driftfleet | get your mingle on

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.

Father would say this is all a test, and it is not fitting that we should fail it.

[ She shrugs. ]

What would your father say?

[ her chin drops -- and sansa works at it, because she's painfully aware that her instincts drive her towards alayne's father and his wisdom. petyr baelish would see this as an opportunity: such kind people, whose motivations are written so clearly on their faces.

(but not nyssa's. nyssa would be a nut to crack, and that sudden realization makes her dread baelish's inevitable arrival. because he's always right there behind her -- isn't he?)

sansa puffs her cheeks and thinks about ned stark, instead. honourable ned stark. ]

I think -- I think he would try his very best to remind me that I am his daughter no matter where I was. [ even in the vale, she is his blood. ] And he would want me to be kind to the people caught here with me. They need as much help as I do.

[ a rosy picture of a dead man -- she bites her bottom lip, and draws a dramatic differential line between ned stark and littlefinger. ]

[ Nut to crack or a stone to wear down, but Nyssa is metal, sinuous in movement as a blade, straightforward in purpose. Rock can be broken. All she must do under pressure is melt and be reforged. ]

Do you think you can be kind?

[ the question -- so incisive -- merits a sharpish look. more fear than any other emotion pressed outward. ] Yes, [ she answers quickly. but her guts scream no. ]

Only it's difficult, isn't it? When you know so few people. [ a short breath. she confesses: ] But my brother is here, Nyssa. And I want to be kind to his friends.

[ but sansa doesn't know his friends, and she wonders how she can begin to trust them. ]

[ She smiles again, soft and disarming. It's bizarre, she doesn't think she's entertained such open sentiment around someone not Sara or Laurel. Laurel. Laurel would want to be kind to Sansa, but that's not why Nyssa likes her. ]

I'm afraid I know little of kindness given, only that received.

[ A beat. ]

A shared meal would not be amiss. This is a well-equipped kitchen, and I am certain the library aboard the Bishop or the Iskaulit would be helpful.

[ some of the ugliness beneath sansa's fair and graceful behaviour surfaces when, at the suggestion, her nose crinkles. ] A proper lady does not cook meals.

[ regardless of who for. ]

Then a proper lady will starve.

[ It's delivered evenly. An ultimatum. ]

I've no doubt your crewmates will be helpful, but would you really rather depend on someone else?

[ for as long as she can remember, she's had servants -- cooks and handmaids alike. someone to prepare her food and someone else to help her don her dresses in the mornings. perhaps she should be ashamed of how difficult every day is, now that she must manage these simple tasks on her own. ]

Are there no servants in Nanda Parbat?

No. We train and keep warriors, no one else.

Even knights require squires and grooms and -- and all sorts. [ ... ] Who stokes the fires? Who lights the candles?

That is true. We take turns. What is in Nanda Parbat belongs to all of us, it would be shameful not to assist in maintaining it.

I am my father's heir and thus spared certain duties, but that does not mean I cannot perform them if needed.

Before coming here, I was cup-bearer to a great lord. [ her false-father, though she's not prepared to name him as such. ] But even then I had handmaids of my own.

[ alayne had been a bastard daughter, but nobly so. ]

Then in this, we differ.

[ Although — ]

If you worry you will not be well-looked after, I'm afraid I cannot assuage your fears. You will see and judge for yourself.

[ she'd best curtail this discussion, she decides, before she digs herself a deeper hole of shame. all she can feel is shame when this strong creature questions her.

hesitant: ] Does this have a name? [ she gestures to the pastry between them. ]

It is called baklava. From Turkey, a country near where I grew up. I have often visited, but rarely stayed long enough to indulge.

Baklava.

[ as with all other foreign words, she tests it out on her tongue. she tastes it like she tastes the food itself -- seeking out its familiar corners, and its unfamiliar snags. sansa finds herself deeply impressed with how the layers flake away. it must be a terribly delicate sort of thing to make: a luxury, she decides. ]

It's sweet. [ ... ] I like it. Thank you for sharing.

You are welcome.

[ She polishes her plate, and then stands, intending to wash it. ]

[ muscle memory insists she push her plate away from her, as though to wait for some member of the household to collect it and wash it for her. but then she watches nyssa and -- shamed by their earlier conversation -- she tries to follow suit. it must be noted that sansa doesn't take her plate to the counter out of any conviction that it's the right thing to do (given the choice and given an absence of nyssa's company, she would have happily given the chore to someone else). instead, she feels a squirming anxiety at the thought of disappointing nyssa.

she waits patiently for the sink. she'll wash it because she believes it's what nyssa wants her to do. ]

[ Unaware of Sansa's thought process, Nyssa gives her a brisk nod and an almost-pleased smile at this development, and waits for her to be done before she speaks. ]

I would have the pleasure of your company again. [ it's one of those requests that really aren't — Nyssa nearly always expects her way with everything. ] What time tomorrow? Would you like to see my ship?

[ the water is soothing on her hands -- even as the strange soap is not. not at all. in the wake of this chore, she feels the skin between her fingers go dry. she focuses on that minor sting when nyssa as good as takes command of sansa's social calendar. and, deep down, sansa doesn't mind one bit: it's easier, having someone else set the bar for what's expected of her.

she nods. ] The same time, if it pleases you. I'll not be late. I promise.

[ A pause; Nyssa furrows her brows, then, ]

There is no penalty; there may be unforeseen circumstances that delay one or both of us. I am not familiar with what is expected on this Fleet.

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