(no subject)
Who: Ellie and open.
What: Being stifled.
When: Feburary Ninth.
Where: Spire of the palace.
Ellie could hardly breathe. She wasn't used to this. Even as a child, when her grandfather's duties as a Lord of the Realm took him to the palace for meetings and such, she dreaded having to come.
It would vary, what would get to her most, the heat (well, compared to five below being warm in the North), the noise of the city nearby (citydwellers never got that, the city was miles away to them, but she was used to times where the only sound was her) or the confined spaces. That last had bothered her the least, usually.
Often, she would retire to the large library, and just read. No one bothered her there, not even her reading companion who would arrive, give Ellie a cursory nod before getting a book of his own. He would sit near her, but neither would speak, until either one of them was called.
And then, only a wordless adieu would occur. It was only later, once he had ascended to become the Queen's advisor and she, to the ladyship, did she even learn his name: Ambrose. Word of his brain removal had been unspeakably sad news for her.
Even now, though she knew he resided in the palace, she did not seek him out. It was silly, but to speak with him almost seemed like breaking a vow of silence or perhaps merely the magic spell that descends upon all memories of childhood.
Would he even remember the girl in the red hood, who never spoke to him? Or connect that to the woman she was now? She took a deep breath considering this, reminded again about how warm it was here and, despite the argreeable companionship she found here, how stifling this place was.
What she wouldn't give to be able to return to the North. To be where she felt most alive, home.
She dismissed it almost as the thought solidified in her mind. She had a responsibility to bring Zero in. For justice. For these people to whom he has caused so much suffering. But most of all, for him. She doubted he'd see it that way. She doubted they'd see it that way.
What: Being stifled.
When: Feburary Ninth.
Where: Spire of the palace.
Ellie could hardly breathe. She wasn't used to this. Even as a child, when her grandfather's duties as a Lord of the Realm took him to the palace for meetings and such, she dreaded having to come.
It would vary, what would get to her most, the heat (well, compared to five below being warm in the North), the noise of the city nearby (citydwellers never got that, the city was miles away to them, but she was used to times where the only sound was her) or the confined spaces. That last had bothered her the least, usually.
Often, she would retire to the large library, and just read. No one bothered her there, not even her reading companion who would arrive, give Ellie a cursory nod before getting a book of his own. He would sit near her, but neither would speak, until either one of them was called.
And then, only a wordless adieu would occur. It was only later, once he had ascended to become the Queen's advisor and she, to the ladyship, did she even learn his name: Ambrose. Word of his brain removal had been unspeakably sad news for her.
Even now, though she knew he resided in the palace, she did not seek him out. It was silly, but to speak with him almost seemed like breaking a vow of silence or perhaps merely the magic spell that descends upon all memories of childhood.
Would he even remember the girl in the red hood, who never spoke to him? Or connect that to the woman she was now? She took a deep breath considering this, reminded again about how warm it was here and, despite the argreeable companionship she found here, how stifling this place was.
What she wouldn't give to be able to return to the North. To be where she felt most alive, home.
She dismissed it almost as the thought solidified in her mind. She had a responsibility to bring Zero in. For justice. For these people to whom he has caused so much suffering. But most of all, for him. She doubted he'd see it that way. She doubted they'd see it that way.