owl to Sansa Stark, quite strongly warded

[charlesmacaulay]

Sansa,

I don't believe we've met, and I wish I could be writing under happier circumstances. It's about a mutual friend: Susan Sto Helit. She's unwell, to say the least. I was thinking it might do her some good to see you. Do you have some time free?

Charles Macaulay
Ravenclaw

Comments

Return own to Charles Macaulay, equally strongly if clumsily warded

[castleinthesnow]

Charles Macaulay,

Susan unwell? Of course I have time. Where should I go?

Sansa Stark
Slytherin

written very quickly, but warded all the same

[charlesmacaulay]

Could you meet us at Susan's room? You've been there before, right?

Charles

Re: written very quickly, but warded all the same

[castleinthesnow]

I... certainly. I will be there in a very few minutes, ser.

in the hallway, outside Susan's room

[callmewednesday]

Charles wasn't alone. There were two other men with him: John Ryder and the inimitable Mr. Wednesday.

They were waiting for Sansa in the hall, just outside Susan's door. Wednesday gave her a small hard smile. "We've met before," he said to the others. "I don't recall whether you can say the same. Gentlemen, this is Sansa Stark. Sansa, this is John Ryder, Susan's former husband; and this is Charles Macaulay, a good friend of hers." He expected to get an eyeroll from Ryder at the reminder of the marriage-that-wasn't; but it wasn't exactitude that mattered at present, it was making it clear to Sansa immediately that these were people legitimately concerned with Susan's well-being.

Charles stepped forward and held out his hand to shake, mindful of manners even in the face of weird catastrophe. "Good of you to come," he said.

[callmewednesday]

Having left Charles, Ryder, and an appalling number of cats to wait in relative safety, Wednesday returned to the stolen SUV where a young brave girl waited in the passenger seat for further instructions

[castleinthesnow]

"'Tough' is not one of my gifts, never fear." This frankness from Wednesday was somehow more disturbing than being given the sword in the first place, or Charles Macaulay's commentary. Sansa kept her hand from tightening on the hilt of the sword only by an act of will, but her posture became somewhat stiffer and her acknowledging nod was tight. "I will remember that." How hard would it be? Very, she was coming to realize.

It was odd to know that she should have been terrified, that at an earlier point in her life she would have been terrified. Of the unknown, of the idea that she should need a sword in her own hand to defend herself, of the car... but now what she could muster was a sort of apprehensive tension. "I admit that was my plan. I have never even held a sword before now." After a moment, she asked, "How much luck will I need here, do you think?"

[callmewednesday]

(( This tag will take them 'backstage'; then Wednesday will step back and watch, as it were, and Susan and Sansa can tag back and forth? ))

"Luck is my department." Wednesday finished his array of runes without flourish or fanfare, a workmanlike job. "In the old country, they used to talk about lucky men a certain way. Some men had it and some men didn't." There was, too, the king's luck, a special variety that could rub off onto his chosen. Wednesday didn't feel inclined to explain how that might be analogous. Instead he said merely, "I've got weird luck." Wyrd. "It may work in your favor. You don't know about safety belts, do you? No sense in buckling yours, I suppose."

The car started with a hiccup and a roar.

"You may, however, wish to brace yourself," said Mr. Wednesday, mildly.

And with that, he drove them backstage.

The passage itself was smoother in a car than on a broom, Wednesday reflected as the world broke gently and they broke gently through it. It yielded like the skin on the surface of water. His

[castleinthesnow]

(works for me!)

Bracing herself had been a good idea, but Sansa rather wished she'd kept her eyes closed. Not that the passage wherever they'd gone had exactly been distressing... except that it had been. Things had rippled, and while they'd gone smooth again, things felt wrong somehow.

Even so, she was grateful that Wednesday didn't offer her a hand down from the car - it would have started things entirely the wrong way if she'd needed help. In the end, Sansa moved the sword outside the car, then hopped out rather than trying to climb. It seemed to work out; she landed on her feet without stabbing anything, and it was possible that her skirts swirled around her ankles in appropriately theatrical fashion.

She followed Wednesday to... yes, it was Susan. Recognizably Susan somehow, but even wronger than the world around them. Not human, not even a little, even not moving, not speaking, not even looking in their direction.

Gods. She's the Stranger. She is. Oh gods. The Stranger's image in the septs was always vague,