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[ and what is sansa stark to make of this creature?

she is bold, like the dornish. and ferocious like the targaryens of old. or she is like nymeria, the warrior queen -- and at long last sansa glimpses some fraction of what her sister saw in that legend. a tall and powerful woman, not smudged in dirt or hulking like a man -- but beautiful and poised. more like steel than anything she'd seen before.

she lays her fork across the plate. ] He must trust you a great deal, if you lead those who follow him.

[ A soft exhale. She was trusted, once. She was asked to be perfect and she was; Father still handed what was hers to some usurper. Nyssa exhales, softly. ]

The trust of one man means little. It must come from those below to have true power.

[ trust is a farce, and it has no place in power. but those words belong to someone else's voice -- haunting her, and souring the time-old traditions honoured in the north.

but even so, she affects a little shake of her head. ] The trust of one man might mean little, but the trust of a father means the world. Doesn't it?

[ sorrow. she misses her dear lord father. ]

[ She is silent, and knows it betrays her hesitance, her mixed feelings, and everything else besides. ]

Yes.

[ she believes her father must have been so disappointed in her: she'd fallen prey to the lion's claws, and she'd betrayed them all. hadn't she? except all sansa remembers with any clarity is falling on her knees and begging for her father's life.

and she remembers his blood on the hem of her dress. his head, rolling-- ]

What sort of lord is he? [ for a man commanding other men must hold some manner of title, mustn't he? ] Your father?

My father?

[ It's almost absent. She eyes the remaining baklava on her plate. ]

One of the most powerful men in the world. Perhaps the most, for we conquer our enemies without exception.

Is he a king?

Of his own house, perhaps.

Not of the world. We seek to rule nothing, only protect and guide.

[ she eats another bite. something about the food knits a net around the moment -- old world hospitality woven in with some basic sense of who this woman is. who she might be.

almost-gently, she changes tack: ] Sara is a pretty name.

[ Evenly, ]

So is Sansa.

[ oh, she responds to flattery -- even when (and she can tell) it's being used to chase her off the scent of another inquiry's path. sansa's smile is hidden in the firm line of her lips, but she can't hide how much she likes to hear a nice thing said. her whole person craves compliments like a fine flower's roots crave water. ]

It's a family name. [ ... ] Northern daughters have carried the name before me.

[ Something subtle in Nyssa's expression gives way to warmth. ]

And what of the name Stark? What can I expect of the family of Warden of the North?

[ it shouldn't be a difficult question. and yet, it is. its complexity creeps like a shadow over her face. house stark stands for things she'd abandoned all too willingly, and things she'd come to embrace once again in pain. ] Winter is coming, [ she breathes. ] Those are the words of our house. Even in the long summers, we are supposed to remember that winter always returns.

[ something she hasn't been so successful at recalling -- cavorting in the south, and enjoying the sun while she could. ] Stark is an old name. And it belonged to kings, once upon a time.

[ If Nyssa believed in such things, she could easily see Sansa a queen. The girl has never shifted once, nor faltered. Yes, Sara would like her. ]

I like it much better than the Lannister boast, I think. There is no better lesson than winter, and little that is older.

[ ... ]

It can be a harsh one, but necessary things often are.

[ her curiousity gets the best of her: ] H-has Lord Tyrion told you much of Westeros, Nyssa?

[ how much, she wonders. and on what subjects. ]

I know of Casterly Rock and a little of his family. They are Warden of the West, and the richest house in Westeros. I understand that his sister is currently the queen. Little else, I would rather hear of others with their own words.

She's not, you know. Queen -- not truly, except perhaps by virtue of regency. [ there is a sharp conviction behind her words -- sharper, still, than anything she's expressed thus far. ] Her sons have been kings thereafter, you see.

[ and such sorrow has been visited upon the kingdoms. ]

[ Evenly, ]

What of her sons, Sansa Stark? Has the apple fallen far from the tree?

Tommen is king, now. Her youngest. Last I saw of him, he was still a kind-hearted boy.

[ she will not speak of the other son. not even to this fine creature. ]

[ Which means the others are dead, or removed, somehow. She doesn't ask. ]

Do you miss it? The court?

[ the gentle (and expected) answer is to tell nyssa that she misses it very much -- the glamour and the intrigue and the attention. it would be the better lie, and so she tells it: ]

Certainly. [ her expression is ever-so-slightly strained. ] It's hard to put the royal court's glory into words. Nothing compares.

[ and everything is preferred. ]

If it were possible, [ she says, very deliberately, voice calm and steady, ] I would have you at my home in Nanda Parbat, when I take my father's place. Then you can speak plainly, and tell me how it compares.

[ it's a challenge to not feel somehow earmarked by nyssa's interests -- by her passing charity, or else her pinning gaze. why, sansa wonders, would this brave thing want to see her transported elsewhere? and why, she also wonders, would she want to hear the truths about a kingdom that doesn't concern her? ]

What's it like? Your...Nanda Parbat. [ she's careful to say the name exactly as nyssa did. note for note. ]

It's a castle in the mountains, carved into the rock. A place only the very determined or the very lost come to. We hunt in the valleys and trade with those in the villages. There is news of the outside world, sometimes, but very little other than what we seek out. It's peaceful in a world that has forgotten peace.

I have no siblings that I know of and no subjects to speak of, but kin in those who come to serve my father.

[ it sounds...lonely, in sansa's opinion. lonely, but idyllic. oh, what she wouldn't trade away to enjoy such loneliness and be removed from the grand fusses of the world.

she likes to listen to someone else say lovely things about their home, however. and so: ] I'm sorry you were taken from it.