tampered | OPEN;

[ A woman walks in. Young, but stately in her poise and dressed in robes emblazoned with the proud maw of a silver wolf. At her wrists and her temples, more silver — delicate chained ringlets, all, set with moonstones. There at her throat, again silver, this time a mockingbird. Her eyes are bright blue, the color of the summer sky, and her hair is bright red, like silk set afire, and twined this way and that to sit atop her head. As she enters, she removes her riding gloves — one, then the other.

She makes for quite the sight. ]

[When he comes in he doesn't see her at first - he just wanted a drink and a tavern is the best place for that. He has a ridiculous colored coin, and he buys a drink, turns, and sees her.

At first he thinks it's the Lady Stark, and his heart near stops. He may be Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, but sometimes he is still the bastard from Winterfell.]

[ She is, in many ways, the vision of her mother. But time and circumstance has tempered her into something much more glacial than her mother could ever be, like the beauty of fallen snow turned to pure ice that suddenly catches the light. If Sansa Stark has suffered greatly, she has overturned those hardships and blossomed all the more fiercely because of them. And through of that sufferance she has found the power to rule.

As she scans the room, she catches sight of him. Her mouth falls slightly agape — startled — but then she finds her poise once again. There is a touch of warmth, buried beneath the chill of her voice. ]

Lord Commander. [ There is no Snow now, not any more. Blood blinds them and Sansa takes that dearly to heart. ]

Edited 2012-01-29 14:06 (UTC)

[He bows his head - just his head, it is a sign of respect, the Night's Watch bends no knee, especially this Commander]

I did not expect to see you here, but it is no terrible thing.

[It takes a direwolf, oblivious to protocol, to trot it's way to her, to nose her lap. They were pups when they knew each other; Ghost wants that bond back. So many of his siblings are lost]

In truth, I did not expect to see myself here either, Lord Commander— [ Her tone does not betray her initial shock, not the discomfort she first felt to navigate such alien and unfamiliar streets. Ghost snuffles along the hem of her dress, into one of her hands, and the Iron Queen smiles, the corner of mouth curling, a contained expression. She does not deny the dear creature her attention, stooping to look the beast eye-to-eye, her red hair spilling from her shoulders. For a time she flew under the banners of birds — a mockingbird and then the falcon of the Vale — but in her reign she has donned the wolf once again, so Ghost and his dead kin are sacred to her. ] —but, it is as you say, brother: no terrible thing.

You look well. And ten times the man I once knew, when I saw you last.

May I sit, then, sister?

[He says it comfortably, like the word has practice, when no, it doesn't. But he's a man of words now, a man of ravens and patience and bearing]

I am that, as the last time I saw you you were a scrap of a girl.

[ It pleases her when he calls her sister. When last they saw one another, such things would be loathe to pass Sansa's lips but time changes all things. Oftimes for the very worst, but on occasion, for the better. With Robb gone, she has no elder brother now, none but Jon, and so Jon it is. ]

A scrap of a boy and a scrap of a girl. [ She walks to him now so that they are face to face. Time has made her full, very much a woman, and long in leg but still she has to incline her face to keep their eyes matched with this new proximity. ] See how we have grown.

[ Carefully, Sansa lifts a hand. The bracelets on her wrists jangle quietly, but she does not touch him, not yet. ] I have greeted you as befits your station, Lord Commander. Would it be uncomely for a queen to greet Jon Snow as well?

[He takes her hand, inclines his head, things learned from the knee of the Lobster King.]

Your majesty,

[It is how he begins, but he has no sisters save her anymore, no brothers save those on the Wall, and so she is the last one, the last Wolf. In truth he is happy it is her, as much as he misses Robb. His arms go around her, then, and pull her close in a way they would have never before]

I am a man of the Night's Watch, I am not so seemly.

[ She laughs.

How long has it been since Sansa was last embraced in earnest? How long since she knew true family — not feigned blood like Petyr Baelish nor madness and jealousy like Lysa Arryn? Far too long and so the embrace is welcome, though it surprises her how two words (Your majesty) manages to make her blush. That is what they call her and that is what she is; but something like pride or at least satisfaction fills her to hear it on the lips of her own kin.

