nysalogs | SEMI-CLOSED. i'm a slow learner.

[ she doesn't expect to run into him. frankly, when she thinks back on the conversation they had, and the one she had with Grantaire, it probably shouldn't be a surprise; and yet, she furrows her brows when it's a head of golden hair, not black, that greets her when she arrives at the house. ]

I'm here for Grantaire, [ she says, perhaps uselessly, because why else would she be there? ] I heard he was part of the rescuing efforts, I wanted to see if he was alright.

[ the look Sansa directs at Enjolras is one that says she's half-expecting him to shut the door in her face. ]

[The surprise is mutual, and it takes a moment for Enjolras to place the woman he finds at his door.]

He's not here. [Old habits die hard. Enjolras is in the middle of something and wants to get back to it.]

[ this is going about just as well as she expected it would. ]

Yes, I can see that now. Will you let me inside so I can wait for him, or will you leave a girl to stand out here in the cold?

[ she arches her brows at him. ]

[He resents that arching of the brows, furrowing his own at her.] I may deny you entry, madam, but you'll be the one who chooses to stand in the cold.

[An indecisive heartbeat passes before he resolves himself.] He went to bakers, and if he manages to avoid the bars on the way he'll be back in a few minutes. [His tone is courteous enough, and he steps back to allow her entry.]

How very egalitarian of you, ser.

[ she does step inside, however, giving him a small nod in thanks. ] Then, should he be able to resist the temptation of wine, I shall not trouble you long. I must have interrupted something very important.

[There's a long ignored memory that surfaces as the woman enters the room. Offer to take her coat, offer her a drink, don't sit before she does, make polite conversation- had it been his mother, despairing of her son? Perhaps Courfeyrac one night, talking not to him but another acquaintance about... something irrelevant.

Irrelevant nonsense, all of it.]

You did. I'm writing a summary of Rousseau's The Social Contract for distribution. There's no philosophical writer here who's come close to his thought. [He does not offer her a seat, or a drink, or to take her coat.]

[ she looks at him in mild interest — it wasn't what she expected, but it's intriguing. it's the first time anyone has spoken to her of texts or thoughts of people from their homeworlds. ]

For distribution? Perhaps I may be your test subject, then. Summarize his thoughts for me. What make them so important that you think all should read them?

[Once again he's confused, thinking for a heartbeat that he's being mocked.

But then his frown shifts into something thoughtful, all sense of being put-upon evaporating.]

He writes on the legitimacy of government, whether there can be one and, if so, what its best form is: democracy, monarchy, or some other way.

[ the expectant look she gives him makes it clear she's not mocking him, but rather waiting with interest to hear what he has to say. ]

A worthy topic, [ she says and means it. ] And a needed one, here.

What conclusion does he draw, in the end? It must be one you agree with, if you want others to know of it.

[ As he speaks he stands and paces in turns, moved by habit rather than conscious thought. ]

Rousseau states that there must be a government separate to the people. It is necessary for such an institution to enforce the laws which the people have established. But! This government must derive any authority it holds from the free will of the people. The government cannot force itself upon them. [There's the briefest of pauses where he checks to see that she's still listening.]

He has some theories I can't agree with. A benevolent monarchy, he claims, is not harmful to the citizens it rules. There are instances where this may be true, but I have not seen them.

[ there's something in his voice, a commanding undertone that would force just about anyone to listen, she thinks — if she weren't inclined to listen already. when he looks at her, she nods for him to keep going.

when he pauses, she frowns and mutters, ] Neither have I.

[ a monarchy is all she's ever known, and yet, what good came of any of it? what good for the people? death, and more death. perhaps Daenerys would have made the queen that could have ruled the Seven Kingdoms peacefully, justly, with care for the common folk. but she never saw it happen. ]

In my home, there had always been a king to rule, or a queen. The last true king was a madman who burned people alive. The one who overthrew him was rough and uncaring. The heir to the throne was a monster, and his younger brother a quiet weakling who did everything his mother told him to do. And when he died, too, his mother took the throne. All she cared about was power. She once told me that fear was the most effective way to rule.

And those who rose to oppose her, even the people who were the kindest, the most honourable... they were crowned kings, and they all died. They all got countless of the people loyal to them killed. [ "they", she says, and really she only means Robb. ]

[He listens like he would to anyone telling the story of their oppression, amazed not by the content (it confirms all his beliefs) but how well she tells it, the poise and grace with which she speaks.

Here would be a valuable ally for his movement.]

That was well said. I didn't realise Grantaire chose his mistresses for their rhetorical abilities.

[#itsacompliment #noreally]

[ she is surprised to see him listening, not only to her words but for her feelings, the thoughts behind what she speaks — and for a moment, she thinks, perhaps I have judged him too quickly.

and then he continues on, and the cold blood in her veins warms, burns, boils. ]

His mistress? Is that what you take me for? What you take women for? A value placed on nothing but what's between our legs? [ her voice is knife-sharp, and winter chill might as well have taken over the room. ] For someone who preaches of equality, you seem to understand very little of it.

[ she lifts her chin, straightens up, and with her height, it's easy to look at him straight in the eye. ] I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell, and I am no one's mistress.

[It's evident how her censure surprises him. He blinks, a scowl forming on his face as he listens.

