thespherelogs | (no subject)

Last year's Thanksgiving had been absolutely delicious. In fact, such a festival was where she had tasted the most brilliant non-alcoholic drink in the world: pumpkin spice lattes. She knew how it was pronounced now, instead of late it was lat-tay and was eager to get her hands on everything that even remotely tasted like it.

Which included finding some pumpkin spiced whiskey that Michael had told her about last year.

Today, with far fewer people, it's still a good celebration. Those that were left behind, those that are real, are eager to let their hair down and enjoy having their ability to breath back. They've been drinking and laughing, and Sansa is no different. She's dragged Theon, as always, but there are moments where she's left him and his gloomy self for a bit.

Later on in the evening, the latte has been replaced with a pumpkin ale.

Alex, for the most part, hadn't been around for the last Thanksgiving. He's actually lost track of how long he's even been in the place. A part of him is still tired from heading down to a place he didn't want to think about.

It was nice, to have this. A type of celebration to keep the hopes up for the people. So, when he sees Sansa he can't help but smile a bit. If not for Michael, he probably would've never met her. His heart ached for the alien that wasn't among them, but he'd survived worse.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"Alex!" Sansa greets him warmly with a smile. "Good to see you! I am, did you have this sort of festival back home? Or is it just a Canadian celebration?" She has to ask. There was still so much to learn about other countries in the world most of these people seemed to share.

Canada, she'd heard, was a magical place. And Michael had told her about New Mexico, though that just had her wondering about Old Mexico and what had happened to it.

That warm smile has Alex smiling a bit. It was something that he could get used to. There was an excitement to her voice that reminded him of a few people back home. Something that made his heart ache but he could look past that.

"We do, actually. Except that it's celebrated in a completely different month," he tells her. "The Canadian celebration and the American celebration are two separate days."

Michael once said she reminded him of Isabelle. Your miles may vary.

"Really! But your countries are right next to each other." There were stranger things she'd heard about America and Canada. "One of these days, I think I'm going to see if I can put together a proper Northern celebration. Perhaps for your Chriss-Mist."

"Our countries are beside one another, yes, but there are so many different things when it comes to them," he tells her. They were two different countries. Which means that their laws and everything was so different. Not that he thought about it too much. New Mexico was his home. Well, it had been until he'd ended up in Sphere.

He can't help but smile," Christmas? I think I'd like to see whatever celebration you put together, Sansa."

"Well that makes perfect sense to me." Dorne, though part of the Seven Kingdoms, was still very much a different place. And, of course, the Wildlings.

"I'll see what I can do. I'll be sure to give you an invitation personally."

"Glad that it makes a little bit of sense."

If he could help her make sense of the American holidays, then he would try as much as he could to help her. He considered her a good friend and could easily do that for her. Anything she needed, he'd try to provide for her.

"Sounds good. If you need help with anything, Sansa, don't hesitate to let me know."

Jon has no idea what this feast is for, but after the recent events in the domes, he doesn't much care. He's just glad to be able to celebrate anything again. Although what he's really glad about is the fact that he's fully and unconditionally welcome to attend this feast, unlike so many of the ones at Winterfell over the years.

He doesn't have anything from the year before to compare it to, so he's just enjoying it as it is. Including the new kinds of food and drink. He, too, has located some of the pumpkin ale, even if he's not yet sure what to make of it. One thing is certain. Pumpkin seems to be an important part of the theme.

"I can honestly say I've never had ale quite like this before."

when they returned home, Sansa would invite him to every feast he could ever imagine. And when he came to visit Winterfell, there would be feasts as well.

"But you like it?" She asks, taking a sip of her own brown bottle. She raises it to him in a small salute. She'd been thankful he'd traveled with her to speak with the Sphere, and for the usage of his trousers.

"I do. It's just different." Like so many other things in this place, although he's used to that concept by now and has come to look forward to finding all the things that would never be found in Westeros. It's almost enough to make him want to travel when he gets home, to see somewhere other than the place of his birth. Almost.

"What exactly is a pumpkin?"

