[ debased. she feels the same sickness as when helaena burst into her rooms, clutching the only child that remained to her. there are places in which one should be safe: a child’s cradle, a holy altar.
it takes her a long moment to reply. ]
The grounds, then. There is an alcove west of the maze. I mislike the coldness of their mausoleums.
[ too like the crypts that hold the dead of previous generations, haunted by their pain. ]
( ash is too well ingrained in the political landscape of america to go anywhere looking anything less than photo ready — not mass, not jenny's grave, not anywhere in the public's eye. so he is perhaps suspiciously well put together when he makes his way outside, his suit tailored and fit to perfection, a black tie knotted expertly at his throat. he makes his way to the maze, spotting alicent and nodding to her, a blank look of grieving acceptance on his face.
he's been in this place, before. undone by pain, loss, and guilt. walking like a zombie to the next point in physical world that he needs to be, always somewhere else mentally. when he reaches alicent, he gingerly reaches for her hand, placing a spare set of rosary beads in her palm. )
Embry didn't believe in all this. He hated attending Mass with me. ( ash manages not to let his eyes water — he's been relieved of tears, left hollow. now he can be strong, for alicent, for whoever. ) But I thought I could teach you the Rosary, and if you like, you could teach me your prayers. He wouldn't thank us, but I like to imagine he'd appreciate the effort.
[ in this far corner of the grounds, the trees indent just so. alicent has arranged a small tribute there, candles displayed atop a silver tray.
like ash, alicent dresses for the public, an abyssal black mourning dress and dark cloak, embroidered with gold thread. as lovely in her grief as anything else. maybe it’s this shared understanding that drew her to embry and embry to her in the first place. she accepts the beads with one hand and cups the back of ash’s palm with the other. the only comfort she can offer, meagre though it is. ]
Any blasphemies toward our offering would be fond, I think. [ she lifts the beads in her hand, recalling how tim shared them with her, when she first arrived. ]
In my faith, we burn candles not only for the dead but for the living, to light their way.
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cw: infant death
it takes her a long moment to reply. ]
The grounds, then. There is an alcove west of the maze. I mislike the coldness of their mausoleums.
[ too like the crypts that hold the dead of previous generations, haunted by their pain. ]
no subject
( ash is too well ingrained in the political landscape of america to go anywhere looking anything less than photo ready — not mass, not jenny's grave, not anywhere in the public's eye. so he is perhaps suspiciously well put together when he makes his way outside, his suit tailored and fit to perfection, a black tie knotted expertly at his throat. he makes his way to the maze, spotting alicent and nodding to her, a blank look of grieving acceptance on his face.
he's been in this place, before. undone by pain, loss, and guilt. walking like a zombie to the next point in physical world that he needs to be, always somewhere else mentally. when he reaches alicent, he gingerly reaches for her hand, placing a spare set of rosary beads in her palm. )
Embry didn't believe in all this. He hated attending Mass with me. ( ash manages not to let his eyes water — he's been relieved of tears, left hollow. now he can be strong, for alicent, for whoever. ) But I thought I could teach you the Rosary, and if you like, you could teach me your prayers. He wouldn't thank us, but I like to imagine he'd appreciate the effort.
no subject
like ash, alicent dresses for the public, an abyssal black mourning dress and dark cloak, embroidered with gold thread. as lovely in her grief as anything else. maybe it’s this shared understanding that drew her to embry and embry to her in the first place. she accepts the beads with one hand and cups the back of ash’s palm with the other. the only comfort she can offer, meagre though it is. ]
Any blasphemies toward our offering would be fond, I think. [ she lifts the beads in her hand, recalling how tim shared them with her, when she first arrived. ]
In my faith, we burn candles not only for the dead but for the living, to light their way.