Sansa, passing through the common room (and its bar), spotted Wednesday and made a point of greeting him. She'd only seen him at his Sorting, but he'd been courteous to her. And it was curious, to her at least, when a Ravenclaw abandoned the apparently-extensive Ravenclaw bar for the one in Slytherin. "Good evening, my lord."
While it had its appeal to be called my lord after centuries of growing informality and lack of respect, Wednesday decided that on the whole it set the wrong tone. "Call me Wednesday, m'dear. Mr. Wednesday, if you must. And a very good evening it is, to see you again."
Sansa smiled at the... flattery? It had to be. She hardly spoke to anyone enough that her presence would improve someone's night. "I would hope it would be a good evening in any case, but I thank you. What brings you here tonight?"
"I wanted a change of scenery. It would seem I chose well." Flattery? Oh, naturally. Wednesday was past master of flattery. "Would you care for a drink?"
Sansa considered the question, then nodded and took a seat next to Wednesday. It was, perhaps, a little bold, but... well, perhaps she was growing comfortable. "A glass of wine?"
She hadn't tried any of the variety of drink available, but that was mostly because she considered wine to be good enough for something she indulged in only occasionally. "My thanks. Was Ravenclaw so tedious, then?"
Wednesday didn't care to get up from the bar to play barkeep, not when a pretty young thing had just taken the seat next to his. He whistled for a house elf. "A glass of ice wine for the young lady, if you please" -- addressing the elf as if it had been a human bartender. "Have you had ice wine before, Sansa? It is a divine marriage of faith and chance. The vintners leave the grapes on the vine past harvest in hopes a frost will descend at just the right time. Too long, and the fruit will rot before a frost comes, or too much fruit will be lost to scavenging animals to make the venture worthwhile. If the frost is too deep, then the fruit will freeze too hard for pressing. Thus we have a risky undertaking before we've properly begun. Ah, but when the time and the weather are right, then the grapes freeze beautifully, and the wine to be had from that will be sweeter than any you've had
( ... )
"How interesting!" It was interesting, truly. "No, I've never had it before... I don't think it exists in Westeros." If it did, it would come from the North, and she would know. "Wine there comes from the southlands, where snow and frost are only seen in the very middle of winter, you see."
She took a careful sip, then smiled brilliantly at Wednesday. "Oh, it is good. The tartness seems to remind one of the ice, doesn't it?" Perhpas, if she ever went back home and if she ever reclaimed Winterfell, she would see if the North could produce such wine. That would show the Arbor.
He had thought she would like it, because it was so much like her. The wine suited the girl. Pleased by her reaction and by his own perspicacity, Wednesday smiled. The smile managed not to be predatory. "The tartness is indeed reminiscent of the ice, and the sweetness of what is frozen beneath." He took a swallow of his own drink (Jack Daniel's, nowhere near so poetic). "There are many new things this world can offer you, I'd wager."
Ice on top, sweet underneath? I used to like summerwine the best, and now here I am. "You're probably right, though the gods know I have trouble enough with the parts of this world inside this castle, some days." She took another sip of the ice wine. "I would be entirely lost outside it."
Wednesday gave her a frank hard look. "I don't think you would, m'dear," he said. "Not at all, not at all; though I'm sure you'd find plenty a gentleman who'd love nothing more than to believe it."
She looked at Wednesday blankly for a moment, then smiled with some genuine warmth. It was unusual in her experience - someone that much older than she, who didn't seem to believe she was made of glass or otherwise helpless... or at least that her helplessness wasn't total. "Very well, not entirely lost. Uncomfortable, perhaps - could you believe that?"
Millennia of experience with women of all ages, races, and species (frost-giantesses had more appeal than you might think from the name alone) had taught our Mr. Wednesday a few things. Being a god also helped. Then there were a couple of galdar he'd given much to learn on the World Tree, but he didn't need to make use of those, not here, certainly not now. Suffice it to say: he understood that a girl like this could grow to be silk-gloved steel, under the right circumstances (or, perhaps, the wrong ones).
"Uncomfortable I could believe," he agreed with a slow nod. "Best to get good bearings before branching out. How difficult was it to come here, to this bar, on your own?"
"Not at all. I myself was Sorted Slytherin, this bar is part of my House." She took another sip of wine, then continued, "I have been at this school for... over a year now, I think. If something terrible were likely to happen, it already would have. And... if I worried about going places unaccompanied, I would never stir from my bedchamber."
"There you are, then." Wednesday approved, and gave her a grin that said so. He wouldn't tell her that terrible things were unlikely to happen, because that was tempting fate, and he wouldn't tell her that going places unaccompanied was safe as houses, because she was a young pretty girl and the world was a harsh place. What he would say was this: "You're at home in your own House, and that's a fine thing. Have you been to the bar in Ravenclaw as well?"
Sansa shook her head. "No. There hasn't been much reason, since there is a bar here and the Great Hall seems like more of a social center." Disinterest, rather than fear. "I could, some time. It might be interesting to see."
He took her meaning. Yes, she wasn't afraid. Good. "It's a change of scenery," he said: just as he'd said when she asked what brought him here. "That alone may commend it. I'm a Ravenclaw myself by affiliation, though it doesn't matter much when you're faculty, which I now am. The bar there gets old, so I come here. Thus does boredom serve the grand cause of inter-House cooperation and friendship."
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She hadn't tried any of the variety of drink available, but that was mostly because she considered wine to be good enough for something she indulged in only occasionally. "My thanks. Was Ravenclaw so tedious, then?"
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She took a careful sip, then smiled brilliantly at Wednesday. "Oh, it is good. The tartness seems to remind one of the ice, doesn't it?" Perhpas, if she ever went back home and if she ever reclaimed Winterfell, she would see if the North could produce such wine. That would show the Arbor.
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"Uncomfortable I could believe," he agreed with a slow nod. "Best to get good bearings before branching out. How difficult was it to come here, to this bar, on your own?"
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