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

[brosif]

She does remember the banners. She can see them displayed – not gilded in pomp and house trappings, but modestly. A byproduct of duty. She takes a moment to answer, clearly balancing what she wants to say with the extra ears in the room.

“If you think I would wear such a color well, then I will be proud to.”

[ladysarmour]

"Oh, you would, my lady." Sansa rushes on ahead. The image of the completed pattern spills out in her mind, perfect and simple. How long has it been since she's had something to so dedicate herself to? "You've a Northern coloring by Westerosi measure, and grey always becomes it well."

[brosif]

"Have I?"

Sif doesn't imagine she would have fit in well anywhere in Sansa's home world. But the north might have held her better than others. There’s a small, tired smile as the comment brings up an old memory.

"You can thank Loki for that." She tugs on her coal-black hair, as her eyes go towards where the wolf sleeps. "I was born with hair as gold as wheat before the harvest. It was quite a waste on me."

[ladysarmour]

"Surely not," she protests. Strange to picture Sif with hair of gold. She won't admit it, but Sansa prefers Sif's hair dark as it is now. "You are beautiful now; you must have been beautiful then.

"Who is Loki?"

[brosif]

Sif barks out a laugh at the thought.

"Beautiful? Goodness, no. I was skin and bones and teeth. Elbows and knees jutting out quicker than the rest of me could keep up with them. We could barely finish altering my dresses in time to keep up with the growth spurts. I was taller than both of the princes for years."

She hadn't even noticed until she had Thor in a hold one day during training and realized that his chin came up to her nose. She'd been distracted enough that he'd managed to break the hold, and then she'd refused to speak to either of them for a week. Thor hadn't understood why. But perhaps Loki...

Loki understands as many things as he doesn't, and rarely in a way that is convenient. For a moment, she wonders if Sansa has lost some of her memories, and then the realization hits: he never gave his name. To Sansa, he is the Sorcerer. The man who woke her from a cursed sleep and gifted her with a magic flower.

"Loki is the man who helped me when you pricked your finger. We grew up together."

A pause.

"He does not always dress like that."

[sorcerous]

At the first sound of his name, Loki shifts. A twitch-whisper of movement, awakening him against his will. He listens, and the sound of his breath is a hint louder than before. Audible.

[ladysarmour]

"Oh! I never knew his name..." Her cheeks flush a pretty pink in embarrassment at her ignorance and her unintended offense. Now that she knows his name, perhaps she can find him through the orb; she owes him her thanks for breaking the curse that had held her in sleep.

She can ask him about the flower. Perhaps he'll even make her another.

"But what has he to do with the color of your hair?"

[brosif]

"A childhood trick. He cut it off as I slept. My parents were furious."

She fingers some strands of hair, at the memory. In truth, the change hadn't bothered her all that much. But ladies were expected to have long hair, and Sif was expected to be a lady. She'd cried in front of her mother, more out of obligation than remorse.

"To make amends, Loki went to the dwarfs and had them weave new hair, just as golden as what I'd lost. But when I tied it into my old hair, the roots rejected it. Since that day, my hair has grown black."