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]

Sansa has ever been a deep sleeper, even during those long few months she shared a bed with Tyrion Lannister. Here she only dozes, and at Sif's voice she stirs and sits. Her small embroidery hoop pokes into her belly where she'd slumped over it, and Sansa sets it aside.

"My lady," she says, fighting a yawn. It wins, but at least she can mask it as a sigh. "How do you feel?"

[brosif]

"Very well," Sif lies. Her thoughts are on conversations she has promised to start, none of which will be pleasant.

Her gaze goes towards the window. Light already.

"Has it been hours or days, my friend?"

Her suspicions are on the latter.

[ladysarmour]

My friend. Absurdly, it makes her a lightness flutter in her heart. To have a friend again - perhaps, even, a true one.

"Half and one," she answers, reaching for pitcher and glass to pour Sif water. She holds out the glass, grip delicate but sure. "The prince came by as you rested, but left when he saw how deeply you slept."

[brosif]

"Which prince?"

She reaches out for the glass. Her fingers stop, when she realizes what she has just said -- and then she laughs.

"Oh. I believe that is the question which is entire village would insist forms all of my waking life."

[ladysarmour]

"The dark one," Sansa says, suppressing her own amusement into a tiny smile. "Prince Loki. But they are both very handsome and gallant."

[brosif]

"Are they?"

Sansa's amusement leads the remark to be less cutting than it might have been otherwise. Sif has seen the world the child comes from -- if speaking of the princes amuses her, so be it. She smiles, taking a drink.

"I have seen no evidence to support that."

[ladysarmour]

The smile widens fractionally. Sansa does not believe the gossips - after all, she knows firsthand the sorts of things the commons will say. But if it amuses Sif, then it amuses Sansa as well.

"But they are. Prince Loki rescued me from the sleeping spell," she protests, oblivious to the spell's true remedy, "and Prince Thor was with you when you saved me from the wolf." The wolf who is Prince Loki, though that still seems so strange.

[brosif]

Ah. Yes. The sleeping spell. Sif is perfectly happy to let Loki take the credit for that instance, though she is hesitant about maintaining a lie to a girl who has already had a life full of deception.

"Thor spends more time on his hair than half the maidens at court. Though only half as much as Loki."

[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."