milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Sansa comes downstairs, in a long dress of black lambswool. A cloak is slung over one arm - someone's planning to go for a walk after breakfast.

She sits at Bar, orders some porridge and milk, and begins eating. As she eats, she watches the crowd. It's such habit that she doesn't notice anything new until her porridge is almost gone.

Sansa sees the Door.

A startled motion tips her glass of milk, which thunks against the bartop and spills its contents onto the floor.

"Oh." If she can speak, this means this isn't a dream. You can't speak the words you want to in dreams. "Oh."

The Door.

For a time, Sansa sits on her stool, motionless. Then she begins wiping away small, stray tears.

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"He told you so himself, did he?" she says lightly, just a hint of strain to her words.

She remembers the title 'Prince of Lies'.

"No."

Prince of Lies, yes, (Belial).

"But you know this for a fact through other means?" Sansa is annoyed with herself. She's either pushing Mal into lying or pushing Mal into continued avoiding of the question - neither of which is what she wants right now.

"I'm not going to let it happen again."

The girl examines her hands, removes some (unseen) dust from her skirt.

"Will that be enough?" she asks softly.

Mal drops her gaze.

"I hope so."

"Hope," Sansa repeats.

There's a faint smile. Because this is one thing Sansa knows very much about. The strength it gives and the pain it creates when it's misplaced.

She's very calm, when she says, "Well, we must both hope, mustn't we, snow maiden?"

The smile is faint, but there.

And Mal looks up, a small smile appearing.

"Of course, fire-bird."

Sansa's smile grows, larger and warmer.

It would be so bad to leave with hurt feelings.

Then she looks back at the Door, a faint sigh escaping her. "I get to go home. ...I don't think I remember what that means."

"It will be fine."

Gently reassuring.

Doubtfully, "If I manage to sort my thoughts out."

After a moment, she adds, "I apologize - I'm not the best company right now."

"That's fine."

Mal smiles crookedly.

"It can be hard, going home."

There's a light sigh from Sansa.

"Is it for you?" she asks, searching for something to distract her from her thoughts. "Your war is still going on?"

"Yes. I'm going to leave the country."

~~just after doom!plot, which the mun swears will be posted soon.~~

There's some surprise. "Oh! And go where?"

"The mountains, probably."

She smiles.

Sansa gives a faint startled laugh.

"I live nestled in the Mountains of the Moon now. I must warn you, it gets quite cold."

And isolated.

"I'll bring a cloak."

Mal doesn't really mind the isolation, so much.

Sansa does, even though it's one of the things that's saving her life. We don't always want what's good for us.

"And gloves - fur-lined on the inside, if you can get them - and boots," she lectures, mock-stern.

"Oh, I will, I will."

A quick, quiet smile.

"Try to get a cloak like this, too." She picks up her cloak and spreads it. It's nice and thick, white rabbit fur lining the hood.

"That's beautiful."

Mal raches out, stroking the hood longingly.

"I'll try."

"Bar could give it to you...though I have no idea how much it costs."

Being highborn means you don't have to worry much about money. Unless you're the head of a household and in charge of accounts, but Sansa is reasonably sure she won't be that for a while. Or ever.

You never know.

She shakes herself out of her mind, and folds the cloak back up. "I wonder what will happen to my hair," she says suddenly. "It's longer now."

"I'll find the money."

Mal shrugs, eying her. "Probably stay the same."

"Are you planning on entering a trade?"

Sansa is reasonably sure that's how people earn money.