faderift | the start of something new

WHO: Sansa Stark
WHAT: Sansa learns about the changing of the years in Thedas; Sansa works on her sewing.
WHEN: 1 - 8 Wintermarch
WHERE: around Skyhold
NOTES: A general catch-all for Sansa to start out the new year.

i. the changing of the year.

Sansa has slowly been learning how life in Thedas works since arriving through the rift two moons prior and one of the things she's learned about this month, actually, is that they celebrate the change of the year in Thedas with a holiday called First Day. It's a simple thing to celebrate, really, and somewhat arbitrary but Sansa likes the idea of visiting others throughout Skyhold and drinking with them, breaking bread with them and generally making their acquaintance.

She's been terrible at making acquaintances since coming here, after all, and so First Day and the days after give her a chance to work in the kitchens and make simple little cakes to pass along to others. It's nothing taxing, certainly not for her since she isn't much of a cook, but it is a kindness that she wants to bestow upon those who have made her feel welcome since coming to Thedas and she wants to demonstrate she has an interest in learning how their world and celebrations do work.

ii. slip a stitch into something new.

In the afternoons, Sansa likes to work on needlework. It's become a way to make a bit of coin while she stays in Thedas and she's always loved her embroidery besides so making clothes and mending cloaks has become a way to earn money and pass the time. It reminds her of long, cold days at Winterfell when she'd sit by the fire with her mother and the septa, learning how to make her stitches small and neat, and oftentimes she dreamed of mending things for her lord husband someday. It's a mundane dream but, funnily enough, one afternoon it occurs to her that she's done that very thing and sometimes she smiles to herself or laughs just a bit.

Yes, the shirts are much smaller than she expected of a lord husband and often they are in shades of Lannister red and gold but she doesn't care about that. Here in Thedas nobody cares about Lions or Direwolves or Stags and when she draws her needle in and out of her mending, it's a soothing and calming activity that she doesn't have to worry about. No one cares about the subject of her embroidery now and she's free to do whatever she likes. The freedom is exhilarating.

iii. the frost falls upon the ground.

When the weather is clear enough, Sansa takes the chance to walk around outdoors. It's cold still, even to someone with Northern blood like hers, and the ice is still evident upon the grounds. Sometimes there's ruts from horses or wagons, crusted over with mud and ice and Sansa is careful to keep her skirts clear of them; she still doesn't like to be dirty even if she's much less squeamish about it than she was as a child in Westeros.

When a bit of ice falls from the edge of a roof, she dodges it carefully and when snow slides into the back of her cloak after shifting off the eaves of Skyhold proper, she squeals in surprise but it doesn't drive her indoors. The winter sunlight is weak and thin but she soaks up as much of it as she can and when snowflakes alight on her cheeks, she often pushes back her hood so that they can catch in the shimmering auburn of her hair.

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He shivered as the cold cut through his cloak, chilling him down to the bone. A wry little smile appears on his lips, but he nods his head, "You could hear my teeth chattering from here, could you not?"

"It was cold even for me," Sansa says by way of agreement. "I've had my fill of outdoors today and there's nothing I want more than to lounge on some couch next to you and read for a little while so we can thaw out in front of the fire."

"Well now I know it is cold enough to freeze my manhood off ... " Tyrion stated, before he crooked a smile at her, "Now that sounds like the perfect way to warm away the winter. Shall we, lady wife?"

"Hopefully you're still intact by the time we get inside," Sansa says. She has her hands in gloves, of course, but she reaches for his and squeezes it lightly.

"I wouldn't want to...have been responsible for making you a eunuch."

"My dear Sansa, you are going to be the cause of many, many feelings within my loins ... however I doubt that frostbite will ever be one of them." Tyrion stated with mock-primness, as he squeezed her hand in turn.

Sansa laughs in spite of herself and her cheeks color. It's not from the cold, though, but she's happy to use it as an excuse.

"They do call me the Queen of Winter, you know," she says, giving him a wry look. "Are you certain you don't have frostbite?"

He smiles smugly at that laugh, as he keeps ahold of her hand. Then he gives her a sly look with his green eyes, "You could always kiss me and find out."

Sansa falls silent until they're inside and she's settled on one of the couches beside him but she hasn't forgotten about what he's said, oh no. She has had the chance to warm her hands and it's a good thing because she leans in and cups his face, tipping it up so she can lean down and kiss him on the mouth.

"Are you frostbitten, my lord?"

Tyrion let out a happy sigh as they settled in front of the fire, pulling off his boots to warm his toes. He hasn't forgotten either - but he assumed that he had embarrassed her to silence, so kept himself quiet as well.

Well, until she kissed him, that is.

"- I ... would rather think not, after that gesture, my lady."

"And how are your loins?" Sansa asks, a playful twinkle in her eyes. He looks a little starry eyed and stunned and she likes that. She likes knowing she has that power. It's something to use sparingly, though.

"Are they all right?"

"My loins are currently cursing me a fool." He stated simply, before his lips curve up at the corners, "Mostly because I want very badly for you to kiss me once again."

"So why don't you?" Sansa asks, lips parting a bit and lashes sweeping down to present herself as demure. She isn't innocent any longer but she still knows how to play it.

"Why don't you, Tyrion?"

Something flickered through his gaze then, a spark of heat and a touch of ... hunger, before he cupped her face and pulled her down to kiss her. That spark flamed as his mouth moved against hers, and he tugged her all the way down so now that they were lying on the sofa together.

Sansa hadn't expected that, exactly, and for a moment her thoughts reel. They're in a semi-public place, for starters, and is Tyrion going to want to assert his rights here in the open?

That's silly, she thinks to herself. Tyrion doesn't think it's his right anyway.

"Shouldn't we...be somewhere private?"

He gives her what can only be called an impish smile, before he releases her, so she can straight herself out.

"Of course we should be, but you did want me to show you, did you not?"

"I did ask for it," Sansa agrees, nervously smoothing down the front of her gown even though it isn't very rumpled at all. She swallows thickly and tries to hide the fact that her cheeks are warm. She's not successful.

"If we go to our tent, it's likely cold. We'll have to stay close."

He gave her a sly little smile, before he smoothes back his own curls. His green eyes are brighter than normal, even as he gives her an oh so innocent look.

"Well yes we would. I would hate to say that I might have to demonstrate myself again, though."

[Continued Here.]

the start of something new

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