exsilium | o1 » voice

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o1 » voice

I understand that I am in a distant land very far from my own, and I should like to think I am grateful for the chance to travel. Though - I am sorry to say it, and hope I do not cause offense - the high lords of the Initiative have been misled to think a lowly baseborn girl of simple upbringing could assist them in their struggle.

Even so, I worry for my companions. Perhaps, if any hear this, you might be so kind as to attend for them? I seek the following: A man of middling years, small and thin, with close-cropped dark hair shot with grey and a short, pointed beard, who wears a mockingbird upon his breast. A boy of six, small and pale, with brown hair and large eyes, who may have the sigil of a falcon sewn upon his clothing; I am his guardian and must know where he is at once. A young woman, tall, with dark hair and blue eyes, most likely in men's dress. Alayne Stone seeks them.

You have my thanks.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It might be better ta give some names with those descriptions, lass.

[ This time she pauses for an entirely different reason.

She has not dreamed of that moment before Baelor's Sept for many moons. They are a different girl's memories but they come to Alayne just as easily-- the summer sun overhead, the seething masses shouting for blood, her father's voice those false words, those horrible false words, that she'd begged on his behalf for him to say. She'd smiled so sadly, so proudly, because her father was a man of honor and her shining prince could see that, would show mercy just as he'd promised, and they'd be happy, she knew they would be happy --

Suddenly her throat is tight, too tight, she fears she may not be able to even speak But this man does not recognize the sound of her voice (wouldn't Sansa Stark's father?), and though his voice is nearly the same as the one she knows, it sounds different. ]

Bed pardon, my lord, but do I know you?

[ As Patrick Harper would say it: God save Ireland.

There's a certain timbre to a person's voice. A certain tremble. Like the way their eyes will flicker sideways then downwards. How their eyes will widen. It's the look of someone who sees someone they did not. Sharpe knows it well. It's the brief seconds on the faces of Hagman, Harris, Perkis, and Cooper when they see him return from the dead (when he's not really been dead at all), and here, he's seeing it more and more often.

Sharpe sighs. A quiet little thing. ]

I ain't no Lord, lass. [ Softly. If Ned Stark speaks with dignity, Richard Sharpe's voice reminds one of a chipped sword. ] Alayne's a pretty name, and I'd remember it if I've heard it 'fore. But I haven't, lass.

[ Alayne's heart twists, and she's not sure if the plummeting feeling in her stomach is disappointment or relief. ]

I'm sorry for the misunderstanding. You sound similar to a man I once knew.

I sound, eh? [ Headtilts. ] And do I look like that man as well?

[ Christ, another one who looks at him and sees him as that 'Boromir of Gondor' bloke. ]