⊰ onlydiie ⊱

            it’s no secret he rather stays on the wall, but he’s one of the few familiar enough — save for benjen  — with the stark lords to convince them once again it’s WINTERFELL && the WATCH that must defend the realm from whatever that lurks beyond.

               not lord stark he finds, but SANSA. she has the tully eyes, but still lord eddard stark’s look. the HALFHAND takes off his hood in honor, maimed hand visible under the ragged grays (once it had been BLACK) he dons. ❛ are you sansa stark? ❜

          Recognition ever delighted eldest Stark daughter, come it from commoner or lord alike. In her resemblance to fair mother she took great satisfaction, knowing well what beauty Lady Catelyn held in youth and continued to boast of long after removing herself to the frigid North. 

             Smiling, already delighted by one who so clearly serves with an uncle atop the Wall, Sansa offered the stranger a perfect curtsy. “Indeed, ‘tis so. And I must guess that you are no other than the valiant Qhorin, ranger of the Night’s Watch.” Though she knew far batter than to stare, ‘twas obvious what wound he bore upon one hand. “What is it that had brought you so far south?”

⊰ ofoath ⊱

» ║ silkssongsandchivalry ( starter call. )

          she lifts her chin && draws her breath. with gathered air does she step forward, no tint in her eye but for that of good will. scoured from that haggard journey, she finds herself now in the better graces of her company, though she sets nothing high, still desires for what she had once known. but her greeting is, at any rate, kind.

                                               “     good day, lady sansa.     ”

          Never before had she seen so daunting a woman; even amongst the ladies of her father’s lands, some more inclined to masculine pursuits of sword and saddle than their southron counterparts, none towered quite so impressively, nor dared abandon womanly grace so absolutely. Most astonishing of all, that Sansa had not yet heard even a whisper of her name, though grief’s seclusion had dulled her to all but the most imperative communications.

             “My— my lady. Pray forgive me, but I cannot recall having made your acquaintance.”

⊰ trinkct ⊱

silkssongsandchivalry liked for a starter !

❝ It seems our tributes are getting along quite 
nicely this year, don’t you agree? ❞ Effie muses, 
side-eyeing the young victor beside her. ❝ Even 
Haymitch has said something about it, which is 
a feat in itself if you ask me. ❞ 

An alliance has very obviously formed and her
observation is no coincidence, working with
Sansa might just give her tribute some much
needed help. She can only hope the alliance
doesn’t go sour before they can officially set
something up. 

          She ought have recognized the woman on sight — Tatty had, in her boundless foresight, provided flashcards for her Victors on whom they might encounter that year, though the only attention Baelish gave them was a single derisive snort — yet Sansa found herself fumbling through an avalanche of names and titles and Districts. Essie? Emmy? Why do all their names end in -ee? Effie! An outer district’s escort, somewhat new…just like Sansa. Tentative smile broadened, relief and welcome intermingling on painted features; one should always veer too bright, rather than too dull, surrounded by such watchful company. 

             “Indeed I do, Ms. Trinket.” Children, both their tributes were; only Harrold, a boy her age already two years into working at the mills, appeared to stand any chance of advancing past the opening days. Petyr had deemed him their sole focus — You can only get one out, Sansa; trying for more just gets them both killed — yet all the practicality well-earned through repeated years of Reapings, Games, and funerals could not assuage an impulse towards rescue. “Though one should always leave such matters to their tributes, I cannot help but hope that we might have a burgeoning alliance on our hands.”