driftfleet | One - Well Honed Thought

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One - Well Honed Thought

Who: Tyrion Lannister
Broadcast: Fleet-wide
Action: Aboard the Marvisa
When: Er, nowish.

[When the communication device is turned on, you are greeted with a scarred, bearded face that has seen better days, topped with golden curls mixed with black, and mis-matched eyes besides. Despite this rather ... interesting visage, the eyes are mixed with some sort of dark humor and his mouth is crooked with a flat sort of smile. The voice, however, ah, flows like honey.]

Good day, my fellow travelers. I apologize for my ... current state of less than noble stature, but I assure you that a wash and a shave will do no one any favors. I find myself at more of a loss over silken robes onto what ... precisely I am doing here. I have some knowledge - I am on something called a space ship, I am to be an engineer for such a vehicle but ... not entirely sure where, and I am here to entertain people. And before I forget my manners further I am Tyrion Lannister. If that name means anything to you, knowing that I have been thrown into such a role probably amuses you, so I appear to be ahead on my designated purpose on this show.

For the rest of you, I have two questions. One ... is it to be considered amusing when my lack of practical application in managing such a metal beast sends us crashing into some other spacial object, and two, ... there is wine here, is there not?

[A sigh, and a hand rubbing across his beard.] Not a great deal is needed. Just a glass. Just so I can ... stop breathing heavily and think we are all about to suffocate from the lack of oxygen from apparently being surrounded by an airless ... vacuum, I believe the word is, popping into my mind. Yes.

[He smiles, and it's not a bad smile at that.] Pleasure to meet you all, by the by.

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[ her protector? oh, how dare he. sansa's stomach lurches. it takes considerable control not to submit to an outburst -- demanding by what right he feels he possesses to protect her? except she already knows it: treaty and solemn vows bind the pair of them together. but it was her who transgressed those first when she became petyr's catspaw.

all she can muster is a strained: ] You're speaking indelicately, my lord. [ her jaw is tight. her heart pained. ] Indelicately, and publicly.

[ she won't invite him to her chambers, but waits to hear whether he'll want to continue their mild negotiations in person. ]

[Oh, now there was an expression he had not seen on her face - very reminiscent of Caetlyn Stark. Which it suddenly occurs to him that these are communication devices and as she has said - they communicate publicly.]

Ah. [Is filled with embarrassment, before he clears his throat.] My ...deepest apologies, Lady Stark. If it pleases you, we can speak in a less ... open forum.

[ some measure of adrenaline recedes. she tries to assuage her displeasure with the simple reminder that it might have been much worse -- he might have unwittingly betrayed the secrecy of alayne stone's identity, had she not already dispensed with that precaution. ]

I would like that. Yes. [ small-voiced, but stately. some part of her has grown in strength in the ensuing moons since they'd parted ways. wherever she'd gone -- wherever she'd hidden, it has changed her. ]

There is no hall nor any solar I could find, my lord. [ ... ] But there is a library.

[Ah, and there is more of the polite steel he is used to. Perhaps now more woman than child, then. He has to wonder what has happened in the time they have been parted.

Still ... is he the same man as when they were wed? No, no he is not.] Very well.

[Now this ... this is where his own expression brightens considerably, and his eyes close, his breath leaves him in a sigh of relief.] Ah ... a balm more comforting than wine. Books. Yes, let us meet in the library.

[ had she been the smiling sort, the corners of sansa's mouth might have twitched upwards. might have, but she wasn't. and so they didn't. instead, she congratulates herself in silence upon witnessing the gleam in his expression. she'd remembered well the way her lord husband likes his books, and would so often eschew other matters so he might spend more time amidst parchment and ink.

yes, knowing what motivates a man grants the knowledge to move that man. the suggestion had not been by coincidence. ]

Give me an hour, Lord Tyrion. And I will meet with you thereafter.

As you wish, Lady Stark.

