WINTER MOON

“My gods, you two are slow,” Sarra said with a playful groan as her brothers finally crossed the gates into the stables. The Karstark siblings had agreed the day prior to meet at daybreak so they could go for a hunt in the early morning. The lady had prepared her hunting gear, her crossbow, and even had her horse saddled and ready to go. “I ought to have left without you,” she teased Bran and Aleks, clicking her tongue as she shook her head in disapproval.

self para: the death of sarra karstark  @sarra-karstark​

the cold winds blew, the snow continued to fall just as it always had done, as though the world itself had not frozen in place as the ruling lord of karhold made his way through the flickering damp hallways of castle black. a messenger had awaited him upon his arrival from the mission upon the isle of skagos, a white sunburst across a black canopy flying through the biting winds and heavy snow; the sight in itself was enough to cause his stomach to completely twist and turn, before all the warmth within the sun of winter suddenly ran cold. and yet, it seemed as though the world was not the world without the warmth of the sun, what did they orbit, what cast guidance and light upon them all?

“sarra?” a boy of brunette hair looked over the nursery crib, noting how strangely different female babies looked to male babies, ignoring the quiet whinging of their shared brother at his feet. despite her small, pudgy hands already closed int fists was enough to cause an innocent laugh to come from him, what dazzled him most was a set of striking blue orbs, so different to his own grey orbs. “sarra.” 

lord commander karstark, upon seeing the nephew, the young boy who once enjoyed hanging from the tallest branches of the weirwood trees within the keep of karhold, stood aside to allow the ruling lord of house karstark to face what had been his worst of nightmares for so many a passing week. “what was this all for?” the lord commander asked, his own voice raspy from balancing his own feelings, aged and experience. many in the night’s watch had resisted the idea of a woman joining them, even for a short expedition further north to settle some tensions with a keep, and yet in the end she was there. did she not always get what she wanted, in the end?  the worry had been extinguished, for her physical safety at least upon the day he had lifted her from that dastardly inn; if he closed his grey orbs, he could still feel her grip around his shoulders. 

“we have no clue who let the horses out.” the pair stood within the stables, brandon with his hands up exasperatedly, sarra will her head up right staring at their horse-keeper directly in the eye. both knew the chiding they would get from great lord rolan karstark. they were lying.

“it was for her.” to feel again, to feel her pulse beat, to feel that same spirit of the northern wilderness within her veins once again. a silhouette paused by an unimportant looking door, hidden among one of the turrets of castle black, small and simple; and yet, a hand momentarily trembled before pushing open the door. it were as though death awaited him like a friend, quiet and peaceful; a hearth crackling in the corner of the room, prince adam’s direwolf remaining laid by the heat of the hearth. and yet, it was the black shroud that pulled him, the sun of winter he orbited. 

“come back in one piece.” her voice called after him, as the karstark men and their men lined the iron gates of karhold, brandishing blacks of flag; it was the time of dragons to fly, and the greateest war they had ever known. she had always been his sun of winter, regardless of the ice that ruled her very vision. he waved his hand slightly as he mounted his black steed; the old gods had already paid witness to their loving embrace goodbye in the godswood that morning.

this was a goodbye of another kind, one that felt permanent despite how much brandon swore to himself that he would witness his sister’s irritated eye roll once again; how he wished to hear her voice again, even if it were scathing. how he wished to see a slight smile cross her face as she attempted not to laugh, how he wished to bring his arm around her shoulders and feel her playfully smack his back once again. as a hand, now steady, gently stroked the face he knew so well, brandon karstark knew the god of death would not be able to stop him from seeing his only sister again someday; whether that be tomorrow, or in decades to come. and perhaps what broke him most, was knowing she looked more at peace now, than she ever had in the time she had drawn breath.

“i’ve got you.” he spoke, clasping his arms around his sister’s frame as she clung to him with a grip that was unnatural in strength, but unnatural in itself; resisting the urge to let out a sob before the rest of the prisoners. it were as though he had bundled her up in his furs, lifting her from the ground and holding him closer to her. and how he felt like he would never risk letting go again. “i’ve got you, i’ve got you.” 

