[ Robb Stark has come a long way from Britain. If someone had asked him a year or two ago about going to India of all places, he would've laughed at the thought. He's the heir to the Stark family. Why would he need to travel halfway around the world? Things change, though. His family has been grievously injured by the Lannisters and rather than wait in brooding silence on his family's estate, he chose to pursue their ambitions and to foil them. It was a decision born of impetuous youth and he has seen much since he arrived here. He's fought and killed and his own band of loyal Stark followers has dwindled to little more than a handful of grimly determined men and women, all intent on seeing justice done for Eddard. Even if it costs them their lives.
Robb's fortunate in that he's found allies on the subcontinent. His family wasn't the only one that the Lannisters hurt or betrayed and here he's found that they're using the guise of "civilization" to inflict pain and misery on the people. Robb is, at heart, somewhat of an old-fashioned ruler and lord. He is far from democratic or believing in the natural equality of people, but he does believe that someone of higher station should not use their position to harm those beneath him. So now Robb has more than one reason to despise the Lannisters and common cause with Lakshmi Bai.
He traveled here months ago, when he heard of the fighting and the growing rumbles of discontent, hot on the trail of the Lannisters, and offered himself and his followers as advisers and allies. At the time, there was chaos in the country; mutineers and allies of the Company both rampaging through the countryside and the rani was the only one who could maintain control - and help him find vengeance.
Since then, things have become difficult. The noose has tightened around them and soon there will blood and powder smoke inside the walls. It's in this particular mindset that he comes to her chambers and he finds her cleaning her blade. That isn't much of a surprise. He wears a curved European saber and a revolver on his hip these days. But there's something beautiful and reverential about the way she holds the blade up to the light and for a long moment he can't help but watch how she moves.
He tries to put thoughts like those out of his head. At least for now. ]
Just thinking about what tomorrow might bring, truthfully.
[ His reply carries across the room and then he follows, tread heavy on the floor. ]
Thinking about what brought me here and how things have changed. What we're going to do next. If there's a "next". [ He pulls out a chair, glancing at her to silently ask permission to sit. This is her house and her chambers, after all. ]
[ The blade lowers, as reverently as it was risen up and set upon the stand she had drawn it from. Once it's set down, she sweeps up and waves to her guards. The stern-faced men and women who nod and lower their heads to bow and step away. Through the doors to the outer balconies and corridors.
In their positions, they are never truly alone. But for a time, an illusion can be established. For these more precious words, is what cannot be witnessed, the humanity and doubt their soldiers cannot know they have. But they must, they do, and she had felt it so often when the blood ran into the dusty ground. Between cracks it felt to form the rivers that gave so many life.
When they are gone, she turns back to him, the sweeping material of her veil up, to her hair - veiled as a proper woman should be. Blue in the tones she favoured. Though she had cared a great deal less for such things since the war began. Why she had disregarded but the simplest of jewels these days as well. She was a commander first, she could be a Queen if there were days after this.
It's then she invites him to sit. Making her way to the table where her servants had left something for her to drink. A room over, her son sleeps. Around them, the quiet falls.
As she watches the liquid pour out of the silver jug and dance in the candlelight she smiles despite herself - ] Supposing that there is. Do you not long for your home? Should that not be first?
[ Robb, much like Lakshmi, is used to having servants and guards and attendants surrounding him. Unseen, but still present. It's not something he thinks about, although if he did he might find it a bit funny. More than just their lives, they trust these people with their reputations and their legacies. Because more often then not, the servants and attendants will be the ones to outlive them.
After a moment of hesitation, he joins her at the table, settling into the chair with a slight clatter as he unhooks his saber from his belt and sets the weapon on the table and then his revolver, just to keep them out of the way. He doesn't fear much - not here, anyway. Not in the heart of the rani's citadel. It's an illusion, of course. The walls can be battered down and secure places stormed, but for now he acts as if he's safe.
He regards her carefully and with more than a hint of admiration and awe. To Robb, she seems very much like the sort of ruler and peer he would like to be, if he ever does get a chance to return home and truly take over running his family's estates. Something he's not sure is going to happen. He might spill out his lifeblood in this foreign land, instead. His smile is tight-lipped. ]
In theory. But I've been gone for... it feels like years now. An age since I've actually seen the halls of Winterfell.
[ His voice drops to a reflective murmur. ]
My brother is probably doing his best. And, you're right, I would like to go home and see it grow and thrive, but...
