[008] i feel it in my bones;

[commandsthewind]

[ She's not really sure where to begin after... everything that happened. It's not she hasn't been through worse, she has. What was one little kidnapping compared to months of war, and before that? Worse. But that was court, that was England where she was an abomination to God in the eyes of almost a whole continent -- and she had accepted that, it was being Queen, as true as any marriage. In sickness, and in health, till death do you part. It meant no small amount of joy in knowing that her world was at peace here. No one wanted her dead, at least. No wanted to strip her down to something they could use again.

Her head pounded all over again. This, mercifully, wasn't followed by the bitterness that always came with such attempt. Killing never made her feel safe. Not really. Not when it always meant there was something worse coming. A single man could of attacked, his name etched, to be executed, one name written in black ink and however many copies of that. But it never stayed one name. Killing was like lying, there could never be just one, and no one ever thanked you. Whoever it was, had people who loved that person. To be loved, for themselves. So perhaps there was a simplicity taken by this, and she treated it like she ever had, or tried to. Her head down, trying to wash away the emotion like waves eroding a cliff face. More than licking her wounds, she needed to centre herself again. Find that glass wall that didn't let people touch her. Her, her that was separate, the part that could die. Her that was able to be shattered against a rock like a child.

The thing she hated more than anything else, it was this was no trick of the castle. This was men. Men, playing the same cruel games with even less point. It manifested in all the ways she couldn't show, when she sat in her study. Teeth clenched till they ached, grip around her wine cup so tightly she thought she'd leave the imprint of her fingers on the metal -- and her mind, ah the treacherous thing! Call it treason for it ever betrayed her! Her mind gave her a technicolour reminder of the times it had happened before. Boys, boys screaming whore, the empty click of guns, the screams of guards, the blood coating her like she had done the crime herself, soldiers dying for men, because of men they would never see, for the heaven's she hoped they reached. There was no words for the battles in the mind, for the horrors inflicted by memory. In long watches of the night, when the dark just seemed to cast a better tapestry for a life's mistakes, they seemed a song without end. Did she even remember the names any more? Did she even weep for them any longer?

But at least, there were those that cared. A suspicious mind would question the reasons why they did, but Elizabeth had not the energy. Still, the deserved something from her, other than her weeks of silence and seclusion, something she was never entirely permitted in court. ]

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I think, perhaps, I am very tired. But rest... ah, she is elusive as only I am told the best mistresses are.

[ she seemed stuck, tired in a way that there was no complete words to. She's trying her best to make light of it, however possible. ]

God preserve us, if it is right He should do so. [ but these days, these weeks, these minutes of reflection, she was no longer sure it was right. ] More than that, you've my thanks, for your concern, for your love. I shall never forget such things. 

I hope you all enjoy the feast of Saint Valentine, he is a goodly saint. 

Comments

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[wolfchild]

Your Grace?

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[commandsthewind]

Little niece. It's a been awhile, has it not?

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[wolfchild]

Yes, Your Grace.

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[commandsthewind]

And are you doing... well?

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[wolfchild]

Yes. What of you?

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[commandsthewind]

Things have been more eventful than I like. But seldom is much to do but endure that and hope for better. [she still keeps her voice letter, what good came of worrying a child already burdened?]

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[wolfchild]

Why weren't you in you rooms? ...If I may be so bold, Your Grace. [ Remembering Roose Bolton's treatment, she quickly defers. ]

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[commandsthewind]

I...

[she swallowed down, picking her words carefully.]

... For a game I do understand the purpose of and was not willing to participate in, I was held captive for a few short days until someone realised where I was. With... insurance as to my good behaviour, my life was threatened. [She knows the games, she's played them, but she loathes and detests them absolutely.]

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[wolfchild]

[ She reads the response until the words don't make sense. I tried, she thinks and doesn't say it. Trying means nothing.

She would offer to let Nymeria remain with her, but the wolf is too wild to be left alone with anyone.

She'd known something was wrong and couldn't do anything. She bites her lip. ]

You're unhurt?

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[commandsthewind]

[She wished she could absolve as easily as crimes in court. But there was nothing so lucky as that. So instead she speaks softly, as she had to Bess that few times. ]

I am as you last saw me, not a scratch on me. It's as if nothing happened at all.

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[wolfchild]

I'm glad for that, Your Grace.

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[commandsthewind]

As am I. [ Very much, that this should end far more peacefully than all that. ] Do you suppose that the snows will clear soon here? That way we can go riding again when they do. I have missed such things.

You must show me how your work with blades is going as well. [ Ever the encourager. She could hardly help it. Too much of herself in Arya, always too much. ]

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[wolfchild]

I think so. I think I remember someone saying seasons only last three moons here.

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[commandsthewind]

It is a great deal colder in England, but that is usually how long the summers and winters last for me. Do they last longer for you in Westeros?

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[wolfchild]

Summer lasted ten years.

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[commandsthewind]

Summers can last ten years? I am not sure if your Gods are cruel, or loving for that.

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[wolfchild]

Not always. This is the longest summer we've had.

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[commandsthewind]

The longest? [The next obvious question was how long were their years. She remembered the old calendars, before the monks had written out things more formally. But perhaps that was a question for another time.]

Are long summers not... favourable? [Drought she supposed. Not to mention, the heat made men hot blooded.]

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[wolfchild]

Long summers are good. Long winters aren't. As long as summer is winter is like to be.

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[commandsthewind]

[Elizabeth winced, she knew how that must be. She knew of winters when people died from sickness and lacking food.]

I sympathise to your father then, for organising your people in such a way through such conditions.

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[wolfchild]

My father's dead.

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[commandsthewind]

As is mine Arya. But that does not stop us remembering what made them great.

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[wolfchild]

What made him great made him die.

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[commandsthewind]

Then I would suggest learn to be greater still, with your father's strength. I won my war through such means. There is no way back, only the battles ahead. Use experience as much of a weapon as blades and arrows. Learn from your father's mistakes. He would want that, I think. Or at least a father should.

[She'd never know what Henry would think of her actions. Disappointment, probably. Bitter disappointment.]

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[wolfchild]

I already learned. Loyalty gets you killed.

[ She closes the journal. ]