Jon Snow's embrace is strong and welcome. She embraces him back and does not release him. ]

I do not need you seemly, Jon Snow, [ she says and her voice wavers slightly, a hint of the Sansa he once knew. ] That you live and breathe is more than enough.

The only of your brothers, Lady.

[Lady, like her long-gone wolf. Ghost presses his nose against her skirts, white fur clouding around them]

My life and my breath are yours, then. When will you travel home, and to the Wall? I'm told Winter is coming, you might want to do it before then.

And are all the more precious because of it.

[ She only releases him after a long moment, her head turning with a shiver of red hair to watch Ghost skirt the blue velvet of her dress. ] Sit, [ she admonishes warmly at the beast and he looks up at her, head quirking, before obeying. With both arms on Jon Snow's shoulders, she urges him. ] The both of you.

[ She joins him, arranging her skirts just so. Her back is straight as a birch. ] They say I will be unable to hold my throne if I dare travel beyond the Trident. But the Dragon Queen has given me her reassurances. [ Sansa tips her chin. ] Shall I trust her, brother, and listen to the North's call?

[He sits, then, watching her. She holds herself like a queen - she is more beautiful than her mother. It's a strange thought to have of his little sister who hated him so.]

She hasn't killed you yet, has she? I would say that is trust enough, considering her tendencies to show little mercy when handed the keys to a kingdom.

[But he's quiet, then. Ghost leans his head on Jon's leg; the Direwolf is getting older now, but still silent. They look at each other like they are conversing]

Perhaps it is time for the Lord Commander to come and beg men of his Queen himself, instead of sending someone to do it for him.

[It's not convenient. Holding the North is no means political, not on the Wall, but murder is the only way to get rid of the Commander of the Night's Watch and Jon has survived that before]

[ There are no longer Seven Kingdoms, not as they were when both Jon and Sansa were children. There is the realm of the Iron Throne and that of the Dragon Queen and though they do not rule side by side they do not bend a knee to one another either. It is a delicate balance, to say the least, but one that Sansa has managed to negotiate well enough. It is as Jon Snow says: she hadn't killed her yet.

Sansa watches as Jon looks at Ghost. Despite her poise there is a sadness in her eyes, a wistfulness and a jealousy. She is of the North, her blood makes it so, but she has lost all ties to that frozen ground — all ties save Jon. ]

The South, the East, the West — all are kept safe by the deeds of your Black Brothers. This Queen will spare all that she can, though I dare not pronounce the mind of the other. [ A measurable pause. ] She does not have a gentle heart. But none that do rule for very long.

[He can't help but ask, the words are natural coming out of his mouth]

You had a gentle heart once, even if you never showed it to me. You cried when the kittens were killed by the hunting dogs. Do you remember that?

[It's a faraway memory, it seems innocent, but that's all Jon can find innocence in now, in death. He wonders where he would be if he had not taken the black. Holding the North for his sister, maybe. No.

Dead with Robb in the Red Wedding.

Or perhaps not that. Perhaps the King in the North would still rule, and Sansa would be married to someone for the alliance, and the Iron Throne would be filled with someone whose blood was soft and summer, like the last of the Baratheon kings.]

[ The North remembers, all sorts of things. And in truth, Sansa remembers it all.

But what she recalls most clearly and most painfully is the girl that she once was. A little bird bathing in the snow, ignorant of the tempest that stirred to destroy the nest she had so eagerly flown from. Her face betrays the truth (I do, brother. I will never forget.) but her mouth delivers a different answer. The answer of a queen, perhaps. ]

I was a very foolish little girl. [ Sansa's voice is cold as Ice's edge but she does not wield against her half-brother. No, if judgment is held at anyone's throat, it is certainly her own. ] And many honorable men died because of it. [ Lord Eddard, in a play to protect her and Arya. Robb, in an attempt to rescue her from the Red Keep. ]

So long as I am the Iron Queen, it shall not happen again. [ Her lashes flicker. A sign of weakness, perhaps; an apology.