[ He gestures vaguely toward the window and the enemy camped somewhere in the darkness. ]
I'm beginning to suspect that we may not have a tomorrow. [ He pauses for just a moment and then continues before he can stop himself. ]
I don't think I regret it, though. I've had a chance to meet you.
[ It's a trust that has been won between them out of understanding how difficult that could be to give. She makes no mention of him dressing down his weapons, just accepts it as she comes forward with the drinks - wine, if not very strong. They needed their heads, at least somewhat.
The glass is set in front of him, besides the weapons, as she goes to take a seat across from him. Her skirts folded underneath her, her veil adjusted around her to stay in place. Just letting him speak, letting him vent it all.
Until the last - and her eyes lower, a smile playing. Soft, kind, quiet. ]
We may not. But thinking of that will not save us. If we are worth saving over our men's lives. [ Ever a ruler, ever at the service of her subjects, she would lay herself before them if it was needed. It's been clear from the first - and the British had never understood that. How could they? It is not how they ruled. ] But... it is something to have met you... Lord Stark.
[ Soft, quiet admission. Perhaps, if he was another, she might tease him. But she had learned, Starks did not seem to like teasing. ]
[ Going almost everywhere armed is a habit now. He still feels as if he should unburden himself in her presence, though. In a way, they're closer. It's meant to be a gesture of trust, a sign that he's comfortable with her. That wasn't always true; when he first arrived, they might have been a pair of dogs or cats, circling and probing one another for signs of betrayal or treachery. But here they are, facing a common enemy.
Robb accepts the glass and lifts it for a long, slow sip. It warms him and settles in the pit of his stomach, that familiar feeling of headiness starting the slow creep over him. He would suspect her of teasing, but by now they've both learned when to do that and when not to.
He hates to admit it, but he does tend to be a bit more of a curmudgeon when it comes to that sort of thing. Her words do make him start just slightly and he takes another slow sip from his glass as he considers what to say to that. Of course, he said it first, but the sentiment being returned isn't something he's always used to. ]
I'm glad to hear that you think the same of me. It's been an... interesting few months.
[ There's a small trace of smile on his lips and he allows his gaze to play over her. What does one say to a queen who might be about to lose everything? And how does he express his feelings without being a boor? ]
At the very least, we can have that when they come over the walls.
[ Alright, he's being a bit pessimistic, but their odds aren't fantastic. ]
I have to admit, I wasn't sure what I'd find when I arrived here, but I've come to admire you, Lakshmi. [ It's a bit of a break from formality, but this situation does not seem incredibly formal by now. There's a trace of longing in that statement; a wistful sort of acknowledgement that life and the circumstances of birth have conspired to keep them apart until recently. ]
I just wish we'd had more time to get to know one another.
[ In the far corridors, a prayer is being sung - in rising and falling tones to Ganesha - the overcomer of all obstacles. A woman's voice - it sings purely, desperately, a sound that is warm in her lungs in understanding. So far as prayer was a way to focus her mind, to still her thoughts, to feel that wholeness for a moment, and in it find the courage to brave battle once more, always, these days - just once more.
It echoes, long and quiet with eternity, things as old as Gods and older still. As she looks at him across the table, a space as vast and as little as any. They are as alone as they can be.
Perhaps she should refute him again, give him hope, give them something - but she does not have it in and of herself right now. She has only herself, all that made her up. A woman that had put away her fine jewels as she burned her husband, and changed it for a blade. A mother who will never see her son grown. The one who had stood at his side, shoulder to shoulder as they had cut down man after man until it was hard to see out from the blood and dust.
Nothing but this, now, nothing but what feels like a goodbye without saying so. But it is, what it is, and they cannot become what they should have been any more than they can stop the battle that will find them as bloody as the sunrise.
Nothing but this. ]
When my husband said this to me as he lay on his death bed. I wondered how sure he was, how he could be, when it closed in around him but now I understand. Do you wish to hear it?
