bowmansdaughter:

Sigrid nodded. “Yes, she would. We’ve been reading together. She’ll tell you which one. I do believe we’d lose her to a trope of performers if she could.” She chuckled. “She likes to act it out…” She finished her tea, the warm liquid soothing her, and fighting the chill from her bones and set down her cup just as he asked his question. She paused, her hand lingering next to the mug.

“I am well, father…” It was no lie; there was little she had to burden her. Sigrid sometimes thought she had no right to complain, not now. Not when a simple instruction could get her anything she wanted, not when she wore the finest silks, adorned herself in dwarven jewellery, gifts from their allies, never went hungry anymore. She thought of the people still struggling, guilt filling her heart. Because she was troubled. She would remind herself that kingship brought with it it’s own dilemmas, that she was allowed to feel their burden.

Leaning back in her chair, she smiled softly, a slight hint of mischief in her eyes. “Only… perhaps you might call me into court more often. I may then be able to escape the clutches of Lady Halverstock and her lunches. She and her pack of hens grow slightly tiresome…” Not to mention they each insisted on throwing their sons at her, speaking of their accomplishments like she had never heard it before. She flinched. “Or is that a duty I cannot overcome?”

_{Bard watched his daughter in silence for a few moments, lost in thought and memory. Gone were the days of carefree youth and easy laughter, but then, Sigrid had always been a very serious child. The same shadow that lived in his heart had settled in hers when his beloved wife, her mother, had passed and left them behind, for she had been old enough to remember. Old enough, but a child, still. And yet strong enough to care for Bain and Tilda since, when Bard would go into the cold and misty world of Laketown and try desperately to earn them coin. She had been so strong. She was… so strong. His beautiful daughter.}

_{“Lady Halverstock is well liked and respected among the nobility,” he replied absent-minded, stroking his chin in thought. “A duty it is, Sigrid, but I see no reason to force these lunches upon you every single time they are organized. If you wish to appear in court more often, it shall be so.” A smile, driving away some of the shadows in his eyes. “And I should be glad to have you by my side.”}