"It's like a winter squash," she explains patiently. That was the closest thing she could think of, really. "They're orange and round." She points to one on the label of the bottle.

Sansa, too, loved trying all the new food this strange place brought to them. Learning about other worlds would never get tiresome.

"They make very good pies."

A squash that's orange and round? That is strange. But not the strangest thing she just said. "Squash in pie? This is a strange place."

Although now that he's tried the ale, he'll try other things too, to see if they're as good as the ale.

"It is a strange place. But the pie is sweet and tastes of cinnamon and nutmegs- perhaps we can find some of the cinnamon whiskey that Michael had last year. That in particular was delicious." And would certainly warm them up later.

"Cinnamon and nutmeg? That sounds acceptable." The truth is that if Sansa says it's good, that's enough to get him to agree to try it. He's learned that he can trust her opinion on things, at least when it comes to food. "Cinnamon in whiskey too? Not only are there more types of liquor than I would have imagined, they do more with it too."

"It is absolutely delicious. Father would sometimes sprinkle cinnamon on peaches from the greenhouse and fry them, do you remember?" She smiles at remembering the delicious treat.

"You should see Robb at his tavern. They have all sorts of liquor there- some even taste of chocolate!"

"I remember." This memory of Winterfell, like most of them, is enough to bring a smile to his face too. Most of the time he spent there had been pleasant, and it's still the first place he thinks of as home.

"Next time I'm there, perhaps I'll give one of them a try."

Winterfell will always be his home.

"You should! There's something they found- a Chocolate Martin." A chocolate martini, Sansa. "It's very sweet, you must try it."

"A chocolate martin?" A sweet drink sounds strange, but if she says it's good then he trusts her. "Cinnamon whiskey, and a chocolate martin. This place does sound strange sometimes."

"It does. But the foods we will be able to bring home with us, or some approximation!" It was an exciting idea.

Le Gavroche had been tapped to provide refreshments, and Eponine had no problem at all with such a request. She's put together quite a decent amount of autumnal drinks, from apple ciders to pumpkin ales, whiskeys and toddys. She doesn't know of Thanksgiving, but she's been told it's a time to get together with your loved ones and be thankful.

And Eponine had a lot to be thankful for.

One of those was certainly the love of her second life, Robb Stark. She had scarce left his side since they had met, letting him into her bed night after night. They owned the bar together, and she was happy to have him at her side, such a brave and handsome man who kissed so well.

She steals kisses from him all night whenever she can, in between sips of her own liquor. She's in a good mood, happy to offer everyone a drink, a word, or a dance if they so want. They've made it out of the darkness, and now it's time to celebrate the light.

There's some sort of... feast? Jeyne's almost afraid to go into the thick of it, hovering awkwardly at the dome's entrance and looking hopelessly lost and confused, the memories of the last feast she attended still fresh in her mind. Enough that she has her arms wrapped protectively around her, over her belly, though the bump that used to be there is gone and her dress is now a little oversized.

After a moment she tugs her cloak a little tighter around her, feeling strangely cold despite the warm and festive atmosphere. It had been warm and festive too, hadn't it? It had been a wedding, a celebration. Her hand moves to rest on her wolf cloak clasp, the only hint that she is in any way affiliated with House Stark, as she glances around worriedly. What is this place, exactly? She remembers being told, being explained things, being shown to her rooms, but she's still a little dazed after everything. As though she's not completely here. Is she safe? Why is she here, and why is she alone? If anyone deserved to live, it's Robb, not her.

Jon had considered leaving Ghost at home, but then had changed his mind and brought the direwolf with him. The inhabitants here are mostly used to him by now, and he's trained well enough that he won't attack unless provoked, or to protect Jon. So the white wolf pads along at his side, as silent as ever.

His clothes are reminiscent of Westeros, a tunic and trousers, embroidered with both wolf's-head and dragon-head motifs (Sansa thinks she's funny). And if the wolf and the sigil weren't enough, when he pauses next to her to look around the dome for anyone he knows, he has the look of the Starks about him. Or at least a similarity to Robb.

"You look lost. Are you a new arrival?"