[ She doesn't give praise, it's not her nature, but she can give him something she feels sure in her bones. Rather, she stands, pushing her veil back from her face, the pale blue material edged with white and silver that falls back and drapes, the plain pearls that her only adornment, clasped like a breath close to her throat as she steps towards him, bare feet light and soundless on the marble floors. A dagger tucked into the sash at her waist, her fingers brushing against it in reassurance as she came closer. ]
[ Robb's head cocks to one side, ears almost perked as he listens to the distant song of prayer. He's found India an entirely new experience, but he's gotten used to. He's even found much of it beautiful in its own way. Especially the way they sing. But that's a momentary distraction and a moment later his attention is back on Lakshmi as she speaks and raises to her feet. He opens his mouth and then closes it, a bit startled by her move to push her veil back. Without saying anything, he pushes his chair from the table to give himself - and her - more room. He feels like he's going to need it.
He's not sure why. There's simply a prickling, anticipatory feeling that creeps over him, goosebumps spreading up his arms. He takes one last swallow of wine, eyes following her as she comes around the table. She is beautiful and dangerous and there is curiosity that rises in him. What can she say or do that will make this easier? They both know that this is likely to be the end of it - here, in a fortress, waiting for their enemies to close in. Denying it does not help. Do either of them really want false hope?
He doesn't think that they do. ]
If you're willing to share them, I would be honored.
[ He finds his voice a bit of a rasp, throat dry despite the wine. He settles a hand on the table and peers up at her, trying to ignore the feeling of being very small when she stands over him. But perhaps that's simply how it is. How she is whenever she moves and speaks. His other hand lifts in an automatic gesture, offering her his grasp. ]
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Robb's fortunate in that he's found allies on the subcontinent. His family wasn't the only one that the Lannisters hurt or betrayed and here he's found that they're using the guise of "civilization" to inflict pain and misery on the people. Robb is, at heart, somewhat of an old-fashioned ruler and lord. He is far from democratic or believing in the natural equality of people, but he does believe that someone of higher station should not use their position to harm those beneath him. So now Robb has more than one reason to despise the Lannisters and common cause with Lakshmi Bai.
He traveled here months ago, when he heard of the fighting and the growing rumbles of discontent, hot on the trail of the Lannisters, and offered himself and his followers as advisers and allies. At the time, there was chaos in the country; mutineers and allies of the Company both rampaging through the countryside and the rani was the only one who could maintain control - and help him find vengeance.
Since then, things have become difficult. The noose has tightened around them and soon there will blood and powder smoke inside the walls. It's in this particular mindset that he comes to her chambers and he finds her cleaning her blade. That isn't much of a surprise. He wears a curved European saber and a revolver on his hip these days. But there's something beautiful and reverential about the way she holds the blade up to the light and for a long moment he can't help but watch how she moves.
He tries to put thoughts like those out of his head. At least for now. ]
Just thinking about what tomorrow might bring, truthfully.
[ His reply carries across the room and then he follows, tread heavy on the floor. ]
Thinking about what brought me here and how things have changed. What we're going to do next. If there's a "next". [ He pulls out a chair, glancing at her to silently ask permission to sit. This is her house and her chambers, after all. ]
no subject
In their positions, they are never truly alone. But for a time, an illusion can be established. For these more precious words, is what cannot be witnessed, the humanity and doubt their soldiers cannot know they have. But they must, they do, and she had felt it so often when the blood ran into the dusty ground. Between cracks it felt to form the rivers that gave so many life.
When they are gone, she turns back to him, the sweeping material of her veil up, to her hair - veiled as a proper woman should be. Blue in the tones she favoured. Though she had cared a great deal less for such things since the war began. Why she had disregarded but the simplest of jewels these days as well. She was a commander first, she could be a Queen if there were days after this.
It's then she invites him to sit. Making her way to the table where her servants had left something for her to drink. A room over, her son sleeps. Around them, the quiet falls.
As she watches the liquid pour out of the silver jug and dance in the candlelight she smiles despite herself - ] Supposing that there is. Do you not long for your home? Should that not be first?
no subject
After a moment of hesitation, he joins her at the table, settling into the chair with a slight clatter as he unhooks his saber from his belt and sets the weapon on the table and then his revolver, just to keep them out of the way. He doesn't fear much - not here, anyway. Not in the heart of the rani's citadel. It's an illusion, of course. The walls can be battered down and secure places stormed, but for now he acts as if he's safe.
He regards her carefully and with more than a hint of admiration and awe. To Robb, she seems very much like the sort of ruler and peer he would like to be, if he ever does get a chance to return home and truly take over running his family's estates. Something he's not sure is going to happen. He might spill out his lifeblood in this foreign land, instead. His smile is tight-lipped. ]
In theory. But I've been gone for... it feels like years now. An age since I've actually seen the halls of Winterfell.
