[Thorne is strange. She's never heard of such a place before. They talk about magic as if it were everyday, and they talk about her as though she were something more than what she is. Sansa, who has seen enough in thirteen years to know when it's best to keep her mouth shut, says nothing but empty pleasantries, asks no questions, and keeps her eyes open.]
[Thorne is strange, and far from Winterfell, but Thorne is also far from King's Landing, far from the Eyrie, far from Marillion and Littlefinger and the cold ache of Lysa's dislike. Far from the Queen. If Sansa has to be far from home, at least here she seems to be safe. They dress her in strange, unfeminine clothes, call her an honoured guest, and not a word is breathed of Imps or pretenders or treason. For now, Sansa thinks, that might have to be enough.]
[ 1 | Roommates ] [She keeps to her chambers for the first few hours, gathering herself. She sits on the edge of the bed she's taken as her own, plucking at the curious clothes they've put her into, combing out her long hair (the dye seems to have washed out of it in whatever strange water she was pulled out of), and trying to think what comes next.]
[When someone else comes in, she starts, leaping to her feet, and essays a curtsey which is made unseemly by the trousers (she's never worn trousers in her life, and even something as simple as a curtsey feels different in them), her blue eyes modestly downturned. If the newcomer is a man, there's an added tension in her posture, but either way, there's a wariness in the glances she gives from under her lashes.]
Are we... is this your room? [There are four beds, after all.]
[ 2 | Dining Hall ] [She can't stay in her room forever. She isn't at all sure how comfortable she is being seen this way - these clothes feel indecent, and she's not sure she looks much better than they do - but it isn't as though she has much choice, unless she wants to walk around naked.]
[Which, to be clear, she very much does not. Arriving naked was bad enough, with those eyes on her and the memory of the throne room far too clear in her mind.]
[It's the dining hall she goes to first. It isn't greed that brings her there, she's quick to reassure herself. It's just that it seems like a good place to discover her situation, and she is hungry.]
[For a time, she browses the food available, but she's largely more interested in the people, and if you happen to glance over at the slim young redhead, you're liable to see her watching you for a moment before, embarrassed at being caught, she looks away quickly.]
[But then she reaches the desserts, and one dessert in specific, and for a moment the wariness and guardedness drops away entirely. She's just a child, smiling in sudden and innocent delight at the cake she's just taken a bite of, and turning to the person beside her.]
They have lemon cakes! You really should try one.
[ 3 | Library ] [The books call to her, a pleasure tinged with the same guilt as the lemon cakes. Not the knowledge they contain, although Sansa is old enough and hardened enough now to be all too aware that she'd better learn where she is and what's expected of her. But the stories...]
[Sansa Stark has always loved stories. It's an indulgence she's rarely been able to give herself, since this whole miserable chapter of her life began. As soon as she sees the library, she knows what she wants to do: gathers up an armful of books, finds a quiet corner, and sets out to bury herself in handsome knights and beautiful maidens and epic loves. It isn't the same, of course, as sitting with Jeyne back in Winterfell, listening to Old Nan's stories and giggling as they did their needlepoint. It isn't the same, but she hopes it can take her back there, for a moment or two.]
[That hope is dashed quickly. The stories themselves are not so different to the ones from home (which is, she tells herself, good to know), but that makes it worse. She is different. Time and again, she reads the stories, and she thinks Lies. Lies. All of it lies. The knowledge of it sits like a stone in her belly, until at last, looking close to tears now, she stands abruptly and goes to return the books to their shelves. If you happen to be reaching for one of them, she looks at you with red-rimmed eyes.]
Don't bother. There's nothing worth knowing in that one.
[ 4 | Dungeons ] [A lady shows kindness. A wise lady builds goodwill. Sansa is a little afraid to go down to the dungeons, especially when the natives of Thorne keep on saying that the prisoners down there are so dangerous - but she also keeps thinking about her father. She keeps thinking about what different kinds of prisons there are. After a day or two, when she's heard from others that it isn't so bad, she gathers up a selection of sweet cakes and pastries from the dining hall, wraps them in a kerchief, and starts down into the dungeons to visit the prisoners.]
[So it is that a young girl comes to be standing outside your cell, her nose wrinkled just a little at the smell. She smiles at the inhabitants, a small and shy smile that doesn't fully reach her eyes.]
I brought you something. It isn't much, but I thought you might like it.
