without_hesitation | (no subject)

Despite arrival of Spartacus in Darrow, Ilithyia felt she had found something of a place in the city that still seemed so strange in many ways. There were men -- more than one, something she would have to remedy eventually -- who were willing to pay for her every need in exchange for her company, an arrangement that worked well in her favour.

Though far from extravagant, the money paid for food and shelter, with enough leftover for other pleasures she might choose to indulge in. The finest and most difficult being that of her dress.

Over time, she had managed to find several gowns that served purpose, but in Darrow, such garments were difficult to come across and Ilithyia found herself growing frustrated with limited options. Weather would change, she had been told, would grow colder, and only now was she beginning to find things to suit her current needs. Albinius was easy to buy for, but her own wardrobe was still sorely lacking.

Upon street, she sighed, having wasted time in yet another shop with nothing to show for efforts. Yet she smiled upon seeing Sansa, then crossed the busy street, pausing only momentarily to look for cars.

"Sansa," she called, warm smile upon lips. "How are you?"

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"That happens often, I think," Sansa said, though there was little she knew of where that would have played a part at all. Still, that wasn't nothing, and it made sense, anyway. Piety could make a good tool like that. Even she had feigned it on occasion, going to the godswood to meet with Ser Dontos, pretending it was a new-found devotion to the old gods that brought her there. That didn't even begin to touch on what it could do for large groups of people. "Do you believe in them? Your gods."

"No," Ilithyia said, needing little time to think of her answer. "There was a time I believed, but the gods left prayers unanswered of all those who sought their guidance. If they are there, they are silent, and then what good are they at all?"

If they were there and remained inactive, they were as good as dead.

"I don't know," Sansa said honestly, giving an almost imperceptible shake of her head. They weren't much good at all, probably, but she couldn't bring herself to decide that for good, as Ilithyia had. The woman's certainty was enviable. "I suppose people just need something to hope for, even if nothing can come of it."

It had been a very long time since Ilithyia had hoped for anything. She wanted something, she made it happen, through twisted words and subtle movements against those around her. Hope and the gods had little to do with the life she had led in Rome.

"I once paid for a priestess to help dear friend," she admitted. "Her womb would not take seed and she was childless, though wished very much for a family. I thought she would help."

"And she did not?" Sansa asked, though the way it was mentioned seemed to make the answer self-explanatory. She couldn't even say she was all that surprised. She had prayed for her family's safety and wound up the last Stark left. That didn't speak very highly of the gods and their abilities. "How awful for her."

"She eventually found herself with child," Ilithyia said, a playful smile flitting across her face. "Though it had little to do with words from priestess and more to do with seed of gladiator who was the father." Such thing seemed to be common in their little circle of friends, she realized, though would not say as much. She had little desire to share secret of her own child's true father.

"And not her husband?" Sansa asked, a small, almost conspiratory smile curving her lips. It was a scandalous thing, but it wasn't as if she knew the woman in question, and had only the barest idea of what a gladiator was. Besides, she doubted Ilithyia would think much of her having such a reaction. "Perhaps that had something to do with it, as well."

Ilithyia was well enough aware how her situation mirrored Lucretia's, though her affair with Spartacus had been quite short lived, unlike Lucretia's interactions with Crixus. She understood now that her own interest in him had incited the jealousy that caused Lucretia to destroy her own meeting.

"The gladiators are known for strength and virility," she agreed.

"Was she happy?" Sansa asked, not sure why it mattered except that it suddenly did. Someone ought to be, she thought. Though it wasn't a route she thought she could have taken herself, and not just because she knew what could happen to her if anyone found out, it was nice to think that others could find ways of coping with marriages they were unhappy in, as well. "When she learned that she was with child."

The question gave Ilithyia pause, being one she'd considered very little. The comfort of others had always come secondary to her own and though she considered Lucretia to be dear friend, she had spent much time trying to destroy her. "She was very pleased," she said after a moment.

Now, with Albinius, she understood why.

"That's good, then," Sansa said with a nod, though the words came out almost as a question. She had wanted children of her own once, sons she could name after her father and brothers, even a girl to call Arya. Once, she had thought they would be princes and princesses; once, she had longed for nothing as much as that. That had changed quickly, though, and while she was glad that she would never have to bear any children of Joffrey's, the thought of having any with Tyrion was almost equally undesirable. He was a Lannister. No child of hers should have to carry that name. "And did her husband find out? About who the father was."

"No," Ilithyia answered and she schooled her face to a somber expression, knowing it would not do to allow Sansa to see her true feelings of the story she was about to tell. It would be crafted carefully, leaving out her own part in the deaths of all those whose last moments had come in the ludus.

The ludus she'd locked them inside.

"He went to greet afterlife not long after," she said. "And Lucretia lost the child. Their slaves rebelled, killed many. I was lucky to have escaped with my life."

"Gods," Sansa said, drawing in a deep breath, her eyes growing slightly wider. Lifting a hand, she rested it briefly against Ilithyia's arm. It was a terrible thing, a dead husband, a lost child, and she felt for them as deeply as she could when she knew so little. More than that, though, she was just grateful that no harm had come to Ilithyia in all that had happened. She would never have known the difference, of course, but even so, it was relieving, knowing that her friend was alright, no matter how lucky the escape. "That is fortunate indeed. I'm glad that you did."

"I was lucky to have escaped when it was my husband Spartacus most desired," Ilithyia said, smiling over at Sansa fondly. This, she thought, was correct path to take. To stir within Sansa thoughts of possible loss, of Ilithyia has a woman who could have died, who was in danger.

Her expression falters again and she looks away. "He tells me he yet caught up with him, though truth or cruel tactic to wound when so far from my husband, I cannot be sure."

"I hope it was only the latter," Sansa said, though she looked stricken as she did, mouth drawn into a frown. Ilithyia had warned her about Spartacus, told her that he was someone to stay away from, but it was still somehow unexpected to hear about what he might have done, and she wasn't just going to assume the best. She had done too much of that already; being so trusting hadn't gotten her anywhere good. "And either way, I'm sorry to hear it. To have to find that out here..."