“am i really?” he responded, his voice painted with a sense of amusement at the entire conversation occurring between them, as though they were both young children stood beside their stablemaster, bickering over which of the karstark children was to sit atop the tallest horse that day. after all the tantrums and arms folded over their chest, it was their brother who ended up being the one allocated to enjoy the reward that day; and it was in that moment brandon learned that fighting with sarra tended to only further disadvantage himself. “consider it big brotherly rights, little one.” he spoke, his tone filled with a sense of brotherly love  and taunting; the look of thunder that would come across her icy orbs was always enough to cause a radiant grin to spread over his features, for he knew regardless of the ice that seemed to have a hold over her, she was as the much sun of winter as he was. 

her words, though laced with a sense of frustration and a pent up vexation no doubt as a result of feeling a flurry of emotions since returning home, were words rather than mere, cold silence. warm grey orbs looked upon sarra as she vented, taking a step closer to him as though the spirit of the old gods themselves had come over her in that moment; and though they were not calm, they were not soothing, they were something at least. “you are more than that.” brandon acknowledged, affirming her thoughts entirely as though it came as naturally to him as breathing, thankful to hear something about how she was feeling. “you have my all my support, sarra; you communicate with me and i’ll listen, as much as my conscience will dictate me to. if you feel like you need to regain that strength within yourself, then i’d never stand in your way. just know you better know who to come to should there be an issue.” 

Sarra simply rolled her eyes and shook her head softly, feeling how a great portion of her exasperation towards her brother was lifted off her body. It went like that so often between them, ever since they were little; going through moments in which she was so damn annoyed or angry at him and any impulse to want to punch him floated away thanks to Brandon’s better nature. He was so much better at approaching her at times of animosity than she was at going to him, he was far more clever when it came to expressing his emotions than she was... so damn used to keeping everything contained for the sake of pride or strength. Sarra despised relying on others, as if that was a statement of inadequacy, but frankly, it wasn’t that bad relying on her big brother. Gods, what would she do without him?

The Karstark lady managed to let go of the tension in her jaw and the pure iciness in her eyes, taking a few steps closer to her brother. You are more than that, Brandon said, and Sarra wanted to agree with such a statement, but also disagree because of the way it didn’t feel accurate or fitting to her all the time. A part of her wanted to shout and stay mad, though no longer at him. Instead, the lady moved forward to hug her brother. “I’m going to need some time...” she muttered, holding Brandon close, letting herself be comforted by the one person who’d always been her closest confidant and friend. “But thank you, brother. Truly”. If there was someone to come to with her inner problems, it was certainly Brandon. Another time, though. There was much Sarra still needed to figure out for herself before articulating her thoughts and emotions more clearly, before deciding how she wanted to be helped.

The lady let go of her embrace and moved back to her horse, leading it back to its stall rather than going forward with her initial intention to go out riding. “I better go pack,” she said with a subtle smile to her brother, indicating that she was indeed going to get ready to accompany him to Winterfell. Brandon’s duty led him there, and as his advisor and a trusted figure in the North, her presence surely was needed. There were plenty of matters to attend to. Skagos. The sleeper threat Beyond the Wall. And her concerns could be set aside thanks to the sense of purpose she always had in regard to her family, her people.

Sarra wasn’t quite herself at present, and perhaps she wouldn’t be the same she used to be. Perhaps she would simply have to learn to be the new her, the one who survived a horrible experience. The lady’s subtle smile grew a little as she looked at Brandon, grateful to feel she wasn’t alone, even when she stubbornly tried to deal with everything in a solitary manner. Her brother was there for her. He’d always been and always would be.

“i am not, following you around.” brandon replied, his tone unusually impatient though it remained nowhere near as frustrated or cold as sarra’s own tone of voice - and yet still, there was a part of him that was beginning to grow frustrated and tired with his sister’s consistent method of dealing with matters that seemed to throw her off.  he only meant to ensure she were safe, knowing not if there were still any strange followers of that woods witch that would seek to continue whatever gods forsaken ritual they wished to begin. it was only natural for him, as natural as it was for the wall to stand for as many thousand years as it had.

it had been similar in the days following the death of their father, and though the karstark encampment had managed to transport the ailing lord rolan of house karstark, succumbing to his infections in his wounds far too soon within the bloodiest of wars, the days within karhold following those days had felt as though an eclipse itself had blocked the very sun within their family walls. “and if you would perhaps refrain from acting like a brat, and instead learn to move that mouth of yours to genuinely communicate, perhaps we’d actually get somewhere lass.” 

he knew almost instantly that it was a comment she would not take lightly, nor let simply drop; though his sister’s nature was as icy as the very snow itself within the lands they called home, it was an icy form of fire that was entirely different to his earthly, grounded nature. it took much to genuinely vexate brandon karstark, and yet as his mind trailed back to the recent trial of the pirates and the frankly idiotic boldness of one of the targaryen regents, it was enough to cause his mood to sour. he knew little of exactly what it was torrhen meant to do with their targaryen alliance, but gods knew it seemed to grow evermore complicated each passing moment. “i am expected in winterfell within the next week - you can join me, or you can remain here in karhold, stomping around on your own in the woods.” 

