The Soul's Gift
Twelfth Day of the Twelfth Month 292 AC
She awoke abruptly, a strange ringing that was almost words in her ears, which was odd as she did not recall going to sleep. Instinctively she kept her eyes closed, though she had a sense someone was talking to her... or about her.
"...all right.... hurt..."
The last thing she recalled was placing her hand on the heart-stone and spoke the spells of binding, spells she could not remember...
oh. The realization of what she was drew a gasp from her.
...she should be awake....
More words she was not listening to, for in that gasp she felt the power of the air more closely then she had ever... no then she ever
recalled doing. There was magic in the soft whisper of every breath in the rush of blood in her veins. The pull of the memories became less, not fading but more being covered, like a trellis covered by vines.
Eyes that had never beheld the world in truth snapped open, lips that had never uttered a single word spoke: "I am not calling you mommy!" Then there came another first... a giggle.
"I would not insist upon it, Mercy," a voice like yet unlike her own spoke, tight with some emotion she could not identify. Pride, fear, hope, all things she had a name for, all things that she remembered yet which she had
never felt.
Mercy... she liked that name... it fit. Some part of the young woman knew that decision had not been wholly hers, but it was not her nature to stumble over things but instead to flow over them.
Air to flow and life to grow...
She rose and looked around the faces who had come to assist her birth: Her maker was one looking at her as though she was a riddle to unravel, with excitement, with dread, but also with hope, then there was Dany standing a little back as though to give her space, Vee's honest gaze asking a single sharp question:
friend or foe? And then there was Viserys...
"Come on you've spent enough time down here in the dark. Time to feel the wind," he said with a slightly awkward smile that made Mercy feel a little wistful for a time she had not lived.
"I
am the wind," she sniffed dramatically. The smiles that greeted her little jest were nice.
And so boldly the young woman called by her maker "Mercy of the Soul" stepped into the light and all about her were sights and sounds a once familiar and strange: the voices of merchants haggling, the the braying of beasts and he creak of wagon wheels, a whole new world just for her, to see through eyes unlike any that had ever beheld it.
"I think I'm going to like it here," Mercy said to the one from whose thoughts and sorcery she sprung.
"Thank you," Lya answered softly, the words carrying nuances of meaning that none beside the two of them could know.
"Come on," Dany called tugging at her hand. "I want to see Malarys' face when he sees you."
Though she knew at least part of the childish excitement was an act Mercy let herself be dragged along, after all it did sound like fun.
OOC: And here is your answer. There is going to be some sadness and some disconnect, but it is not going to define who Mercy is, not with the lores you chose to layer on her. Now if you chose something like Negative energy and evil the perspective would have been less pleasant, still not treasonous, but certainly not happy.