driftfleet | get your mingle on

[ it doesn't seem right, does it? that this woman -- this stranger -- should initiate the time-honoured tradition of the guest rite. hospitality, flowing in the wrong direction. sansa swallows a hard lump in her throat. a braver young woman might have refused. there is bravery, even, in running away. but sansa's heels are rooted to the spot.

and whatever's in the box smells good. ]

Y-yes, my lady. Certainly. I would be honoured to share it with you.

[ perfectly polite. and how could she be anything but? the woman's voice holds command in it. strength, and purpose. she has no choice but to bow and bend in the face of such power. sansa busies herself with utensils and plates. she can do this much, at least.

she lays the table and waits for the woman to sit first. ]

[ Nyssa smiles. It's sharp at the edges, but fades and softens. ]

You're neither servant nor sister. Dispense with this "my lady". I am Nyssa, daughter of Ra's al Ghul, heir to house and title.

[ Heir no more except in her heart, but this girl has seen her heart, and the woman who keeps it. ]

[ there are calculations behind her eyes -- quick, like starlight winking out of existence. sansa tries to navigate whether it's allowable to call the heir to any house anything but 'my lady'. by her rules, it certainly isn't.

and yet the powerful, terrifying woman has made her choice. sansa can only obey. ] I am Sansa. [ a hard swallow, and then she follows suit and matches nyssa title for title. ] Of House Stark. Daughter of Winterfell.

[ ra's al ghul. now, that conjures some old dust in the corner of her memory. the smell of the shoreline and the singing of a bird. her eyes narrow while she watches nyssa a moment longer. ]

Winter fell.

[ It's two words deliberately: Nyssa turns it over in her mouth. Some words ring true over steel, over stone. Deep, and terrifying. Ra's al Ghul is one. Winterfell. It's not a name one makes an enemy of. ]

Well-met, Sansa Stark.

You're not a member of this crew.

[ softly said. sansa clasps her hands in front of her self, pressing her tucked-in thumbs against her stomach. ] Are you?

[ She sits, expecting Sansa to follow, and puts the box between them. She also takes the first bite. ]

No. I'm on the Red Fish. A little bird told me you were here.

[ this is good; this is kind: having an example to follow, and so sansa sits primly across from the lady nyssa. for lady nyssa she will continue to be in the narrative of sansa's own mind. ]

A little bird. [ not a question. briefly, she betrays a flutter of fear. is this woman some agent of the crown? is she looking to put sansa back in her cage? some kidnapper-for-hire from across the narrow sea, sent across the very stars to reclaim the fugitive sansa stark.

but then she remembers the voice. and she sees the presence with which lady nyssa stands, sits, and even eats. her head cocks and she enters the game: ] Told you, or sang to you?

[ It took just a moment for the fear to transmute. Nyssa barely pauses. The baklava is sweet, and she dusts it off the tips of her fingers. Sits straight, not stiff, but wary of the sounds in the corridor. ]

Birds sing, do they not?

So beautifully. They do.

[ she teaches for a piece of -- of what? some foreign looking delicacy, that nevertheless also looks delicious. she centers it on a small plate and picks up a tined fork. ] Do you like songbirds, my la-- [ lady. ] Nyssa?

[ she pierces the first bite with her fork and lifts it to her lips. ]

[ Nyssa follows suit, though, without a plate; she drops nothing. ]

On occasion. Have you ever heard a canary sing?

[ calculations are different from lies, although they on occasion make up the same sorts of parcels. but lies she can tell with a stoic face. calculations, however, are made with a minor squint behind her eyes. too readily, she shows the work she has to do in order to understand a situation.

after her first bite (delicious!) she asks: ] Is that what she was? A canary?

[ somehow, she just knows the bird was a she-bird. ]

[ It's the simple act of drawing a bow to loose an arrow. Nyssa doesn't serve as a target; she let only one person have her heart and the others her loyalty. ]

She became one. All those who come to my father's gate have lost their way. We show them who they truly are, and they embrace their second life.

Her song was beautiful.

[ and as with so many other details, the past-tense simply sounds appropriate. she can't explain it; isn't certain she wants to. ]

[ Nyssa smiles, it's soft. ]

She kept you safe, my Sara. Didn't she?

[ All of them who walked into that room the Atroma built, built of memory; the stone halls and the winding trails of the jungle. Only the canary led them to safety. ]

[ Past tense. ]

Her song was a signal fire.

[ her chin drops. this subject -- she can feel how personal it's become. and it makes her uncomfortable to pick at someone else's pain. sansa thinks she would resent the interference should the roles be reversed. so, lapsing into silence, she partakes in more of the delicious dessert. ]

[ Nyssa wants to be seen, and she doesn't care to pretend to be more or less than herself. She tilts her head, searching Sansa's carefully schooled expression. ]

Are you lost, Sansa Stark, that you need a beacon?

I am far from home. Of course, I'm lost.

[ if she sounds bitter, then it's not a bitterness directed towards nyssa. nominally, it might be towards the fleet itself -- however, sansa had been lost long before she came here. ]

[ All those who come to her father's house are lost. There's the echo of it, the bitterness, but no anger that Nyssa can see. ]

Tell me of Winterfell.

Winterfell is a castle. [ was a castle. her smile is slow, and sad, and pinned to nostalgia instead of to happiness. ] It houses the Warden of the North, and his family. It is a bastion of Westerosi might against the long winters. And it's my home.

[ she hasn't been so honest with anyone else in the fleet -- but perhaps it comes from having walked the paths of this woman's mind. she feels honour-bound to expose herself the way nyssa's heart was exposed to her. ] But I've not seen it in years.

A pity.

[ Both for the loss of the home and the loss of the lessons the season brings. The harshest environments make for hard people; loyal and persevering. One can learn softness, but never be ruled by it. ]

You are from Westeros? Like Tyrion Lannister?

[ her jaw sets like steel. had tyrion already gotten to this woman? secured her loyalty, somehow? all sansa knows is that nyssa is a hard and powerful creature -- perhaps lannister gold has already secured her services.

she grows withdrawn -- even more so than before. ] I am. Yes.

Well, that explains the my lady.

[ If she notices, she offers no comment. Sansa's thoughts are all laid out with care: her face and hands never out of place. A target like that needs patience. ]

I'm told women don't use the blade or bow. I confess I don't understand why. I doubt that a man could tell me.

[ women have other weapons -- other armour. but she doesn't give this answer.

instead: ] Some do. Some have. [ ... ] I do not.

[ She shakes her head. ]

Only some. What a waste.

-- My sister would like you, I think.

[ a sideways slanted sort of appeal. ]

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