“You are!” she countered. Or at the very least to her it felt like he did, casually appearing to join her when she wanted to ride out of their household, showing up to accompany in activities for which the busy Lord of Karhold shouldn’t waste his time. Sarra liked her brother’s company, she always had, but not like this. Not when it felt like she was being watched over, protected. Perhaps it was some sort of internalized paranoia born out of her sense of uselessness and vulnerability due to her capture.

“I’m not a brat, Brandon,” the lady’s brow furrowed into a deep frown. “I’m your sister. I’m a lady of Karhold. I’m your advisor,” she spoke in a measured tone as she stepped closer to Brandon. He had trusted her over their brother to be the one at his side, to trust her judgment, her fortitude. Why wasn’t he trusting that now? Because not even you trust it, her own thoughts replied. “You want me to communicate? I’ll communicate,” she said, stepping closer to her brother, blue eyes of ice locked on his. “I don’t feel like myself. I hate the fucking weakness I carry around with me since I was taken captive, and I need to find my way back to who I was before that happened,” she stated plainly, despite the struggle it was to actually verbalize it. “I need to do that alone, brother”. For a moment her expression softened and she glanced away briefly. “I need... to get back what was taken from me”.

She knew that Brandon’s invitation to join him in his upcoming trip to Winterfell was an olive branch, and despite her stubborn disposition, she wasn’t foolish enough to deny it. “Of course I’ll go with you,” she muttered. Their rulers had plenty on their plate, and in turn, so did they. Dealing with Skagos. Dealing with the threat Beyond the Wall. House Stark was their kin, and it was their duty to be there to carry out their will. “Better to make myself useful again somehow,” she shrugged. “We all know you ignore my advice half of the time, but you’ll need me there”. And there was her olive branch; a subtle teasing tone in her words and a small smirk.

it were true, that the winter sun continued to rise with each day, a symbol of hope in the fact that no matter how dark moments may appear, time itself would always allow for some healing to occur. brandon of house karstark attempted to tell himself that all would return to normal within the family of karhold; that included the same level of attachment the siblings had with one another, as well as respect for one another’s independence. it was always something sarra had been granted throughout her life, more so now as she grew into her older years; the women of karhold hunted their prey as often as the men.

and yet still, the dreaded ache that sat upon his shoulders at the prospect of what could have been; the sight on their mother’s face at the prospect of burying a child. it was something she had always made her children promise she would never have to do, and alas, he had found his sister that fateful day - and all he could think of is if he had run out of time. he had entered the stables after his sister, knowing that he ought to respect her space, and yet there was a sense of anxiety and paranoia that was foreign to brandon karstark.

the sun of winter had grown heavy with clouds, clouds of anxiety and stress. it couldn’t happen again. her sudden snap ensured she knew what he was thinking - she always did, and despite his intentions being good, it was suffocating. never had she been closely supervised by the household of karhold as she was in this moment. “i don’t think you’re gonna break, alright lass?” brandon spoke, folding his arms over his torso, a sense of stubbornness meeting her fierce streak. “talk to me - it feels as though since everything, that’s a rarity. i’d be more likely to see ice giants break down the wall at this point, sarra.”

Her brother was a noble man, a man who cared for his family deeply; that she knew very well. Seeing his face when she and the other hostages were found had brought her immense relief, a profound sense of gratitude that her brother had ventured out to look for her. But enough time had passed for Sarra to wish to just put it all behind her, to focus on the weight and strength her body gained back, to aim her thoughts away from any sense of vulnerability or weakness that still crept up on her when having nightmares of the days of captivity. It was true, she hadn’t spoken about what occurred... and she didn’t want to.

“There’s nothing to say,” she huffed, looking at her brother with a quiet storm behind her eyes. “What happened, happened. That is all”. Articulating complex emotions had never been a strength of Sarra’s and it certainly wasn’t something that would begin happening now, after a lifetime of suppressing uncomfortable, vexing feelings to instead attempt to nurture every part of her that felt strong. “I want to go back to normal and I can’t do that if you keep following me around like I’m a defenseless child, Brandon. I can take care of myself,” she said through gritted teeth, words that were meant to convince herself of the fact more so than something spoken to her brother.

