ᴏɴᴇ ʟɪғᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴏɴᴇ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ᴏɴ ʀᴇᴘᴇᴀᴛ

[persequor]

ᴡʜᴏ: Arya and you.
ᴡʜᴀᴛ: A day in the life.
ᴡʜᴇɴ: Today.
ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ: Options A-E open to all. Just let me know where we're at.


[ A // ɢᴀʀᴅᴇɴs ]
[ A couple of hours after daybreak finds Arya still in the gardens. While Nymeria naps close by, she attempts to weave flowers into a crown. The end result is laughable. Growling in frustration, she rips it apart. Around her lie the bruised and wilting victims of previous attempts. ]


[ B // ᴍᴜsɪᴄ ʀᴏᴏᴍ ]
[ From the open door of the music room comes the sound of drumming. There is no rhythm nor any sense of a song. A laugh sometimes accompanies it. Inside the room, Arya beats on a drum in front of Nymeria. The direwolf seems more interested in the drumsticks Arya has in her hands than the actual instrument. Occasionally, she lunges at the sticks and Arya laughs and moves back. Nymeria yelps. ]


[ C // ʀᴏᴏғ ]
[ Arya lies on her stomach, head and shoulders jutting out over the edge. She kicks her feet idly back and forth as she holds her arm straight out. Her hand opens and something falls. She counts under her breath before stopping with a frown. ]

I need something bigger. Nymeria, the stick.

[ Nymeria ignores Arya; the direwolf continues gnawing happily on her drumstick. ]


[ D // ᴘɪᴇ sʜᴏᴘ ]
[ Having mopped the floor, wiped down the tables and counter and rearranged the chairs—twice—Arya finally accepts she is done with her work. She had not thought she would enjoy it so. Work was a welcome reprieve. When she had something to do, she had less time to think. In Paradisa, there was nothing but time to think. She had even begun to miss her lessons.

With the store empty for the moment, Arya steals a day-old pie from the kitchen. She sits at a table against the windows to eat. Fork to her lips, she entertains herself watching the people walking by. ]


[ E // ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅs ]
[ Lying on the grass near the duck pond, the child is unobtrusive and quiet for once. The direwolf usually with her is nowhere to be seen yet they are not separated. Arya almost seems to be sleeping if not for the slit of grey marking open eyes. Try not to step on her. ]


[ F // ᴅᴀᴇɴᴇʀʏs ]
Daenerys!

[ Pushing everything out of mind, Arya smiles as she calls out. Behind her, Nymeria drags a deer carcass across the ground. ]

Viserion! Drogon! Rhaegal! Look what we've brought you!

Comments

[persequor]

Why?

[inafadingcrown]

[She stops to think of how best to explain this without overloading the poor child with tales of the time before the First Age.]

There are some who ever want that which they cannot have; in time, their lust turns to hate and they destroy that which they covet. So it was then.

[persequor]

Oh. [ So there are assholes among elves too. Good to know. ] Couldn't others be planted?

[inafadingcrown]

Not Trees such as these, alas. [And Uncle Asshole refused to let his precious jewels be cracked open to help revive them. That is not a euphemism, by the way.]

[persequor]

Was that when the sun and moon were made?

[inafadingcrown]

It was. And we were glad of it; the first rising of the moon came at a time when hope was most needed by my people.

[persequor]

Why? What happened?

[inafadingcrown]

We had just finished the crossing from the Undying Lands to Middle-Earth; the path was cold and harsh and many perished on the journey. And we had battle and death still fresh in our memory also.

The First Age was a harsh one and this was but the start.

[persequor]

Why did you make the journey? Did others invade?

[inafadingcrown]

[She gives a rueful little smile.] If ever I pressed too far, you are gently revenged. The tale is long in the telling and full of woe. I would prefer to keep it for another day.

[persequor]

All right.

[ You get a week to cough up story time B( ]

[inafadingcrown]

Perhaps we may speak of something else?

[Wow. Harsh, Arya.]

[persequor]

I guess. Yes. [ Unless it's about her. Then it's right back to "but whyyyy" ]

[inafadingcrown]

Do you enjoy music, Arya?

[persequor]

No.

[inafadingcrown]

Not at all? A shame; some of the best tales of my world are ordinarily told through song.

[persequor]

Our songs are stupid. [ Arya's mouth twists. ] Jonquil with flowers in her hair.

[inafadingcrown]

Ah- songs of beauty and love. [She resists the urge to laugh.] We have those also. Yet a great many others tell of battles and of great deeds.

[persequor]

Like what?

[inafadingcrown]

Tales of the great heroes of old, for the most part. Would you have me sing one?

[persequor]

Yes.

[inafadingcrown]

[There's a moment of silence while she decides on her song and then she begins, her voice low and deep, but fair and well practiced.]

He chanted a song of wizardry,
Of piercing, opening, of treachery,
Revealing, uncovering, betraying.
Then sudden Felagund there swaying
Sang in answer a song of staying,
Resisting, battling against power,
Of secrets kept, strength like a tower,
And trust unbroken, freedom, escape;
Of changing and of shifting shape
Of snares eluded, broken traps,
The prison opening, the chain that snaps.
Backwards and forwards swayed their song.
Reeling and foundering, as ever more strong
The chanting swelled, Felagund fought,
And all the magic and might he brought
Of Elvenesse into his words.
Softly in the gloom they heard the birds
Singing afar in Nargothrond,
The sighing of the Sea beyond,
Beyond the western world, on sand,
On sand of pearls in Elvenland.
Then the gloom gathered; darkness growing
In Valinor, the red blood flowing
Beside the Sea, where the Noldor slew
The Foamriders, and stealing drew
Their white ships with their white sails
From lamplit havens. The wind wails,
The wolf howls. The ravens flee.
The ice mutters in the mouths of the Sea.
The captives sad in Angband mourn.
Thunder rumbles, the fires burn ---
And Finrod fell before the throne.

[persequor]

Did he die?

[inafadingcrown]

He did. He knew, I think, that he would die young; he spoke of it to me once.

[persequor]

You knew him then? Was he a friend?