Sansa Stark (songless_bird) wrote in witchinghour, @ 2014-06-09 22:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: sansa stark, character: tyrion lannister |
The Lion's outside of your door...
Who: Sansa and Tyrion
What: Private discussions of horrible things.
Where: Sansa's room, the Sleepy Hollow
When: Sunday evening
Warnings: ASoIaF/GoT spoilers, other than that, none
Status: Ongoing
Sansa hadn't decided for sure whether this place- the Sleepy Hollow in Marrowood- was more preferable to Westeros or not. She had been stolen from her life more times than this, in more ways than one. The oppressive, stale air of the room she'd been deposited in was still comparable to being within eye-shot of Queen Cersei, even slightly less so than the many times Joffrey decided to slither into her personal space and spread his poison. Now that he was gone, Westeros was even more dangerous for her; daughter of the traitor, conspirator in the death of the young king... regardless of her innocence, there was a pike on the King's Landing gate waiting for her head, and should anyone actually deliver her to the Queen, Sansa was positive she'd be begging for the swordsman's blow long before she received the release of death. Her family was gone, her lands scattered among true betrayers and likely burned to the snow...
Don't bleed on the fresh towels. Enjoy your tourist excursions.
Besides the invisible giggler, Marrowood had yet to weigh heavier than the blood-soaked kingdoms she'd been wisked from. Still, this strange place and it's strange technology had it's own breed of terror, and the fact that she was barely covered by such thin material meant for comfortable sleeping in nights of the Vale, not for proper interaction, made her feel especially vulnerable. It was sated only slightly by the unexpected presence of her late husband's voice. Petyr had assured her that Tyrion was promptly executed for Joffrey's murder... to know he had survived was a small relief, if to assure herself that she was not completely alone.
With the deep purple bedcover wrapped over her shoulders and clasped in front by a very determined grip, Sansa didn't seat herself in the hallway as Tyrion instructed, but she did keep the door open, peeking outside in both directions, waiting for the familiar shock of blond curls at hip-level.