It felt nice to be home, to walk the familiar hallways of Karhold and sleep on her own bed; to cross paths with guards and maidservants who’d seen her and her brothers grow up. The familiarity of it all was a warm blanket around her that Sarra welcomed fully, but there was something distinctly different about being back home in regard to Brandon. The way he behaved around her had changed somewhat, a subtle alteration in their dynamic that was hard to pinpoint at first but which the lady began to read more clearly after a few weeks.

As Sarra readied her horse to head out to hunt, her brother entered the stalls and asked to join her. “No,” she stated back more curtly than she intended, “I want to go alone, Brandon”. She knew what he was doing. He didn’t outright say it but he was protecting her. It unnerved her that he possibly thought she was weak in some way, in need of having him around. “You need to stop looking at me like I’m going to fucking break at any given moment,” the lady suddenly snapped, looking at her brother with a severe look.

“Oh, I would suspect you wouldn’t. Close mindedness does have a way of souring otherwise thrilling experiences does it not?” Loreon retorted as he toyed with the near empty cup in his hand, a snort of amusement following his words as the alcohol loosened his tongue and made slow but steady work of annihilating the last bit of propriety he’d clung to when first sitting next to the lady of Karhold. She’d not spared him any of her harsh judgments throughout this short conversation and so he found there was no guilt following his own biting words, he knew them to be true. Sarra Karstark clung to her notions of the South with impressive resolve for a woman as young as she and her admission that she’d not seen much of his homeland convinced him if there was ever a need to that she was speaking entirely out of prejudice rather than first hand knowledge.

Her response to his question was maddeningly contradictory as she told him outright she didn’t like him, a fact he was well aware of by now but refused to explain herself and unleashing on him a veritable diatribe instead. Yes, she had every right to prefer spending her time with anyone else here but the fact remained she had made no effort to truly deter him from remaining seated next to her and despite the jabs and the insults she had entertained this conversation up until that point and he highly doubted that the promise of drinking was enough to make the situation more bearable to her if she truly loathed him so much. The only conclusion was that she simply refused to admit she might be wrong, that perhaps there was more to him than met the eye. He watched as she stood up and stormed out of the room and others noticed her stormy exit as well, eyes turning to him and he stood up and excused himself, following after her. He refused to be left behind embarrassed and with her thinking she had gotten the last word.

“You’re a blasted brat, you know that?” He said as he found her on the balcony. “Leaving me behind while you run away because you’re too cowardly to actually give me an answer. And you missed the point entirely I might add. I do not care that you dislike me, you wouldn’t be the first person I don’t manage to charm. You’re certainly not the first to think me arrogant either but that’s not why you dislike me. Surely there are arrogant and pompous men in the North as well but that’s just it, I’m not from here. You judge me for being a Westerlander because to you we are vile greedy creatures who value their gold over human life and have no understanding of nobility or unity. It’s insulting. It’s demeaning. I’m not angry with you because you dislike me, I’m enraged because you act as though you know the kind of man I am when you emphatically do not. I thought that prejudice would dissipate if you at least tried to see past it but it seems you’re bloody incapable of it.” He said, words he’d done his best to keep from crossing his lips the whole night as his frustration only mounted. Was it wrong of him to have imposed on her when she had been less than welcoming when he approached her? Perhaps. But he couldn’t help but think there was perhaps more to her than the surly face she presented, he had hoped there was, he’d wanted to get to know Sarra Karstark. Gods knew why, maybe it was the challenge of winning over someone who seemed intent on hating him or perhaps it was his own curiosity drawing him to her and yet all this time she’d rebuked him, sparing him no insult and he’d grown rapidly colder as his pride took hit after hit.

Sarra fully glared at the man then, not bothering to conceal behind a veil of iciness, her expression entirely turning into one of discontent and disdain for the man at her side. The lady knew herself to be stubborn; and yes, set in her ways as well, but the fact that it was Lord Serrett calling her out on it only increased any displeasure she had been feeling already. She had endured his company long enough and after walking out of the hall she thought she’d get a respite. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she hissed as she heard the lord following her out into the balcony. “Excuse me? I’m not cowardly, my lord. I just simply didn’t give you the answer that you wanted to hear and you come here to throw a tantrum about it,” she replied, her voice beginning to raise as his did. “You want to know why I dislike you? I dislike you because you want to pretend there’s no history between our families, that we can sit by each other’s side and pretend to be civil when you know damn well that my father’s life was nearly lost because of your family!” the lady shouted, stalking closer to him, enough that she could dig a finger into his chest as her eyes gleamed with rage. On any regular day, the Karstark lady wouldn’t have lost her composure in such a way, but she cared little the alcohol in her system had taken effect at this point.