Jeyne starts at the voice, at the familiar accent, so reminiscent of her fallen husband's that she grows a little pale, and she turns her head to find a man who, despite his dark hair and dark eyes, curiously bears a resemblance to Robb. "A-Aye..." she stammers, her gaze taking in Jon's clothes and the wolf's head embroidery. Recognition blooms on her face, at least of the sigil. "Are you with House Stark, ser?" Although the dragon...

It takes her a moment longer to notice Ghost standing beside Jon, and she almost takes a step back when she realizes. "Is that a direwolf?" Not that she's never seen one, given that Robb and Grey Wind had been nearly inseparable, but she's never seen one with Ghost's red eyes or eerily quiet demeanor.

He glances down at Ghost with a smile. "His name is Ghost. He won't harm anyone." He made sure to train Ghost that way, as a true Stark. He can understand why someone would be nervous though, given Ghost's size and appearance. "My name is Jon Snow."

She's not also completely gotten over being anxious around Grey Wind, since the direwolf had killed a friend she's known from childhood, back when Robb and the Northerners had stormed the Crag. But all that becomes irrelevant when Jon introduces himself, Jeyne's eyes growing wide in realization.

"Jon Snow? Robb's brother?"

"That's me. You know Robb?" Now that he looks closer, he can see the clasp of her cloak, and she knew what a direwolf is. So he shouldn't be surprised that she knows Robb, or who he is.

"A-Aye." Shock turns into sadness, and once more she wraps her arms around her, around her belly. Does she know Robb? More than anyone. "Robb... was my late husband, my lord." She swallows. "I am Jeyne, of House Westerling."

"Jeyne. Yes. He's mentioned you." She had been one of the first things they talked about when Robb arrived, and now that he thinks about it, Robb's memory of the Red Wedding had included her, too, so obviously she meant a lot to him. "Have you seen him yet?"

"He is here?" She steps closer, clutching Jon's arm almost desperately. "Can you take me to him? Please, my lord." Tears begin to pool within her eyes. "I... I last saw him..." At the Twins. That night of the slaughter.

She doesn't even care what this place is, how they've come to be here, only that Robb is alive.

"He's here." He takes a glance around the dome, figuring Robb might well be in it, and doesn't immediately see him. "We can start with his dome. If he's not there, then we'll try somewhere else. We'll find him." He can always call Robb if they can't find him some other way.

"You can call me Jon."

"A-Aye, I would very much like to see him. Thank you, m—" She shakes her head a little to correct herself. "Jon. And please, call me Jeyne."

She draws in a breath. "Is he well?" Does he remember as much as she does, about that night? But she doesn't want to press Jon too much, not when they've just met. She already owes him for this favor, for helping her find Robb in this place.

He directs them back in the direction of the domes, with Ghost padding along silently at his side. "He's..." Not well, really. No one from Westeros really is, although together they're doing their best to move past it. Except perhaps Robb. He's been having a harder time with that particular goal.

"He's as well as can be expected." So, not very.

She closes her eyes for a moment, her expression tight. Then she nods, exhaling. "He has spoken of what happened?" She doesn't know if Robb actually made it out alive, or if he'd died along with her and he's here just like she is... but she wants to believe that he'd survived, that he'd escaped. Surely he had help. Surely not everyone had turned against him.

"He has." Their conversation shortly after Robb's arrival had covered many topics, although Robb hadn't provided many details of this, specifically. Jon had heard about what had happened; while the news would have made its way to the Wall eventually through some means, he'd gotten a raven bringing news of his brother's fate.

That hadn't been it, though, and it's probably better if she's warned about some of the quirks of this place before she experiences them for herself. "This place sometimes will share memories of things that happened to the residents. We can't stop it, we can't choose which memories it shows. It's like a dream shared with everyone. Robb's shared memory was of the wedding and what happened there."

Despite his attempts at discretion, there were still moments where Eponine had made overtures of affection and Robb returned or brushed them aside too late. He didn't notice at first where her hand was on his backside while he was scrounging for some hidden bottles of reserves, but when he did, he moved it but gave a smile that said something along the lines of "later." He had long ago abandoned hope that he would be granted some measure of real happiness here by having his wife, and a part of him dreaded seeing her, if only for all the pain he caused her and misfortune he brought on her life. He would accept what he had and carried the guilt and shame as part of his punishment.