[A formal bow, before he himself cuts off the feed. Her boon was that yes, she was sending Tyrion into a library and that alone could distract him for hours. Her mistake ... was that she left Tyrion alone for an hour. All kinds of mischief had befallen him, and more importantly ... she had given him time to prepare.

So when she arrives, she will see that he has placed two tables on opposite sides of one another. There is paper, and writing styluses. Tyrion's tunic outfit has been augmented with some kind of sash to tie it in place around his waist, and his beard has been groomed. He is seated when she arrives, but carefully moves to his feet when she enters the room, and politely moves to pull her seat out in front of the desks, before returning to his own.

He seats himself, and then rests his stubby fingertips together, settling his mis-matched eyes on her.] So, my Lady Stark ... it has occurred to me in the time that we are apart that perhaps you are not the child bride I once swore to protect. That you are, for all intents and purposes, a grown woman with a mind of her own and wishes she wishes to be fulfilled. As we are to be ... within the same sphere, and I am bound to protect at least your brother from further harm, I feel, and do correct me if I am wrong, that perhaps it would be best if we put down in writing what we both want - what we do not want - and what we are willing to compromise on.

[One eyebrow raises.] Would you call that fair and equitable?

[ how does a lady gird herself to meet with a man she never loved, but whose wedding vow she'd taken? whose protection she'd as good as spurned when she conspired to leave king's landing, and whose family she hated above all else? for one, she knows she shouldn't wear the simple dreary colours afforded to alayne stone, but all she has by way of formal costume is the dress she'd been wearing upon her arrival. it will have to do, she thinks.

her walk from the small chambers to the library is a lot like a war-march. stiff steps, and all of them aching. she holds herself (and her muscles) tight with anxiety -- although not an inch of her fears meeting tyrion lannister alone. although they'd not used their marriage bed, they'd certainly shared it. and rooms, besides. she isn't frightened of being alone with him.

he will not hurt me, sansa decides. at least not until he learns of what's been done and what i know. ]

Lord Tyrion. [ a shallow curtsy upon her entrance. she'd been marching to battle, and he'd been preparing the room for parley. it catches her off her guard -- and so she waits good few heartbeats before she takes her place. murmured gratitude. ] You -- you would negotiate with me?

[ startled. surprised, perhaps. sansa had been expecting she would have to win even that privilege, but finds it being willingly afforded to her instead. ]

[One eyebrow rose at that, and again he has to internally wince at the amount of cruelty that has been placed on the Starks from his family. All of your sins, all laid at my feet. Thank you all, so much, for making me the one who must clean up your mistakes., is the bitter thought, but it doesn't cross his face at all.

Instead, he holds his hands wide.] Absolutely. You and I have no ill will between us - and you appear to wish to be dealt with as a Lady of her own Keep. Therefore, we shall discuss it as such. Think of it as the old game - when I say something that you want, you move a step forward. When you say something I do not want, I take a step back. We agree upon a middle ground.

[He gestured with his hand.] You have chosen the area, I have chosen how we will discourse. You, Lady Sansa ... may have the first round of negotiations. What do you want?

[ her eyes dart -- left, right, and marked with suspicion. stronger she might be, but sansa is no less caged today than she was within the confines of the red keep. wetting her bottom lip, she bides her time and looks for the hook at the end of the line.

she realizes that for all the liberties and secrets petyr has shared with her, he nevertheless left her woefully unequipped to handle any sort of parley without having primed her with all the moves necessary to the game. stiffly, she places her hands upon her half of the negotiating tables. ]

Bran needn't ever be told of u-- [ the words stick. us is too kind a word for what their wedding created. ] I mean to say, he needn't know about our vows.

[ perhaps bran already knew -- but he'd not brought it up, and sansa didn't dare to mention it first. so, just in case, she would make this her first hill. ]

Edited 2015-11-09 22:14 (UTC)

[Still she looked for where the trap would fall. Smart of her, he would be looking too. Map your escape routes, look for the angle to play. She had gotten more wily in their time apart.