“Fine” she conceded, letting a shaky, exasperated breath. “Perhaps I don’t know the kind of man you are, Lord Serret, but know that I have no intention of even trying to find out,” she said in a lower tone, still seething, and keeping her icy glare on him. Sarra’s heart was beating faster and her breathing had quickened to match her angry outburst. “I care not that you might be a better man than I believe you to be. Defend your honor and your character before someone who actually cares about it, Loreon,” she said with an air of finality.

In every way Sarra Karstark thought herself justified by the disdain she had for the man before her and his family, his whole kin, for it had been them that nearly stole her father’s life and who put her through the greatest anguish she had ever experienced in her life. Seeing her dear father, her mentor, battle for his own life for days had been excruciating... and she couldn’t simply pretend there wasn’t any form of resentment for it. “Why does it matter so much to you what I think, huh?” she asked again, studying his expression, as she hadn’t actually gotten a proper answer. It was then that Sarra took notice of how close they were standing to each other, how in anger any semblance of personal space seemed to have vanished. “You should let me dislike you and just be done with it,” she said in a low voice, her eyes moving across his features and landing on his eyes again.

there hadn’t been much time to see sarra since they both arrived back in barrowtown. while she was there and helped in her rescue, she did not wish to overwhelm her in their journey back. but still there was times where the two would share horse back together, cassna holding her sister close to her. afraid to let go. afraid that if she did she would wake up from a vision and sarra would be gone. maybe afraid if she let go she too would be lost with those blue eyes from her visions peering out at her.

since they had gotten back to barrowtown, cass had given her time to rest. her own schedule busy with the news gathered from those kidnapped. but she had made sure there was time today to see her friend. cassana nearly ran down the hall out of pure excitement. only stopping when she got to the door of her room. a smile on her face seeing her there. both of them still bruised and cut from the fight to escape. “you do not owe me any thanks sarra.” she said moving to her side, and hugging her. “i would do it again, a thousand more times. cross a thousand more tundra’s to help bring you back home. you don’t have to thank me because i know you would do the same for me if our roles were reversed. i am just happy to see your back here.”

“Of course I do. You’re part of the reason I’m still alive, Cass,” the Karstark lady retorted with fierce determination and with words that also managed to sound soft for her sister. Cassana was one of the reasons she had made it back alive after the time spent in captivity, and deep down Sarra had known she wouldn’t have lasted too much longer... not with the way she was practically deprived of food, receiving only the bare minimum. It had been a scary thought, to know with almost absolute certainty that she would perish between those four walls. But then her brother had appeared and so had Cass, accompanied by a search party that ultimately saved all the captives from a cruel fate.

“I would do the same for you. Always, without hesitation,” Sarra reassured her dearest of friends, holding her hand after they pulled away from their hug. “But this time, you were the hero,” she added with a playful smile, attempting to lighten the mood somewhat and set aside any thoughts regarding the terrors of her captivity. “It’s so good to be back,” the lady murmured, smiling softly. She wished she could be at Karhold, feel the true comfort of her home, but given the current state of things, this room and the company she kept in Barrowtown— those that came to visit her and wished to see her recover her health and strength, was a perfectly good deal. “I can imagine you’re also content to be back. I hear your missing was successful,” Sarra mused, having heard there would be a trial for the pirates.

​ATTRACTIVENESS: repulsive ― hideous ― ugly ― not attractive ― unappealing ― not unattractive ― meh ― no preference ― ok ― mildly attractive ― nice looking ― cute ― adorable ― attractive ― pleasant on the eyes ― good looking ― hot ― sexy ― beautiful ― gorgeous ― hot damn ― would tap that ― perfect ― godlike ― holy fuck there are no words

PERSONALITY: grating ― irritating ― frustrating ― boring ― confusing at best ― awkward ― unreasonable ― psychotic ― disturbing ― interesting ― engaging ― affectionate ― aggressive ― ambitious ― anxious ― artistic ― bad tempered ― bossy ― charismatic ― appealing ― unappealing ― creative ― courageous ― dependable ― unreliable ― unpredictable ― predictable ― devious ― dim ― extroverted ― introverted ― egotistical ― gregarious ― fabulous ― impulsive ― intelligent ― sympathetic ― talkative ― up beat ― peaceful ― calming ― badass ― flexible

HOW LIKELY THEY WOULD BE TO HAVE SEX WITH THEM. not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending ― fuck no! ― never ― no way ― not likely ― not sure ― indifferent ― i’m asexual ― maybe ― probably ― it depends ― fairly likely ― likely ― yeah sure ― yes ― would tap that ― hell yes ― fuck yes! ― wishing that could happen right now ― as many times as possible ― we are already having sex

