#manal 002

[nasirofmanderlys]

who: @manaliimanderly where: white harbour, following the discovery and rescue of manal manderly from the little king. upon her rescue, manal was escorted immediately to white harbour whilst nasir stayed behind to eviscerate the camp.

two weeks; two weeks had passed since the fateful night where the silhouette of the ruling lord of white harbour had pushed through the flaps of a tent that would have done nothing to maintain any sense of warmth or heat in the freezing temperatures of the wilderness of the north. in the nights leading up to the final attack, he had thought much on what would be running through his mind the moment he set eyes upon his sister once again, who had been missing for months. nearing a year, with nothing but the word of treacherous vermin to confirm she remained alive - that, and a hunch.

he wondered whether he would be able to say anything, what would come to mind, but as he pushed open the flap of that tent, the sight before him was enough to cause nothing but silence to befall him.

he remembered seeing the ropes that had caused her skin to burn and bleed, double roped and double knotted, and he barely even made eye contact as he moved to cut her hands free. and when nasir manderly finally looked upon his little sister, it was only to look upon her; there was not a word that came from his mouth. not merely out of adrenaline, but out of fear; fear that his voice would not be able to stop, or fear that the slight choking sob that threatened to escape from his lips would only become louder. his hands trembled as he cut her free from the pole she had been tied to, his eyes only breaking from hers to look around for anyone else: there was nobody else.

everybody else, all the other captives of women who looked just like her, had been killed. she was the only one left - for how long?

everything else was a blur, the way in which they crept to the outskirts of the camp, looking over the corners of various makeshift huts and tents, their breaths held. manal manderly had never had to watch the way in which her brothers had been trained to become warriors; to be less human, but the wolf of the banner they supported so ferociously. only, she had been forced to witness the brother who was once the epitome of grace and civility in the north turn ruthless killer. one would think he gutted the throats of the guards who they needed to creep up upon, to ensure their yells of attempting to raise the alarm went with nobody but the trees to witness and to hear the sounds of men gurgling on their own blood, their tongues ripped out.

and then she had been put upon a horse, which was when he finally opened his mouth to speak to her. resting bloodstained hands behind her head, he cradled her as though he never would get the chance to again: knowing with whatever happened next, his mother would see her daughter again. "i will be home. until you reach our lands, do not stop." the manderly men knew the instructions: the ride would be a hard one. but they could not afford to stop. and then the horse sped off, and nasir manderly tuned back with the other men who had come to support him.

the little king had slipped away, but the camp and his strength had been desecrated. there were young boys in his amy, boys who cried for their mothers; and nasir gave them words of comfort before cutting their short lives ever shorter.

and now, they were back within the walls of white harbour; she had made it home before him. amir was the only one who was yet to return from the isle of skagos and the majority of the fleet, but three of the four were home. his steps left the chambers of his wife and his newborn son khalid, some hours after he entered to see her: because he had wanted to give her time to prepare herself before seeing him again. and when he knocked on the door, he cleared his throat in the way he always did: and when he heard the door unclick, he pushed it open and entered. she looked more like herself again. only, she was not herself, was she?

nasir knew of the effects of war. he knew the effects of terror. but what befell her, was not war - merely terror. he looked upon her, his aura remaining peaceful and calm - he prayed she did not see the regret and the guilt that danced in his eyes. his hand remained on the doorknob, knowing it were important to allow captures to be in a room with an open door: to know they always had an escape. he dealt with his men this way, ones that had been returned as prisoners of war. he never thought he'd deal with his own little sister in such a way.

"i let the servants touch nothing, to ensure everything was the same when you returned." he uttered, indicating toward the letters that remained on her desk from when she was away in the reach. he only extended his hand, offering for her to take it if she wanted. "i've got you. come here. come to me."

[melancholynotions]

MCUSAHQ TASK NO. 002

Zandr, most of the time, was someone who liked to see the good in the world. Much like his mother, he believed that deep down people would do the right thing. Being in America he hoped that the government would listen to the voice of their people. That they would do what is right. He walked a little slower that day. Knowing that things were not going to get better. How could they? He still saw people cling on to their backward beliefs. He lived in a modest apartment and lived a modest life despite being a descendant of the Davies pureblood line. He felt that he was more of his mother’s bloodline, the blood of a non-magic. 

When he heard the report, he felt his heart drop. The government he worked, the government he loved, for let him down. He was supposed to help protect their kind. How was what they were saying, what they voted on supposed to protect them? He thought of his mom, of his cousins who were not magic. He was glad that they were in the UK instead of the United States. He took out a parchment and wrote a letter to his mother. 