He taps his fingers together, carefully masking the pain that statement causes. He hopes he is mostly successful - he never was very good at lying to Sansa. He puts his own hands down on the table, before he meets her gaze once more.]

Done. He will never know how you were married to a monster. [Oh, that was bitter. He pulls back, both physically and mentally, before stating coolly.] My turn. I will still have the boy protected. He is the standing heir of Winterfell, and must be kept alive at all costs.

I - I can't disagree. But... [ but what?

it is supremely uncomfortable to have a denizen of lannister blood proclaiming himself a champion (however laughably) of her own kin. uncomfortable, and yet not precisely inaccurate. she swallows a rare lump of pride and reminds herself what good tyrion had done for herself. whole cavalcades of beatings had been avoided because of his intercession. she can't forget that easily, no matter what else followed. even so, it doesn't seem appropriate that he should put so much as a stubby finger upon the safety of bran stark.

the problem is that sansa can't exactly profess to doing much better. who is she, except a silly liar of a young woman? lost and emptied out and hurting. she is no soldier; she is no knight. she can't protect bran from anything, and she hasn't yet determined which of the strong and strapping men amidst the fleet are worth trusting with something so precious. ]

It's not right. [ she protests. ] It's not your decision to make and it's not fair!

[ but since when has anything ever been fair? were it any other man, she mightn't have protested at all. but there's been a fire brewing in her belly since she left king's landing. ]

Edited 2015-11-09 22:24 (UTC)

If you cannot disagree, then I cannot fathom why it is not fair. [And now, Tyrion is going to get frustrated because this is not Stark independence, this is Tully pigheadedness, all the way through. Not to mention propriety -- at a time like this!] ...As for right -- I am not concerned about right, or proper, Sansa. I am concerned with what is just and what is necessary. That boy escaped death by the grace of the Seven and that wolf of his -- I am not sure how many more lives any of you Starks have to toss away. You need to start thinking long term, my Lady, and that includes just whom you are willing to throw away out of stubborn pride.

[He stops, breathing out, before his gaze narrows on her.] Tell me, my Lady... just whose side do you think I am on, now? If you say my family - oh - I shall laugh. I shall laugh most sincerely and from the bottom of my broken little heart.

[ her chin dips. she's been scolded -- chagrined. and it's brought to her immediate attention that her veins are not as icy as she might have hoped. she needs petyr's ruthlessness, and his patience.

without raising her eyes, she counters: ] You are on your own side, my lord. I will not begrudge you that.

[ but perhaps a dozen other items are worth her grudges. ]

[What cutting words he would have partied back across the tables are stilled by that particular comment. His tone quieted, and he sat back to state quietly.]

No, my lady, I am on your side. I always have been. I wish you could believe that.

[A deep, and heavy sigh, before he looked back at his hands.] Clearly, you begrudge me much ... may I be so impertinent to ask why? I have never raised a hand to you, have never spoken an unkind word to you. My family has been ...horrific to yours, that is true, but just because we share blood does not mean we share motivations.

I would grant you, you have a right to despise the Lannisters. [Now, he made himself look at her, at this young woman who could hurt him far more easily than he wanted to admit.] Why do you despise me?

[ no one is on my side. or else those who might have been are now dead, except for sweet and lovely bran -- whose protection remains upon the table, an unsolved problem between the pair of them.

but blood is blood. sansa had betrayed her own once before, only to feel the sting of being separated from family and roots. she knows how deeply she aches to be of winterfell once more. why shouldn't he feel the same urge?

coldly: ] I do not despite you, my lord.

[ but nor does she like him. ]

[And it is a problem that will be solved, oh yes, lovely Sansa. She has a will of steel and iron, but so does he. They had both changed.

One day, she would learn. Learn that blood only carries so far, when there is no love behind it. Jon Snow knew it. Bronn had known it. Look at the twisted world that Littlefingers had built for himself from a lack of love.]