LEVEL OF FRIENDSHIP: never in a million years ― worst of enemies ― enemies ― rivals ― indifferent ― neutral ― acquaintance ― friendly toward each other (sometimes) ― casual friends ― friends ― good friends ― best friends ― fuck buddies ― bosom buddies ― practically the same person ― would die for them ― true friends ― my only friend

FIRST IMPRESSION OF THEM: i hate them so much ― i don’t like them ― i don’t trust them ― they annoy me ― they’re weird ― i’m indifferent ― meh ― they seem alright ― they’re growing on me ― truce ― i think i like them ― i like them ― i’m not sure if i trust them ― i trust them ― they’re cool ― they’re genuine ― i think we’re going to get along ― i really like them ― i think i’m in love ― oh fuck they’re hot ― i love them

CURRENT IMPRESSION OF THEM: i hate them so much ― i don’t like them ― i don’t trust them ― they annoy me ― they’re weird ― i’m indifferent ― meh ― they seem alright ― they’re growing on me ― truce ― i think i like them ― i like them ― i’m not sure if i trust them ― i trust them ― they’re cool ― they’re genuine ― i think we’re going to get along ― i really like them ― i think i’m in love ― oh fuck they’re hot ― i love them

HOW GOOD OF A KISSER: worst kisser ever ― terrible ― bad ― awkward ― just okay ― alright ― pretty good ― good ― makes me moan ― excellent ― exciting ― oh god they’re good ― i dream about it ― fucking amazing ― absolute perfection ― we haven’t kissed

“And you assume we don’t? Have you ever stepped foot in the Westerlands, my lady? I have to believe you didn’t or you wouldn’t think the smallfolk live in utter squalor whilst we nobles sit in our gilded palaces.” There was no denying the smallfolk didn’t live in as good conditions as they could have as funds for the betterment of the commoners and their ways of life weren’t as high on the list of priorities as they ought to have been but Tyland Lannister wasn’t some tyrannical regent with no regards for his people and the more the conversation went on and Sarra Karstark clung to her fictitious views of his homeland and the more Loreon grew. Initial attraction aside, he was still of a mind to think clearly enough to point out the errors in her thinking even if that meant she’d turn from him. He had assumptions about the northerner before him and about all the others present if he was being honest but he wasn’t opposed to being proven wrong and he had no interest in brandishing them like a weapon against the lady of Karhold.

Contrary to what she seemed to believe he hadn’t approached her to make her night worse by quarreling endlessly. “You cannot possibly be blaming me for your assumptions. I can be annoying and arrogant I won’t deny it but it is not all that I am and yet you seem intent on only seeing what you already expect from me.” Loreon often wished he could be less stubborn and especially so in moments like this when his efforts were met with the same blasé attitude as if Sarra had already figured him out.  

“No? Then why accept to play the game if you’re only willing to lie or drink?” He asked, disappointed by her response yet unsurprised. He didn’t trust her anymore than she trusted him but he had less to do with her northern blood and more to do with the fact that she seemed like the kind of person that might use a moment’s vulnerability against him and all that set aside if she refused to see him as more than an arrogant golden fool, who was he to disprove her assumptions? “You’re just about the easiest person to rile up and I don’t know what it is about my presence that annoys you so much but I figured sitting with you would be a chance to find out. So far, I have to say you haven’t provided me with a solid reason for your disdain for me. I am a Westerlander. Pompous. Arrogant. All that may be true but that doesn’t entirely explain the death stares you’re constantly leveling at me. Care to explain yourself? Or you could drink.” He pressed, eyeing her with a calculating gaze.

“I have. Can’t say I enjoyed my time there,” the woman replied with a tense edge to her words. She had been to the Westerlands during the days of the Dance of Dragons, during the time her father had gotten horribly injured and barely lived to tell the tale of his survival. The mere thought of it began to cloud her mind with anger and she paid little to no attention to her companion said. Of course she was only seeing what she wanted to see. It was always easier to have someone to hate, someone to blame for the wrongs in the world and the suffering endured by those she cared for. And the Lannisters and their kin were so easy to label as nothing more than arrogant, devious, pompous pricks and nothing else. She could so effortlessly find them what she wanted to hate and blinded herself to the possibility of a single virtue.

