to me. (The abruptness concerns him and his brow furrows.) I feel I have trespassed; there is much I do not know about mortal families.

(no subject)

steeledskin - 2016-12-30 00:51 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only