[She holds out a cake, but she hasn't actually come all that close to the bars, hanging back as though she's afraid she'll be grabbed.]
Sansa Stark | A Song of Ice and Fire | The Star
[Thorne is strange, and far from Winterfell, but Thorne is also far from King's Landing, far from the Eyrie, far from Marillion and Littlefinger and the cold ache of Lysa's dislike. Far from the Queen. If Sansa has to be far from home, at least here she seems to be safe. They dress her in strange, unfeminine clothes, call her an honoured guest, and not a word is breathed of Imps or pretenders or treason. For now, Sansa thinks, that might have to be enough.]
[ 1 | Roommates ]
[She keeps to her chambers for the first few hours, gathering herself. She sits on the edge of the bed she's taken as her own, plucking at the curious clothes they've put her into, combing out her long hair (the dye seems to have washed out of it in whatever strange water she was pulled out of), and trying to think what comes next.]
[When someone else comes in, she starts, leaping to her feet, and essays a curtsey which is made unseemly by the trousers (she's never worn trousers in her life, and even something as simple as a curtsey feels different in them), her blue eyes modestly downturned. If the newcomer is a man, there's an added tension in her posture, but either way, there's a wariness in the glances she gives from under her lashes.]
Are we... is this your room? [There are four beds, after all.]
[ 2 | Dining Hall ]
[She can't stay in her room forever. She isn't at all sure how comfortable she is being seen this way - these clothes feel indecent, and she's not sure she looks much better than they do - but it isn't as though she has much choice, unless she wants to walk around naked.]
[Which, to be clear, she very much does not. Arriving naked was bad enough, with those eyes on her and the memory of the throne room far too clear in her mind.]
[It's the dining hall she goes to first. It isn't greed that brings her there, she's quick to reassure herself. It's just that it seems like a good place to discover her situation, and she is hungry.]
[For a time, she browses the food available, but she's largely more interested in the people, and if you happen to glance over at the slim young redhead, you're liable to see her watching you for a moment before, embarrassed at being caught, she looks away quickly.]
[But then she reaches the desserts, and one dessert in specific, and for a moment the wariness and guardedness drops away entirely. She's just a child, smiling in sudden and innocent delight at the cake she's just taken a bite of, and turning to the person beside her.]
They have lemon cakes! You really should try one.
[ 3 | Library ]
[The books call to her, a pleasure tinged with the same guilt as the lemon cakes. Not the knowledge they contain, although Sansa is old enough and hardened enough now to be all too aware that she'd better learn where she is and what's expected of her. But the stories...]
[Sansa Stark has always loved stories. It's an indulgence she's rarely been able to give herself, since this whole miserable chapter of her life began. As soon as she sees the library, she knows what she wants to do: gathers up an armful of books, finds a quiet corner, and sets out to bury herself in handsome knights and beautiful maidens and epic loves. It isn't the same, of course, as sitting with Jeyne back in Winterfell, listening to Old Nan's stories and giggling as they did their needlepoint. It isn't the same, but she hopes it can take her back there, for a moment or two.]
[That hope is dashed quickly. The stories themselves are not so different to the ones from home (which is, she tells herself, good to know), but that makes it worse. She is different. Time and again, she reads the stories, and she thinks Lies. Lies. All of it lies. The knowledge of it sits like a stone in her belly, until at last, looking close to tears now, she stands abruptly and goes to return the books to their shelves. If you happen to be reaching for one of them, she looks at you with red-rimmed eyes.]
Don't bother. There's nothing worth knowing in that one.
[ 4 | Dungeons ]
[A lady shows kindness. A wise lady builds goodwill. Sansa is a little afraid to go down to the dungeons, especially when the natives of Thorne keep on saying that the prisoners down there are so dangerous - but she also keeps thinking about her father. She keeps thinking about what different kinds of prisons there are. After a day or two, when she's heard from others that it isn't so bad, she gathers up a selection of sweet cakes and pastries from the dining hall, wraps them in a kerchief, and starts down into the dungeons to visit the prisoners.]
[So it is that a young girl comes to be standing outside your cell, her nose wrinkled just a little at the smell. She smiles at the inhabitants, a small and shy smile that doesn't fully reach her eyes.]
I brought you something. It isn't much, but I thought you might like it.
[She holds out a cake, but she hasn't actually come all that close to the bars, hanging back as though she's afraid she'll be grabbed.]