“It’s a wedding. Isn’t what these events are for?” she asked with enhanced disdain, raising her glass to her lips for a long gulp even though the game didn’t prompt her to do so at that moment. It truly was quite annoying that Loreon Serrett of all people could read her so easily when most people couldn’t decipher her icy demeanor, that he could provoke her with such ease and pose questions for which she had no logical replies, just a deep-seeded emotion that she couldn’t fully comprehend herself. “I don’t have to like you, you know? I owe no explanations as to why I’d rather be in the company of others instead of yours, just as you’re more than welcome to dislike me without me needing some eloquent speech as to why that is. Sometimes that just happens. And I can’t, for the life of me, understand why that would matter to you,“ she said with an eye-roll, starting to feel the mild buzzing in her head for the wine she’d been having all night, and the increase of pace since the Westerlander chose to sit by her side. “I actually thought your silly game was bound to be fun, Lord Serrett. And I have to say you’ve only succeeded in growing more unbearable by the minute,” the lady stated, raising her drink again to finish it completely. Without a word, she grabbed Loreon’s drink and downed it fully as well, setting asside the goblet without a care in the world. Lady Sarra Karstark got up and offered a forced and contemptuous smile. “I need some air,” was all she said before walking away, marching towards the hallway and seeking a secluded balcony. She had already been drinking before Loreon began pestering her and the swift manner in which she’d downed those two last cups would truly make her need air in a matter of minutes.

Loreon’s mood darkens at her admittance and his smile vanishes if only for a moment. He doubts Sarra would wish to tell him more about her time as an hostage as she’s been quite clear just how much trust she’s willing to place in a Westerlander but the knowledge he won’t get any answers from her doesn’t stop his mind from conjuring all manners of unpleasant scenarios. She’s here now though and from the looks of her as well as a person in her position can expected to be. No doubt her misadventures have left her scarred in other ways but again he’s well aware he won’t be privy to her more vulnerable side. That is not how their little arrangement works. Whatever that arrangement is, he has yet to wrap his head around.

“I don’t let myself get into trouble so no, I am not well versed in healing actually. You have to admit though feeding you the same way you’d feed a toddler is a bit much questionable as a way of healing.” He argued if only for the sake of it, anything he could do to lift her spirits he was willing to do even if it meant she mocked him some more. By now he could mostly read between the banter. “Think of it this way, all this time on bedrest wil give you ample opportunity to fine tune your other skills. You could learn to embroider.” He suggested, laughing at the thought. He’d seen the way Sarra Karstark held a diner knife and he couldn’t imagine she’d be very skilled at all with a needle.

“The gifts are usually a reminder of said visits. The Reach is quite a ways away and we’re both busy. But I wouldn’t worry too much for her sake, next time she comes to the Westerlands I’ll thank her. In my own way.” He replied after a beat, drawling out the last of his words. There truly was no sense in playing dumb. He was a grown man and he’d warmed his bed with plenty of companions and he would not have been surprised to find the same could be said for the lady of Karhold. “So is this the moment you say thank you and tell me these are the best plums you’ve ever eaten?” He pressed, finally sitting down at the edge of Sarra’s bed.

Sarra merely responded by rolling her eyes at the lord’s words. It annoyed her that she did in fact feel like a toddler, being told to stay in her room to recuperate. She was far too restless for it, especially with the sinking feeling that if she didn’t go out to hunt into the woods she’d become too afraid to do so, worried that the shadow of what had happened— the way in which she was abducted would haunt her. “You underestimate me, Lord Serrett. I do know how to embroider. I’m still a lady, you know?” she glanced at him, an eyebrow slightly arched up as a soft smirk graced her lips. She’d been tutored in classical ladylike activities, in spite of always having been more keen to run amongst mud and snow, or pick up a crossbow. “Though I have plenty of time to waste these days, I still wouldn’t want to bore myself to death with needlework,” she sighed, “Any other brilliant ideas?”.

The Karstark lady ate the fruit in silence, a veritable expression of boredom as she listened to him babble on about the woman that was one of his conquests in the Reach. Why he thought she would have even the slightest interest in learning about the ways in which he thanked women for gifts, she didn’t know. Except she did know he wasn’t bringing this up because it would interest her… the bastard was trying to make her feel jealous. And it was fucking working to some extent, even though Sarra continued to repeat in her mind that she didn’t care. “Have you run out of friends to talk about the ladies you entertain?” she asked with some disdain, “Because I believe you might have mistaken me for someone who cares about it, my lord”. She took another bite of the plum, her eyes set on Loreon’s. The fruit dampened her lips and she gently licked them, rolling them to taste the remains of plum on them. She hummed, thoughtful, glancing down at the piece of fruit in her hand. “Hmm, no. It isn’t quite that good,” she concluded. The lord had just taken a seat on her bed and she Sarra looked somewhat smug and mischievous, very clearly refusing to thank him if only to tease him somewhat. And she wanted him to know that. “It’s not the best plum I’ve eaten”.

