you stepped into these days [OPEN]

[ladysarmour]

Characters: Sansa Stark, wolf!Loki
Open? Indeed.
Where: Sansa's rooms in the castle
When: Day today
What: Sansa
Warnings: Should not need any!


There is an odd dissonance between one day and the next: trapped in the wood for three successive days, then a wolf attack and dreams, such tiring dreams, and now Sansa sits in her room, bent over a length of linen stretched out in a hoop frame and threading through it silk thread. Calm. Embroidery has a soothing quality to it, almost like prayer.

-- teeth flashing in the sunlight, great razor claws barreling toward her face, Lady leaping between her, no, Lady, Lady! and she has the thought 'I survived the Lannisters only to die here in the belly of my lord father's beast --

Her next stitch misses the linen and pricks her finger instead, dotting the fresh white cloth with blood. Oh, mercy, mercy, she thinks, and sets the needle aside to set a new piece of linen into the frame.

Comments

[sorcerous]

He looks at her warily, chin flat on the bedclothes.

Of course Lady had meant to hurt him. Hurting was the only way to protect. He wouldn't hate her for it; a loyal dog could not be hated for the love of her mistress.

A shift, bracing himself on his better foreleg; he dips down and takes the scruff of Faolan's neck, lifting him up onto the bed, where he may not be able to jump himself. And Loki settles again, his bandaged leg at an awkward angle from his body.

[greatsquirrelhunter]

Faolan cuddles in against Loki, licking at the bandaged leg. He looks up at Sansa, wondering if she can fix Loki's leg.

After a moment, he rises to his feet and toddles unsteadily to the edge of the bed, tail wagging, to bark the question to her.

[ladysarmour]

"Hush now," Sansa says with a gentle touch to Faolan's nose. She understands the sentiment easily enough, though a part of her wonders uneasily at the uncanny intelligence of both creatures. Perhaps they're direwolves like Lady. Wouldn't that be exciting? Now that she thinks of it, the black one does remind her of Rickon's Shaggydog after a fashion -- and the pup could be Summer. Stop it, Sansa. To think that way is more dangerous than you can know.

She turns and goes to her sewing chest, removing from it lengths of white linen that she tears into strips. She carries them back and sets them on the bed before she's even had a chance to consider what she's doing. He could maim me. He could kill me. But with a shaking hand she reaches out and gently touches the loosened, bloody bandages. Her voice is quiet, steady but for a thin quaver. "May I?"

[sorcerous]

He is still -- the sort of stillness that only comes from tension, from muscles knotted and ready to spring.

Kindness angers him near as much as cruelty does.

He forces himself to relax. And he gives her a little nod, a tip of his head in the affirmative.

[greatsquirrelhunter]

Faolan nuzzles against Loki, sensing that he is uneasy with something. It's okay, daddy, his nuzzle says. Sansa will help you and then you'll feel better. He looks up at her trustingly, wanting her to confirm it.

[ladysarmour]

Lady is a comforting presence pressed against her leg. Too clever by half. It should be unnerving, but Sansa's skin is made of steel. She remembers the singer screaming as Ser Ilyn tore out his tongue, and this is nothing in comparison. She takes a breath to steady herself, then carefully begins to unwrap the wolf's bandages so she can examine the wound. It looks shallow... She is no maester, but she has seen her brother's cuts and bruises. Tangled fur matted with drying blood, no hint of bone. Perhaps she should ask for a healer, but Sansa wants to do this herself. Must do it. It was Lady who hurt him.

She goes to the door and asks a servant to fetch a bowl of warm water. They bring it quickly and set it beside her, where Sansa can easily reach to dip a clean linen into the water and ever so gently begin to clean the wound.

[sorcerous]

He hears soft, whining sounds, and it takes him a terrible, long moment to realize they're coming from his own throat. He paws at his muzzle, as though to stop or muffle the weak, wounded sounds.

It may not be to the bone, but it is on a body not so strong or resilient as his usual. It hurts.

[greatsquirrelhunter]

Faolan licks comfortingly at Loki's ear. It's okay, daddy. And you shouldn't move too much while she's trying to heal you.