Hey mom, How are you? I hope everything is ok. Have you heard from Jay, Mika, or Say lately? God...I bloody miss you all... I keep thinking about that summer we all went on that horrible camping trip, but we were all together...we were happy. I’m doing well, so please don’t worry. I might not check in for a while, but know that I love you. I will never be ashamed of the blood that runs through me. Thank you for teaching me how to be strong.  Love always, Aleckzandr

He rolled it up and attached it to Puffins, his beautiful red screech owl with dull yellow eyes. His mother knew that things were tense in America, and had often expressed how she wished that he would return home. However, now he was more determined ever to be here to protect those who were innocent. His thoughts turned towards Manal and worried about how she was taking the news. 

[nasirofmanderlys]

✯

was their a major difference in the trauma and the suffering in the aftermath of such an event between men and women? nasir of house manderly was not entirety sure, despite how much he had servants speak to maesters and various different scholars about the matter. it was something he was trying to learn more about with each passing day upon returning to white harbour, and whilst his stomach twisted in a strange sense of anxiety in the walk up to her chambers, the feeling of anxiety and worry seemed to cease as he looked upon her in this moment. because at the end of the day, regardless of all that had happened, this was his sister he was looking at and speaking to. there was no changing that.

his arm remained outstretched towards her as he uttered her name, and asked her to come to him; and perhaps she would not, considering she continued to walk around her chambers and fiddle with insignificant thing after insignificant thing. no doubt it were some sort of defence mechanism, an attempt to stop herself from allowing the tears to flow: and whilst he would readily allow the tears to flow and be there to wipe them, he would not force her. "yes?" he responded, knowing all too well the uttering of his name was not a question, but a statement of acknowledgement of his presence. manal manderly would do, and be, manal manderly; in all ways she had been raised to be - even at the lowest of points.

his arm remained outstretched, though he did not move towards her; whilst he prayed she would not see him as something to fear, he knew somewhere in her mind, that could be a possibility with all the trauma and suffering she had amassed. there were four children of house manderly, and there was no denying they came in duos; reflections of one another, even in their times of being complete opposites. there was no animosity or anger in knowing there were some who were closer to other siblings - and manal, was and always would be his closest. his rock, as much as he was her own.

"you really think i was going to let you leave me deal with those two on my own?" nasir asked, a moment his dry sense of humour coming through. and when she looked at him, they exchanged a knowing look, filled with equal parts amusement as much as sadness. it were clear she continued trying not to cry, but as she turned on her heel and began to make his way over to him, he remained in place. that night, the eldest siblings of house manderly remained beside one another upon the velvet rug, sharing equal part tears and discussions that were heavy in nature. a servant girl was ushered to bring the future ruling lord, khalid; and he remained upon his aunt's lap as they remained upon the comfort of the rug, eating a dinner.

(end of thread.)

14 days. Quietly she counted those days as she sat within her room. She didn’t have it in her to leave the quarters for more than a few moments. Feasts were hard enough, standing before so many made it even harder. The lady of House Manderly wasn’t doing well, she didn’t think she would do well for some time. Though, each day, she stayed out a little longer. She would walk through the halls with her dogs, she would walk through the gardens and the glasshouses and then she would go back to her room. She would close her door and when they were all gone, she would place her hands on her chest, and she would weep. In her time in captivity, she learned to cry quietly, then pray to herself and to make sure she could not be seen for she would have given none the satisfaction of seeing her fall. How much further could a woman fall when they already whispered of what could have happened to her? Manal came to believe no one would catch her.

Then it happened. And every morning she woke, and she forgot she were and then she would panic, the handmaids coming to her with their arms outstretched for her, calling for the Septa for she wouldn’t speak to the Wisdoms. They needed to have a woman made available. Men frightened her. She felt her spine shiver when a hand rose. She felt her heart fall to her stomach when a strange voice was loud, and so many of their Northman looked like the little King that she wanted to run away. But she did not run away. Lady Manal Manderly, she would have to present herself and she would have to return to form soon. Soon.

Through polite conversations she knew one brother had a should and another was wrapped up in vengeance, she knew it would be vengeance. She didn’t write to him. Where would the ravens go? Letters were dangerous in a war, she recalled. Shooting down their birds, arriving to locations. Even without secrets she wouldn’t distract him with her. She would wait for him to come home.

And when Nasir came into the room, she looked upon him, she watched him, and listen. She hadn’t touched any of the letters. When she finally came home, when she was safe and away from those dangers the night terrors stayed. And those letters were written for someone else. Someone gone.

“Nasir.” She pretended not to see his hand as she fussed around the room, if she allowed herself to be hugged she would break and if she broke again she would not have enough pieces to put her together. Again.