Convalescence didn’t suit Sarra Karstark. Her body needed the bedrest but all the lady wanted to do was to burst out of her chambers and regain her activities, her duties at her brother’s side. It was Brandon himself who insisted she stay put, that she ate well and recovered her health after the captivity endured, that she was patient as she gained back strength.

Visits were sparse and far in between, as she was meant to be allowed to sleep and rest as much as she could. Hearing the maid announce that it was Cassana Stark coming to see her immediately brightened Sarra’s wearied expression “I suppose I owe you thanks,” she greeted her dearest friend, the sister of her heart, with a small smile. The maddening experience of her captivity had been ended by her brother, by Cass, and the rest of Northerners that found her along with the other captives. She pulled Cassana into an embrace when the princess stood close enough to her bed. "Thank you for saving me," she whispered against her friend's shoulder.

The woman’s words caught the Karstark lady off guard, though her demeanor and expression remained as composed and icy as ever. Sarra had never thought of such a perspective when it came to the relationship of gods and men. Asking for blood rather than peace, asking for others’ demise rather than one’s own victory. It was a subtle shift in perception, but it didn’t cause unease in her in the slightest. “I could engage in such prayers,” she responded calmly. Sarra certainly had no qualms in asking the gods to spill the blood of those threatening her homeland, her people.

Sarra shook her head lightly, as she certainly didn’t take the silence of the gods personally. “I don’t. The silence of the gods leads to the deliberate action of men and women,” she stated back. Waiting for no holy signs led people to take charge of their own life and circumstances as much as they could, and Sarra found that more worthy than kneeling down and hoping for divine intervention. “My homeland can be unkind to foreigners, but it isn’t thankless to those that respect it,” the Karstark lady said with a ghost of a smile. Respecting the land and respecting the weather rather than facing it with superiority or ignorance could lead even the Southron folks to wade their way through the North successfully.

She nodded subtly as the woman introduced herself. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Qorgyle,” Sarra said sincerely, not merely out of rules of propriety amongst nobles. She wouldn’t be quick to trust a stranger, but Naevia did strike her as a noblewoman that carried herself differently than most of the foreigners that flooded the North. There didn’t seem either the open disdain for her homeland nor the superiority of folks that saw the Northerners almost a step closer to wildlings than to the nobility below The Neck.  

Naevia noted the way her words were received with impassivity and she was pleasantly surprised, perhaps even impressed. In all of Westeros religions of all sorts were practiced and you could find yourself in quite the trouble for speaking out of turn to the wrong person. There was a fine line between devotion and fanaticism, one she found that the people who subscribed to the Faith of the Seven danced perilously close to. In contrast the Northerners weren’t as strident about their beliefs. She liked the sort of live and let live attitude they had towards faith here. “I could say a prayer in your name now that I know it. Praying for blood and vengeance is no task for a young lady.”

“A very good philosophy to have. Faith should be a source of comfort not a means to solve all our problems. I’m sure to the Gods they seem very trivial, petty even.” Naevia agreed, offering some of her own perspective. Relying on divine intervention had made a fool out of her once before and for a long time the devotion she once held had turned to bitterness and resentment, she had forsaken all gods, had closed her heart to believing and as a result had closed it to hoping as well. It had taken a long time and a fateful meeting for her to embrace another faith, by that time her rage had simmered down and she’d been neutral towards the idea. Now she couldn’t imagine going back to her nihilistic ways. Believing in nothing had been worse than believing in something and being disappointed.

“Your land is a land of traditions, I can respect that. I don’t claim to understand it all of course. I’m sure there is much I’ve yet to learn.” She conceded. The culture here was a far cry from that of Dorne but it wasn’t to do with the coldness of the weather, the warmth of her homeland had been oft imitated yet never replicated. If she had to pick one word to describe her people it would have been lively. She’d never known a dornish to not laugh raucously, to whisper in seething words rather than cry out their anger for the world to hear. Her people weren’t known for disguising their true feelings and she’d always found it comforting, being able to read everyone her with ease. Perhaps that was why she was never truly meant to remain in Dorne as she’d shown just how gifted she could be at making herself smaller, at smothering her fire. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you as well, Lady Karstark. Perhaps we’ll meet again soon in a time when prayers are no longer needed.”