Aubrey's still playing the young boy. Sort of. He still looks like the young boy. Whether his actions could portray young, might depend on what century you are dealing with
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He blinks chocolate brown eyes that are heavy with thought at her as the words sink in. Despite the weight of thought, his features are warm and welcoming.
Sansa approves, both of his land and of his bow. She responds with a curtsey in kind - faultless even with the bowl of porridge in one hand.
"Sansa Stark, good sir. And so kind to call one such as me fair."
She focuses back on the figurines. Fondly, she remarks, "My brother Robb played with these when he was your age. It is a good start to becoming a worthy commander as he is."
He gives a small tilt of his head. "You make it sound like you should not be called fair. Is there a reason?"
He focuses back on the pieces, moving a couple here and there. "They are a good tool for learning strategies. Especially if one could be graced with a good general's attention long enough."
He gives a glance up at her, his eyes carrying cheerfulness. "I wouldn't be so sure of that."
He moves a couple figurines without really looking at the tables. His voice might sound a little more knowledgeable than a seventeen year old's should. "It's harsh compared to other lands. Men are taught sword at an early age, and everyone is taught that everything they do should be for the good of Sparta. Sparta is our home, and therefore our heart."
"Quite sensible," Sansa says of Sparta. "It sounds like the North of Westeros - my land. We worship the old gods and have few knights and tourneys. Many call northerners dour and cold, but the land is pure and harsh. All work together to survive when winter comes."
"And who wars against whom?" she asks the young boy.
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"Sparta and Athens?" It's said with a small grin.
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"And which side do you favour?"
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"Sparta. Where I was born and all."
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"The black. Though, it's a little hard to really win against yourself."
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"Truly, I'd be little help - I know as much of battles as a horse does of the high harp. As it should be, for a maiden. May I ask your name?"
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He gives a low fluid bow, one formal enough for a High Lady of any house. "Alex Remington. And you, my fair lady?"
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"Sansa Stark, good sir. And so kind to call one such as me fair."
She focuses back on the figurines. Fondly, she remarks, "My brother Robb played with these when he was your age. It is a good start to becoming a worthy commander as he is."
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He focuses back on the pieces, moving a couple here and there. "They are a good tool for learning strategies. Especially if one could be graced with a good general's attention long enough."
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"I'm not so fair as many others," she murmurs. She eats a bit of her breakfast as she watches the boy work.
"What is your land of Sparta like?" she asks.
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He moves a couple figurines without really looking at the tables. His voice might sound a little more knowledgeable than a seventeen year old's should. "It's harsh compared to other lands. Men are taught sword at an early age, and everyone is taught that everything they do should be for the good of Sparta. Sparta is our home, and therefore our heart."
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"Quite sensible," Sansa says of Sparta. "It sounds like the North of Westeros - my land. We worship the old gods and have few knights and tourneys. Many call northerners dour and cold, but the land is pure and harsh. All work together to survive when winter comes."
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His head tilts thoughtfully. "It is not a life for the weak of body, or spirit. To live in lands such as ours."
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She doesn't comment about the fitness of body or spirit - Sansa knows quite a few nobles who aren't either. But she won't disillusion the young lad.
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"Sparta is part of Earth, fair lady. It is a city-state in the country of Greece. Though, yes, I have meet others from Earth."
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