Morning of the 15th

[brosif]

Characters: Sif, Sansa
Open? No
Where: Sif's quarters
When: Morning of the 15th RD
What: Sif recuperates, Sansa is endearing
Warnings: None!


In a space between waking and sleeping, Sif breathes in deeply. She smells lilacs where there should be iron, and cool air where she remembers dust. It is a secret that Sif guards close: that she is a heavy sleeper. It is not a tendency that suits a warrior, though it does lend itself towards recovery.

The spell, like most here, was a strong one. She opens her eyes slowly, taking stock of the room. Her hands are bandaged, and her sword sits close by. Thor's doing, she thinks.

...and flowers. A great many flowers. The culprit there, she suspects, is the same girl currently asleep in an armchair near Sif's bedside. She sifts up under her sheets. The girl's presence is unexpected, but not unwelcome.

"Alayne?"

Comments

[ladysarmour]

Lies have become Sansa's bread and butter; they have become the substance of her survival.

"The people love those who are beautiful," Sansa says. Not a defense, just a simple statement of fact. "And they have been kind."

[brosif]

"That they do." Sif looks a little whistful when she says, "My mother once said that I too easily cast aside the ways in which women battle. That rogue was its own sort of warpaint."

She shakes her head, with a smile. Better to leave some people in the past.

"They are kind. I am glad, to have them close."

[ladysarmour]

"My septa taught me that courtesy is a lady's armor." What she does not say: how the queen taught her of a woman's best weapon. That is not me.

There is a small part of her that feels jealousy, that Sif gets her loved ones while Sansa is nearly alone, but for Lady. Lady makes better company than any number who might come, it's true, but there is a part of Sansa's heart that might wonder who else could come, if she did not reign such thoughts in. "And I am glad for you."

[brosif]

If such is the case, then Sansa's armor is nearly impenetrable. It worries Sif. That the girl's manners are too perfect -- forged in fire, the same as any other shield.

"I apologize, Sansa. I am being thoughtless. Surely there are others that you would see here."

[ladysarmour]

Her name. She has not heard it spoken aloud in so long, in what feels like ages. Here she tries to pretend she is someone else, but beneath that is still Sansa. Sif knows. Sansa's eyes might burn if she'd any tears to shed.

"Never, my lady. You are never thoughtless." Insistently. Sif has been better to Sansa than she has any right to expect, any means to hope. "Your gladness is my gladness."