Well ... I shall take that as an improvement in our relationship. [Is his wry reply, before he presses his lips together.] Let us make this a compromise - we will together, find protectors for the boy. Able-bodied warriors, those whom you feel comfortable protecting your brother ... and that I have thoroughly examined and tested for their loyalty and fidelity. And we both must concur the individual is correct.

[ it wouldn't be the worst undertaking. after all, she knows well enough how experienced lord tyrion is in furnishing himself with capable guards and sworn swords. he (perhaps as deeply as she does) understands a need for protection and security. except she also understands how catspaws work, and must come to terms with the notion that a lannister might have a hand in picking her brother's protector.

and what would bran say, in the end? he is the heir to winterfell, now. not her. yet, it's sansa at the negotiating table. perhaps she'd come to it a little too eagerly. ]

If such a man could be found... [ she trails off, dubious. she hasn't yet met an individual worthy of such complete trust. ]

[Tyrion watched the thoughts flit across Sansa's beautiful face, and alas, it was beautiful. He kept his tongue, however. She wanted no charm from him, merely truth, and he could give that in the bucketfuls if required. He had her trust once, and now he had lost it.

Still, the important thing was Bran's safety, and although he would not say it outloud to her, her own.]

Or woman. [He arched an eyebrow at her.] Women are just as capable of being defenders. Brienne of Tarth has proven that, ably. As it stands, I already have a few ... possible suggestions, if you would be willing to hear them after we conclude our arrangements.

[He has won his point, though. She has all but agreed.] Shall we consider the bargain set, and move to your next demand?

[ or woman. once upon a time, she might have scoffed. sansa hasn't grown any more inclined to the notion of a she-knight or a lady warrior, but she has (at the very least) witnessed great courage and strength on the part of women like mya stone. mya does things as men might do them, and finds pleasure in her existence all the same.

even so, she tells herself in silence, her brother's protector will be no woman. not because sansa doesn't trust women (after all, she trusts equally across the sexes) but because she cannot imagine a society where a woman's duties to her brother wouldn't be compromised by all the other pressures put upon her shoulders.

all told, however, sansa mostly regrets having taken umbrage in the first place. her cheeks colour when she realizes what manner of victory her lord husband has wrangled from her. her nose crinkles with displeasure. ]

I will choose my own protector, my lord. Although you would see to approve my brother's, mine will be my own choice. [ because she doesn't forget how readily he claimed responsibility for her, as well. nor does she forget the very fact that she requires protection. technically it is his right by marriage to manage these aspects of her existence, but sansa wishes she had petyr here for a second opinion. not tyrion lannister.

but she can't help but aim for a sliver of courtesy: ] My lord husband has been gracious and giving in the past when it comes to matters of my safety. I know it as kindness and recognize it as such. But I would want the decision to be my own, here.

[ without brune or baelish to guide her in this matter, she must be careful. but she must separate herself from dependencies upon tyrion -- leaning upon his help will not end well for her, she imagines. ]

[Tyrion's eyebrows rose at that, but it was an easy concession to make. Sansa clearly wanted to take control of her own life, and he had no issues with that. Clearly she wanted him as far away from her as possible, and he would concede to that as well.

Even if it stung, like a bee sinking it's stinger far below his skin. He mentally waved it off - rejection was something he was well versed in after all. Besides, he has already achieved his primary goal, which is to protect young Brandon. Here though, he is going to make a Point.]

Lady Stark ... to give you permission to do so, I would have to have some sort of leash attached to your neck. I do not, nor would I want to. To Brandon Stark I owe justice, a life for a life, and if that life is mine then I shall pay it. So his protection is very important to me. On a personal level ... so is yours, but I cannot make you accept it, or me, or anything else I might offer. You are free to chose your own protector - keep as far away from me as this situation will allow - dance about the ship singing bawdy tavern tunes, if you like.