(Forgive me. Forgive me. I was so very different then.) ]

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[ robb was wearing the iron crown, but now he holds it in his hands. it does not yet sit comfortably upon tully curls, still a strange and crushing weight. and here, in the absence of his bannermen and his lady mother, robb stark removes it, if only for a moment. grey wind is at his heels, hackles raised at the press of the crowd, and that is why robb retreats into the tavern, in hopes of escaping the clamor and chaos of the other visitors.

and then he sees her.

he would know his sister anywhere, in any form, even grown into a young woman, wearing their sigil upon her robes. grey wind bounds ahead of him, ignoring robb's half-hearted order to heel. truth be told, robb would have run, had he not been a king, and kings do not shove their way through rooms like ill-mannered boys. so robb stark crosses the room at a stately pace befitting a king, in accordance to the crown swinging from his hand.

the smile upon his face is the rarest of things. robb stark is his father's son. the smiles do not come often, but if ever there were an occasion to smile, this would be it. ]

[ The crown of the Iron Queen remains where Sansa left it, couched upon a velvet pillow within the inner sanctum of the Queen's chambers. It is a lofty thing and quite heavy besides and, perhaps if the subject were ever to be broached by the two siblings, they would have much to say to one another of the weight of such things — both on the head and the heart. But even without her crown, it is obvious in the way she sits and carries herself, that Sansa is someone stately indeed, something more than lady noble-born; through and through she is what her blood and suffering and the mockingbird sought out to make her; she is undoubtedly a queen.

When Grey Wind bounds over, his nose snuffling at her skirts, she does not notice at first; wrongly, she thinks it only to be Ghost again, but then that silvered back catches her eye and— ]

Grey Wind— [ she whispers, her eyes growing large though her face holds the true depth of her surprise in reserve. Shortly, Sansa stands, her attention moving quickly to her half-brother, her hand reaching for the Lord Commander's elbow, drawing herself near to him and away from the creature. ] Surely, it is a wraith.

[Ghost's hackles don't rise, he stands then, rising up on his massive hindquarters - honestly two wolves this size should not be allowed in a small room - to greet his lost brother.

The Lord Commander's face, however, has gone pale, and he moves in front of the Queen, his sister, just a step]

No, no, Sansa, it is no wight.

[ there is confusion on robb's face, something like hurt in his expression, at sansa's reaction. he has never had a family member recoil from him, as if he meant them harm. his gaze moves immediately to jon, seeking explanation, seeking welcome.

the crown is heavy in his hand, and it should be upon his head, should it not, but he does not raise it to his brow.

it seems grey wind cannot decide who to great first. it has been months since he has seen any of his siblings, and the joy at reunion is obvious. robb hangs back, hesitating, unsure of himself. they are older, they are changed, and they are staring at him in shock. he does not know what to make of such a reception. ]

A poor greeting, sister. And I had meant to tell you how beautiful you looked, now that you're grown.

[ and jon snow, all in black. how many letters had robb begun and then burned in the nights since the crown had been placed upon his head? jon snow, your brother has need of you, those were the words consumed by the flames. ]

And you, Jon Snow. Black truly is your color.

[ How does one greet a ghost? Does one run from it, streaming tears and loss, begging it for mercy enough to leave the mourner be? Or does one rush to embrace it, to cling to the memory of what was lost and what will — invariably — be lost again once paths diverge once more? The truth is there in Sansa's mouth and writ across her features as clear as day, all of her lessons in lying forgotten for a moment's breadth. You are dead, beloved brother, that is what Sansa knows. Gone and lost forever.

But instead of speak, Sansa gives pause.

Petyr Baelish had taught her once, when she was still young and malleable as wet clay: Sometimes lies are love, sweetling. Silence can be a lie. The lie of omission: the most insidious kind. Behind her teeth, Sansa bites her tongue and tries to curb the queen inside her. Robb Stark had died, leaving the North for Sansa to inherit, but now here he was, alive and well, the iron crown clasped loosely in his hand. The Iron Queen was not needed now, not when the King of the North still lived. Only Sansa Stark was necessary, the girl with snowflakes in her hair; a younger sister, a lady high-born. Soft-hearted, wolf-blooded. Yes, she could be those things for Robb, so long as she could recall how.

After a moment's hesitation, she sweeps her skirts sideways and takes a knee. Her eyes flicker once again to the crown in Robb's hands; nervously she touches the mockingbird at her throat. ] Your Grace, Lord Brother, forgive me. I had thought never to see you again, being separated by both time and tides.

[Jon watches, sleek in black, even his hair keeping the color, none of it gone the iron gray that is common in men of his coloring. He cannot stop watching. He cannot watch this.]