[ His voice drops to a reflective murmur. ]
My brother is probably doing his best. And, you're right, I would like to go home and see it grow and thrive, but...
[ He gestures vaguely toward the window and the enemy camped somewhere in the darkness. ]
I'm beginning to suspect that we may not have a tomorrow. [ He pauses for just a moment and then continues before he can stop himself. ]
I don't think I regret it, though. I've had a chance to meet you.
no subject
The glass is set in front of him, besides the weapons, as she goes to take a seat across from him. Her skirts folded underneath her, her veil adjusted around her to stay in place. Just letting him speak, letting him vent it all.
Until the last - and her eyes lower, a smile playing. Soft, kind, quiet. ]
We may not. But thinking of that will not save us. If we are worth saving over our men's lives. [ Ever a ruler, ever at the service of her subjects, she would lay herself before them if it was needed. It's been clear from the first - and the British had never understood that. How could they? It is not how they ruled. ] But... it is something to have met you... Lord Stark.
[ Soft, quiet admission. Perhaps, if he was another, she might tease him. But she had learned, Starks did not seem to like teasing. ]
no subject
Robb accepts the glass and lifts it for a long, slow sip. It warms him and settles in the pit of his stomach, that familiar feeling of headiness starting the slow creep over him. He would suspect her of teasing, but by now they've both learned when to do that and when not to.
He hates to admit it, but he does tend to be a bit more of a curmudgeon when it comes to that sort of thing. Her words do make him start just slightly and he takes another slow sip from his glass as he considers what to say to that. Of course, he said it first, but the sentiment being returned isn't something he's always used to. ]
I'm glad to hear that you think the same of me. It's been an... interesting few months.
[ There's a small trace of smile on his lips and he allows his gaze to play over her. What does one say to a queen who might be about to lose everything? And how does he express his feelings without being a boor? ]
At the very least, we can have that when they come over the walls.
[ Alright, he's being a bit pessimistic, but their odds aren't fantastic. ]
I have to admit, I wasn't sure what I'd find when I arrived here, but I've come to admire you, Lakshmi. [ It's a bit of a break from formality, but this situation does not seem incredibly formal by now. There's a trace of longing in that statement; a wistful sort of acknowledgement that life and the circumstances of birth have conspired to keep them apart until recently. ]
I just wish we'd had more time to get to know one another.
no subject
It echoes, long and quiet with eternity, things as old as Gods and older still. As she looks at him across the table, a space as vast and as little as any. They are as alone as they can be.
Perhaps she should refute him again, give him hope, give them something - but she does not have it in and of herself right now. She has only herself, all that made her up. A woman that had put away her fine jewels as she burned her husband, and changed it for a blade. A mother who will never see her son grown. The one who had stood at his side, shoulder to shoulder as they had cut down man after man until it was hard to see out from the blood and dust.
Nothing but this, now, nothing but what feels like a goodbye without saying so. But it is, what it is, and they cannot become what they should have been any more than they can stop the battle that will find them as bloody as the sunrise.
Nothing but this. ]
When my husband said this to me as he lay on his death bed. I wondered how sure he was, how he could be, when it closed in around him but now I understand. Do you wish to hear it?
[ She doesn't give praise, it's not her nature, but she can give him something she feels sure in her bones. Rather, she stands, pushing her veil back from her face, the pale blue material edged with white and silver that falls back and drapes, the plain pearls that her only adornment, clasped like a breath close to her throat as she steps towards him, bare feet light and soundless on the marble floors. A dagger tucked into the sash at her waist, her fingers brushing against it in reassurance as she came closer. ]
no subject
He's not sure why. There's simply a prickling, anticipatory feeling that creeps over him, goosebumps spreading up his arms. He takes one last swallow of wine, eyes following her as she comes around the table. She is beautiful and dangerous and there is curiosity that rises in him. What can she say or do that will make this easier? They both know that this is likely to be the end of it - here, in a fortress, waiting for their enemies to close in. Denying it does not help. Do either of them really want false hope?
He doesn't think that they do. ]
If you're willing to share them, I would be honored.
[ He finds his voice a bit of a rasp, throat dry despite the wine. He settles a hand on the table and peers up at her, trying to ignore the feeling of being very small when she stands over him. But perhaps that's simply how it is. How she is whenever she moves and speaks. His other hand lifts in an automatic gesture, offering her his grasp. ]