It's why he wouldn't consider that his wife might suddenly appear, not until he is finished serving a table and finally sees her in the back. That guilt and shame was there, but more overwhelming than before. His heart had stopped and he wasn't exactly sure what kept him moving, breathing, only that everything comes in a blur. He's aware of going to her, touching her hand to assure himself she's not a ghost before his hand jerks back, afraid of offending her or even proving that this isn't a dream. If it isn't...well, there was much he had done presently to regret and there was only so much room for shame.

He could hear himself telling her that they should go somewhere quiet, but it isn't until he brings her into the pristine room that his awareness of reality returns.

Jeyne is here, in front of him, with him again...and he was the worst husband who ever lived...in no way he did he deserve her. Did she blame him? Hate him? He had destroyed her life in one fell swoop. How exactly did they move forward from that?

"I didn't think I would see you again..."

When they couldn't find Robb in his dome, Jon had said that he was most likely at the Le Gavroche, a tavern he owned and operated in this strange new world that had become their home, and while Jon had offered to take her there, against her better judgment she had politely turned him down. She'd already troubled him more than enough for one day, and so she'd resolved to find her own way instead, as well as to someday repay him for his kindness.

She saw and recognized her husband the very moment she'd stepped inside the tavern, and how could she not? She would know him anywhere. Those lovely red curls, those beautiful blue eyes. Her heart was soaring with joy — he was alive, and she didn't care how, only that he was — and she was starting to make her way over to the bar when she saw... well. She wasn't actually sure what she saw. A woman, working with him, standing much too closely, decidedly affectionate in how she regarded and acted with him. And so Jeyne had quietly slipped into a corner, watching them together even as every tender gesture hurt, trying to make sense of what was going on and refusing to accept the conclusions her mind drove itself to.

But then he saw her, recognized her, and the rest of the world just fell away. She still had so many questions, but his touch, his voice, assured her that he wasn't a ghost. Her Robb, her king, her husband, her love, he was here, truly, as Jon had said he was. But while he led her away, to somewhere more private, to a room that looked strangely like her own, she could feel that something had already changed between them. She couldn't give voice to it, but it was enough that when they finally had their privacy, she couldn't even bring herself to step closer and put her arms around him.

"Neither did I." A pause. "Your Grace." She looked like she wanted to approach, but she was no longer sure of her place. He was in front of her, with her again... and she was the worst wife who ever lived. In no way did she deserve him. Did he blame her? Hate her? She had destroyed his life in one fell swoop. How exactly did they move forward from that?

Her fear and formality is what draws him closer to her, reaching for her cheeks and pulling her close for an embrace. It seemed so unreal, so unlikely that she would be here, but there she was and warm against him, solid and the same as ever. He trembled, burying his face in the crook of her neck as tears stung at his eyes before eventually spilling over the curve of his cheeks and dropping from the tip of his chin. "Gods, Jeyne. I'm so sorry." His voice was rough and broken, the guilt and shame beating him down as he lost his balance and nearly collapsed, only her weight keeping him on his feet. "It's my fault. It's my fault that I ruined your life."

He had whispered the words in the night, but to see her here, to have that chance to truly say it, it was more than he could take. He wanted to hide his face, to shut himself away or drown in a bottle, but there was no acting the craven anymore. How could he when she was here and likely hating him? He held firm to her, his fingers digging into her dress as he feared to let her go. "I've seen it every night, what they did to you, my mother, my men. I know it's my fault and I know you must hate me, but I'm sorry, Jeyne. I'm so sorry."

He wanted to ask for forgiveness but that seemed too much to ask. Why should he deserve it? She lost her child due to him, her family and her life. He was supposed to protect her but instead he lead her into the lion's den. "I wish I could take it back. I should have left you at Riverrun where you would at least be safe."

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Sansa! Ota

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Eponine! ota

Jeyne Westerling Stark • ota!

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Later - Robb's Dome

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