Robb.

[And then he moves to embrace him, the older brother who was his confidant, his best friend]

You gave me a fright! I almost rode South because of you!

[Remove the mockingbird, Sansa, he is buying you time to hide the signs]

[ the confusion does not quite leave his face, but it is tempered, it is edged away slowly. robb is still young, all but a boy in his furs and his armor, and he is undone by his pleasure at this reunion, at jon snow returned from the wall and his sister grown tall and beautiful. he is too young, too newly crowned, too hopeful, to push farther, even if the word eats at him.

a wraith. she'd called him a wraith.

it freezes the blood in his veins, that word, the look on sansa's face before she recovered herself so neatly. and taking a knee before him, calling him a lord. sansa and her courtly manners, none of that had changed. a wraith. why had she greeted him with fear and that word upon her lips, why had jon snow's face gone nearly white?

but jon steps forward, and robb sets aside his questions to embrace him. at their feet, grey wind pushes forward, whining for sansa's attentions. for the moment, nothing is amiss. ]

I must have begun a thousand letters to you. I have missed your presence, Snow.

[ robb's arms are tight around jon, betraying the truth of his wods. he had spent many nights wishing for jon snow's conversation. when he steps back, is to reach a hand for his sister, to draw sansa to her feet and embrace her as well. ]

You have both surpassed me in age. I am no longer the elder, it appears.

[ Her head ducted, her skirts splayed round her as she remains bowed and genuflect, Sansa's fingers fumble with the pendant at her throat. A mockingbird of both smelt silver and enameled feather, an homage to the man who — for a time — served as her lord father and protector. Of the lords of the Baratheon court, none served (or arguably loved) Sansa as much as Petyr Baelish did. Granted, it had been in service to himself that he had helped her, but it had proven more than enough to buy her time to blossom into the queen she is now. With a sleight of hand, the pendant disappears into the belled sleeve of her dress, secreted away to one of the myriad pockets there.

When Robb offers a hand, she does not hesitate to take it, so long and lithe in leg that they stand near to eye-to-eye when she raises to full height. If there is wariness in her heart, Sansa's face does not betray it. If anything, there is sadness that lingers in her gaze, as if she has remembered some very sad thought that she'd only just managed to forget. Still, her mouth smiles and she kisses him twice, once on each cheek before embracing him with both arms.

She's stronger now, more steady. Sansa is loathe to let go. ] The eldest born is always eldest. In our hearts, the truth remains, even if our bodies rebel.

How many times did I dream to see you again? [ Now that you are gone. ] And with Grey Wind by your side. We are visited with a wealth of blessings, tonight.

Worry not, Lord Stark - or should I say, King Robb, highest rank, highest honors, I'm sure.

[There is a touch of jest in his voice, just that slightest bit of Jon's old self from their rides and their hunts, from nights where they and Theon joked and often at Robb's redheaded expense]

I was speaking to your sister of the wild beyond the wall and I'm afraid the story got in her head. Even time cannot change that. My apologies, lady.

[To Sansa. Who knew Jon was so skilled with words? But that came with age, with time on the Wall as Lord Commander. He looks at Robb for a long moment]

I would have come. If you had asked me.

And I you. I reached you, didn't I? Tell me of what is to come.

[ it's a boy's hope written upon his face. robb had marched south to free his father, and that had failed. but surely he had managed to save his sisters, if sansa standing before him was any proof of that.

in a way, robb needed it. he needed to know that his men were not marching and dying in vain. their deaths were in service of his sisters, each life sacrificed so that he may break down the doors of the red keep and break the shackles keeping his sisters there. he must hear it from their lips, that he does not fail.

and jon, offering up his honor. robb's expression softens, finally releasing sansa to clasp jon snow's shoulder tightly. ]

I wish that I could have. To have you marching at my side would ensure our victory.

[ weight. she'd called him a weight, and surely that was more than the effects of a story but... ]

You've changed, Sansa. The last I remember, you tastes ran more towards songs of noble knights and their ladies, not weights.

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open!

<< I have to go to bed soon but

hogod so do i but laksdfsd;afahskldfasd delighted noises

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I'M NOT EVEN SORRY.

/cries into my cocoa

There is weeping everywhere

my heart will never recover.

why is this happening /glass case of emotion

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