teenyoda | Eachdraidh IC Inbox

[ she opens her mouth: the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. and she closes her mouth just as quick. hers is not the place to question him or his motives or his...ingredients. although it turns her stomach to think of even a regular wolf as no more than an item on a list.

sansa runs her thumbnail over the chair's arm. ] And so these could be the pelts of great and noble wolves. Ancient, mayhaps. Their howls unheard for centuries.

[ now and then, her heart still tends towards the theatrical. ]

[He gives her a bit of a look, wondering what her deal is with wolves, but hey, maybe she had a dog back home. Not his place to judge, right? He tosses the globe a bit, nodding.]

Yeah, possibly. I mean, they don't exactly look fresh. Not that I'd really know what a fresh wolf pelt looks like anyway.

[ i know, she thinks. but swallows her truths and presses instead her former line of inquiry: ] What magic are you doing today, Stiles?

Um... potion magic? I'm working on a couple of them, but I need a friend's help for the one for Daenerys, so I'm doing one for, ah, myself. Sort of. Well, not for me, but it's for me. Or is that the other way around?

I'm not certain -- [ which way 'round it goes. and she could barely bring herself to wonder, because there was a far more pressing concern: ] The wolf pelts. They aren't for...Lady Daenerys's potion, are they?

[ because that would be worrying. ]

Hmm? Oh, no. No, those are for my, ah, specialized one. Nothing to worry about. You got some kind of... thing for wolves? I mean, no judging if you do. My best friend's a pretty big animal lover.

Have you ever seen a direwolf?

[ she edges forward on the chair. her eyes don't quite stick on his; she finds she has to break eye contact and often glance demurely at the ground. it's hard to sit still as she contemplates breaking into one small speck of truth. ] There are...two, I believe. Two in Caer Glaem.

Uh... yeah. Yeah, Jon has that big white fu-- bleep. Huge. Like... huge. But, he's quiet. And likes pizza, which, you know, I guess is a point in his favor. Why, you like them or something?

Jon has a sister. [ two sisters. ] And that sister also has a wolf. She and Ser Gendry are...friends, I suppose. When we were all of us sent off to Caer Scima, Lady Arya Stark sent her wolf with him.

[ with me. but the details need changing. ] The animal was with us for our whole journey back. I think she did more to keep us safe than Ser Gendry's sword ever could. So -- yes. I think I rather like wolves.

Great, okay, so there's two of them I have to make sure don't eat my face off. That's good.

[Stiles + large furry things with teeth = no bueno.]

...Are you afraid of them, Stiles?

[ sansa fears many things. even little simple gestures send her heart into fluttering frightened palpitations. but she does not fear wolves. at least, not the ones bonded to her family. ]

Um, yeah. They could bite my head off by accident. And they're huge. Did I mention the hugeness?

Nymeria -- that's Lady Arya's -- she let me lay at night with my arms around her and my cheek in her fur. Nearly every night on the road was made better for it. [ a soft smile. lonely or not (a little peeved at her sister or not!) sansa is clearly pleased to conjure this memory. ] Her size was a comfort.

Well, sure, yeah, if they're on your side. But what about if one of them decides I smell like something that should be chewed on? Or what if this Arya or her sister get mad enough to sic one on me? Not exactly comforting from that perspective, Alayne.

...Lady Arya's sister does not have a direwolf. [ even-keeled. patient. indeed, she could have expected this. after the way in which lucrezia had uncovered her lie, she knows she cannot depend upon sansa simple not existing. ] And if she did -- ah, I do not think she would have any reason to see you mauled.

[ this is playing with fire. ]

Hah. I'll believe that when I see it. I haven't even met her. She could hate me on sight. It happens, you know. I'm an acquired taste.

[Instant wolf chew toy.]

But you have heard of her? [ who, she wonders, has been talking? sansa bites at her bottom lip. ] I have heard of her, too. They say she is a stupid and silly girl -- unlucky in her suitors and her allies. But she has family here. So she cannot be so unlucky in the end.

I, uh, no. Not really. I mean, Jon mentioned that he had siblings, but the whole bastard thing seemed to make him uncomfortable, which is kind of bullsh--bleep if you ask me.

[They'd already discussed his world's view on bastards and how it was bullshit. BULLSHIT.]

A lot of girls from your world seem to think they're stupid. I think maybe your world has a problem that needs to be addressed in the form of feminism.

Perhaps you'll teach her. [ sansa doesn't know what that f-word is, but she's not asking. she's on thin and rotten ice as it is. ] Or else perfect a potion for her that gives her all the cleverness she might ever want. Then she could certainly never hate you. I suspect.

[He sets his globe down and gives her a look. Just a look.]

I don't think anyone needs a potion to be more clever, Alayne. I think maybe she and, ah, some other girls from your world just need a little confidence. Unless she's licking windows or something, I really don't think she's as dumb as she thinks she is.

[Pointed look because this applied to a certain redhead he knew. One he was looking at. Right now.]

[ she doesn't meet his eyes. how can she? not when she understands how she's gaming the conversation -- playing with what was real and what wasn't. flexing her scanty talents for subterfuge as taught to her by littlefinger.

briefly, she wonders what baelish would make of this young man. he would call him too earnest, she thinks. too eager. too wrapped up in his japes and his references. ]

Your powers of implication could use a little refining. [ a nervous glance. ] Unless you're not trying to be subtle.

[He pointed a finger at her, then gave her a grin.]

Was I that obvious? Sounds a bit like you and this Sansa have something in common and I'm not going to not tell you that I think you could both do with some healthy self confidence. You're not dumb, Alayne. Not by any stretch and trust me, I know dumb people. Which makes me think maybe this other girl's not so dumb either and there's just a problem with guys in your world making all the women feel like sh-- bleep about themselves.

Shame on them.

[ oh! he knows her name. and she is surprised to find her heard lags by a beat or two when he says it. sansa's jaw tightens. she is caught between two warring instincts: the first, to efface herself. to promise him that she was indeed very defunct in her wits and that he should call her things that she is not. but the other instinct is to seize upon the bone-handle of a wicked conversational knife. shame on them, he'd said! shame on them. those men who had hurt her and treated her like a playing piece and... ]

They are not all monsters. Our men. [ but in the end she falls tiredly upon the old pageantry -- playing sycophant to the boys and men of westeros, because she fears the punishments that might come if she doesn't support them. ]

No, I don't think they are. Jon seems nice enough and doesn't jump to the whole debasement of women thing. But whoever it is that's got you and this Sansa talking like you're useless...

Yeah, they're jerks. You're not stupid, Alayne. You're not useless or silly or not clever or whatever other piece of crap they've decided to tell you you are. You're whatever you want to be, okay? Right now? You're my friend and that might not mean a lot to you, but it does to me.

[ it did mean quite a lot to her. but she doesn't know how to express the impossibility of being whatever she wants. the hair is a beginning: to reclaim some portion of herself. but all the rest lay fractured, especially while the rest of her family are away. away and distant.

away together, and her left behind. alone. it's no wonder she ventured so bravely into the magician's solar. and his own earnest arguments drive her to one small confession: ] Hush. It's safer playing half-wit when there are so many high-born lords and ladies of Westeros within these walls.

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