[ladysarmour]

Song always soothes Sansa, and she thinks perhaps it might do the same for an animal. A children's song, a simple hymn. One she'd fallen asleep to Septa Mordane singing more than once. Fear abates in the wake of compassion as she sets to work, her voice sweet with song.

The Father’s face is stern and strong,
he sits and judges right from wrong.
He weighs our lives, the short and long,
and loves the little children.

The Mother gives the gift of life,
and watches over every wife.
Her gentle smile ends all strife,
and she loves her little children.

Her touch is tender. As she sings she lifts his paw in her hand, marveling at his fur, softer than Lady's, soft as Lady's had been when Theon had first set her in Sansa's arms.

The Warrior stands before the foe,
protecting us where e’er we go.
With sword and shield and spear and bow,
he guards the little children.

The Crone is very wise and old,
and sees our fates as they unfold.
She lifts her lamp of shining gold,
to lead the little children.

The linen turns pink with blood; she readjusts it to hold a fresh edge, dips that in water, and returns to her work. She's settled into a rhythm of it now: clean, dip, rinse, the touch of her hands as dove-soft as his fur. Her mind has fallen into the lull of her work's rhythm, the song's rhythm, as well. The wound is clean now, or as clean as she can make it while it still lies open.

The Smith, he labors day and night,
to put the world of men to right.
With hammer, plow, and fire bright,
builds for little children.

The Maiden dances through the sky,
she lives in every lover’s sigh,
Her smiles teach the birds to fly,
and give dreams to little children.

She lifts the paw gently and moves to wrapping her torn linen strips around the wound, careful to listen for any indication the bandage is wound too tight. A second strip, a third, a fifth -- six altogether, and that might be overdoing it, but Sansa has never wrapped a wound before.

The Seven Gods who made us all,
are listening if we should call.
So close your eyes, you shall not fall,
they see you, little children,

Just close your eyes, you shall not fall,
they see you, little children.

Finished with both work and song, she ties off the bandage and sets his leg back upon the bed. She has the impulse to stroke his ear, kiss the crown of his head, as she would with Lady, but this wolf still did attack her only a day past. Instead she smiles and says, "There. You were very brave."

[sorcerous]

The singing lulls him. It draws him to the memory of better days, the bitter and the sweet of his dreams that nearly trapped him, dragged him down and kept him there. He is willing to indulge in it, here, now, like this, because no one is here to see his sentiment. No one may understand what it is he sees when his eyes unfocus, past Sansa and Faolan.

His little whines fade, and when she finishes -- a wound well-tended -- he licks her hand, in gratitude.

[greatsquirrelhunter]

After licking Loki's ear again to congratulate Loki for being have, Faolan moves forward and raises his own paw. Not that it's hurt. He just wants attention too.

[ladysarmour]

This smile is true: this one reaches Sansa's eyes. Perhaps there is still some wolf inside her after all. She catches the pup's paw in her hand and strokes her thumb along it. "You are a dear thing."

As if sensing Sansa's contentment, Lady circles to the other side of the bed and leaps onto it, padding out a space before settling at Loki's side. Not touching, but only a few fingers' span apart. She lays her head over her paws and licks the pup's ear.

[greatsquirrelhunter]

Faolan's tail is wagging like mad. He can't seem to make up his mind between wanting Sansa to pet him, nuzzling against Lady, and cuddling Loki, and he tries to do all three at once.

[sorcerous]

Loki's goal is accomplished -- and more. He hasn't any idea what to do next.

He bites, experimentally, at the bandage. And then stops himself. A wolf's instincts -- he can't quite seem to get rid of them.

Loki nudges Faolan in between himself and Lady.

[ladysarmour]

"You mustn't do that," she says to the black one, gentle warning in her voice.

She laughs at the pup's antics, finally resting her hand on his head and stroking it down his back.

[greatsquirrelhunter]

Faolan is finally convinced to settle between the adult wolves. He leans forward into Sansa's soft touch, eyes closed in contentment. His tail swishes wildly back and forth, probably hitting both of the other wolves as it does so.