But he refrains from answering when she is finished. This was an unexpected response, and when contronted with such it pays to question why it was so- it reveals a flaw in either logic, understanding, or argument. Where was his flaw here, he thinks.

The pause is not long. He releases a sigh to signal his imminent rebuttal.]

Is it an offence, then, to be taken for a mistress? I ask in earnest; my experience in these matters is lacking and all second-hand.

Of that I have no doubt, [ she answers sharply, ] for if that is your view of women I wonder you'd been able to find a willing mistress, had you wanted one.

[ but it's clear he hasn't, from the tone of his voice, and that is what makes her own anger dull into blunt annoyance. ]

You made an assumption, ser, based on nothing but the fact that I am a woman and your friend is a man. That means you believed that he would not seek my company for other reasons than lying with me. [ perhaps once, she'd have been too shy to speak of it like this, but that shyness has long since died. ]

Which, in turn, was an insult to me, my intelligence, my mind. Like all I could offer was my body. [ she all but spits out the word. ] And yet... you spoke of rhetoric, that my words were eloquently expressed. So it seems you don't think I'm unintelligent. [ there's a very clear underlying question there: do you? ]

[It is as succinct and logical an explanation as he'd expect from Combeferre. There's the same way of asking questions without asking them, which has Enjolras setting his hands on his hips ready to give his exasperated reply before he realises he's done so.]

I have made many assumptions. Wrong assumptions, I see now. [It frustrates him, because it distracts from the conversation they could be having.

This is why fucking and all such matters aren't worth his time, he reminds himself.] I will not attempt to justify myself, that would be a waste of both our times. Will you accept my apology?

[There's the barest hesitation and he extends his hand. If men and women are to be friends, surely he can offer a handshake as an apology just as he would to any other man.]

[ for a moment, she holds her breath, daggers in her eyes. then she breathes out and the frost melts like the first days of spring. ]

Alright, [ she responds, because more than the apology itself, it's the fact he's willing to shake her hand that does it. like an equal. she reaches out and takes his hand — as unfamiliar a gesture as it must be to him, though for her it's the fact he's not kissing her hand but shaking it. and yet she's glad for it, prefers this. ]

I've learned that most of us make assumptions based on how we've lived, or where, or how. I know I've made them, before, just as wrong as yours. It'd be hypocritical of me not to forgive your mistakes if I want my own to be forgiven by others.

[He holds her gaze, neither wilting under her stare nor attempting to out-glare her. It is a relief, however, that she takes his hand.

He nods as they shake, in thanks and acceptance.]

What is the political thought in-- [A pause. He's still unsure what to call the lands they lived in before here.] the place from which you've come? You said that men rose to oppose the king- but that they were crowned king in turn.

[ it's to his credit, the way he meets her gaze, steady and even. ]

Monarchy, [ she answers succinctly, having learned enough of different types of government by now to call it that. ] The ruler of the Seven Kingdoms was always a king, or a queen. But when the king died, and his son rose to his place, others contested his right to rule and were crowned kings in their own right, in their own lands. Each thought they had more right to rule than King Joffrey. Had any of them succeeded in challenging the throne, they would have taken it in turn.

All they did was cause a war where people died by the thousands.

[That sounds familiar enough. Enjolras purses his lips, an expression Sansa may be coming to recognise as his thinking-about-something-that-irks-him expression.]

By what right did these kings claim lordship over the people? In Europe, the continent where I lived, they claimed that God himself had chosen them and their heirs to be kings. [Can you hear the sarcasm? That's something Enjolras thinks is a steaming pile of horse shit.]

[ she smiles at that, though it's far from being a happy smile — she smiles because she knows exactly what that sounds like. using the Gods, for one purpose or another. praying for the Gods for good fortune, and watching everyone die. ]

No right other than the right by conquest. Because they were stronger than anyone else. When the Targaryens conquered the Seven Kingdoms, they did so with their dragons, burning everyone who resisted them. When the Mad King started to burn his subjects, Robert Baratheon gathered an army and defeated the Targaryen loyalists. The right to rule is yours only until someone stronger comes along.

[There's a lot to think about in that, but first-]

You also had dragons in your home, madame? It seems Paris was one of the few lands lacking such destructive beasts.

[He's tried not to think about it, but he finds himself returning to the question on occasion.]

Had. [ she gives him a wry half-smile. ]

By my time, they were all gone. They were thought to be gone forever, until three were born... but that happened in another land, and though my brother and the mother of these dragons tell me they did fly to Westeros eventually, I never saw them.

There are stories that there were once dragons in Europe, until they were hunted to death.

[Enjolras is unaccustomed to this, speaking about nothing at all with strangers. It sits uneasily in his gut, making him shift his weight.] A dragon would certainly make overpowering a population and imposing one's rule easier. [There's a momentary hesitation and his brow knits together.] I wonder that Wyver have not tried it.

They died because they were imprisoned, in Westeros. They were kept chained, because after the Targaryens had conquered the land, they could no longer fly free, burning and eating whatever they wanted. And so they grew smaller, and smaller, until they died out.

[ she's wondered the same thing, and so she has a thought answer ready. ] The dragons here are smaller, more like horses. Perhaps they would do for cavalry, but they couldn't burn a city by flying over it once. But it's a reasonable concern.

SEMI-CLOSED. i'm a slow learner.

ENJOLRAS.

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