[He lifted one hand.] I would only ask that if you need some advice, to use a sharp mind that is readily at your disposal. If it would not be too impertinent, allow me to introduce you to those who might be able to help.

[Both hands, now held wide.] With my lady's pleasure, of course.

Certainly, my lord.

[ that brief flickering candle of her protest dies out. all that's left is the sooty remains of old manners and means. sansa bobs her head, as though agreeing with him, although she keeps the private conviction that she shouldn't need him at all.

(and yet deep down she understands that in petyr's absence, she'll need someone.)

sansa doesn't argue the leash. he might have been merciful in dispensing with the particulars of their marriage, but by westerosi custom and law she is his wife. it's a limitation she won't forget merely because he suggests it might be dissolved in spirit. ]

You're very clever to remind me so.

[ weak, once again. at least on the surface. ]

[... By the Seven, Sansa Stark was trying to play him. He would have honestly believed every word she had said, until she went with 'certainly my lord', and 'You're very clever to remind me so'. In fact, it was so sweetly and innocently done he would not have seen the catch if she had not made her loathing so apparent before.

He leaned back in his chair, giving her a more studied look. Keener, with more interest.] Not half as clever as you, it seems. You've learned much in the time that we have been apart ... and I have to wonder from who.

[Deception and manipulation were all the rage in Kings Landing, but the girl had disappeared from there, months ago. Where exactly had Sansa Stark gone, to have such a steady hand on the Game?]

[Those eyes narrow.] If we are going to continue to barter with our words alone, my lady, I would ask that you put your weapons upon the table. I have found I do not have a taste for lying behind a lovely face anymore. Please speak as frankly as you have been, and I will treat you with the respect you deserve.

Edited 2015-11-11 18:46 (UTC)

[ he doesn't know what he asks. to trade frankly in anything is a hurdle she no longer knows how to overcome. lies have seeped into her blood, and like a disease they settle into her bones and muscle and flesh. sansa removes her fingers from the table and tangles them instead in her lap. long dark-dyed hair curtains her face. it makes her look all the more pale.

and all the more starkish too, to be honest. dark hair, like her forebears. ] I have nothing else to ask of you. Not yet, at least, my lord.

[ her secrecy and bran's safety secured -- what else could she want? it would rub salt into his wounds to demand he keep his distance. she has to trust he knows that request without being asked. ]

[Tyrion watched that gesture - wondering who in the name of the Seven this girl was. This wasn't Sansa Stark, the young woman who held her head up in front of all of Kings Landing and married him with dignity beyond measure despite Joffery's intentions. This was not the girl who coldly demanded his silence.

Who are you, milady? What have you become?] Very well... then we shall put this in writing, sign, and keep it open until our next need for parley.

[And thus, Tyrion began to write in his quick, elegant hand, everything they had agreed to. Then he pushed it across the table and rose to his feet, hobbling towards the door. He paused, half-way across, to turn and give her a bow before he stated quietly.]

Ever your humble servant, Lady Stark.

[But he would not meet her gaze - would not meet distrust or lies anymore. Enough of this. She had stabbed him enough with her silence - or her charms. He had work to do. No more. No more.]

[ -- does he expect her to sign? sansa's fingers tremble. she touches the edge of her thumb to the paper and (marveling at its smooth and even complexion) reaches for the quill. no -- not a quill, but some other strange instrument. similar to (but not quite) a quill.

with little flourish and precise lettering, she signs her name. her maiden's name, at that. and sansa rolls the agreement up into a tight scroll before she stands. ]

Our next need...[ her thoughts dip and take flight. her mouth flattens into an unhappy line. ] Should any of your family be brought to the fleet, my lord, you and I will need more pages.

[ a quiet signal to suggest she is (perhaps) more at ease with him than with the other lannisters. after all, hadn't he been asking for that much of a distinction this whole time? ]

One - Well Honed Thought

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wow, despise* apologies for my typos.

No worries!

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