( CLOSED ) and an open cage

[unprays]

Who: sansa stark (unprays) & a buncha people
What: holiday ball & january plot things
When: december & january
Where: olympia, the south outpost, somewhere around wyver
Warning(s): your standard game of thrones warnings apply, just in case

( individual starters in comments!! feel free to either write up a starter for us, leave a blank comment and wait for me to write us something, or poke me @ celen for more specific plottings!

just as a heads-up, i'll be in japan from dec 21 to jan 5, so tags will be very slow going until i'm back! please bear with me in the meantime ♥ )

Comments

NED ❄ backdated to the gala

[unprays]

[ it felt the same, she thought, as it had with Robb around — a perpetual sense of surprise, like a hand that squeezed her heart too tightly, made her forget to breathe for a moment for how glad she felt, for how much she'd missed him... missed them both. looking at her father now, here, awake, makes her happy and sad at once: happy, to be able to be in his presence again, to be able to talk to him... and sad, knowing that the odds that their whole family will ever reunite are far too slim.

not for the first time, she wishes for Robb, wishes for her mother. they should be here, too, for this.

and still, she looks at Ned with a smile — her dress is as dark as the clothes she'd become so used to wearing in the North, the necklace a proud memory of their House. ]

What do you think, Father? Isn't it beautiful? [ she looks around them as she says this — undeniably, the gala looks lovely. too lovely, she thinks, like they are trying too hard with it all... but to mark its beauty would be what Ned would expect from her, and so she says what she believes he will look to hear. ]

[learned_to_die]

[In truth, these sorts of things were never Ned's strong suit, nor his pleasure. He'd attended tourneys and balls and things of the like out of duty and obligation, but he'd always felt a fool when dressed up in fine furs and leathers, ignoring the whispers of those around him about the Lord of Winterfell, a man with eyes rumored to be as cold as his heart, particularly in his younger years.

No, he'd always much preferred the quieter, simpler gatherings of his family: eating meals together, socializing in the Great Hall, watching his sons practice in the yard, that sort of thing.

Still, he knows better than to scorn a chance (and what a miraculous chance, at that!) to be able to be here, with his beloved Sansa, together again. He had no idea what to wear but, after getting some assistance from someone at a local shop, he'd settled on a (strange) three-piece suit with white shirt and tie. He's spent some of the night readjusting and adjusting the various items, unused to the way it all feels (and deeply longing for the more familiar garb of home), but he tries not to focus on all of that.

Instead, his attention sets squarely on his daughter - how brilliant she looks, shining like the sun itself. There is a subtle sadness, a pang in his chest, at how remarkably similar she looks to her mother, and it reminds him of how much he wishes she would wake.

Her words draw a small smile from him as he gives it all a brief once-over.]

My darling girl, you outshine it all.

[unprays]

[ she knows it well, how much her father must feel out of place, here — she had never truly realized it but well after he was gone, how much he must have hated King's Landing, how much everything he did was out of a sense of honour.

it was always honour, wasn't it, with him?

it has been strange for her, to see her father in such strange clothing, but it suited him well, despite his misgivings with the new fashion. and the smile that rests on her lips blooms into something brighter at his words — she ducks her head in embarrassment. ]

Father, stop it. [ and yet, she's pleased — how could she not be?

to shift the attention away from her, though, she glances around them once more. ] What would you do? There is all kinds of food here, Claire showed me some of it... we could go see the decorations, too. Or, [ here, she hesitates a little, ] we could dance? I've only danced with Jon and Ocelot, so far... and don't tell Jon, but I don't think dancing is very much for him. [ she says this with a fond smile, though, a clear indication of just how much things have changed, how much she truly cares for Jon, now, as her real brother. ]

[learned_to_die]

[Ned nods his head in quiet obedience, but there's a warmed glint to his eyes as they settle upon her. It fills his heart, to see her smile. It feels like a fire spilling out into an open room, filling each corner with heat and light.

On its heels comes a douse of cold water, snuffing some of the flames. He sees so much of her mother in her that, if he lingers too long on the thought, it might draw out a weep from his lungs. And this is neither the time nor the place for such behavior. This is a night of splendor, glamor, and all of the things his darling Sansa once dreamed of as a girl. He would've loved to celebrate like this at her wedding feast.

His eyes follow hers as they sweep around the room. At her hesitation, they dart back to her face and, with a quiet laugh, he rubs at his chin with his hand. He considers the dance floor for a few moments as he comes to a decision.]

So long as you don't mind your father's clumsiness. I could wield a sword and shield with ease, but dancing was always a challenge.