Author's Notes: This story is a fill to Livejournal's Sansa-Sandor community's Holiday Exchange for 2015.
The original prompt by FancyKid was: "I also like reading canon-era fics. Maybe some deep convo? Spilling secrets? Either by accident or finally admitting something? Maybe a third party commenting on Sansan to either of them? Ones where Sansa has some kind of wolfish instincts/connections are pretty cool."Maybe some deep convo? Spilling secrets? Either by accident or finally admitting something? Maybe a third party commenting on Sansan to either of them? Ones where Sansa has some kind of wolfish instincts/connections are pretty cool."
From all this I chose the part in bold - deep and meaningful conversations with consequences - and went with it. I also wanted to try something different this time, writing-wise. It may fall flat on its face but I really wanted to give it a go – hopefully it is not too weird!
Warning for a sad ending - proceed at your own risk...
Act I:
SCENE: Kingsroad, somewhere near Trident.
It is morning, sun still low in the horizon, its warm rays falling on the hive of bustling activity on the ground. A young woman, hardly more than a girl, with delicate features and auburn hair, walks slowly along the side of the road with a huge direwolf following her on a leash. The road is crowded with soldiers, servants, wagons and supply carts, all busily getting ready for yet another day on the road. Dust swirls lazily in the air, raised by the commotion of many feet and wheels.
The girl walks unhurriedly, eyeing the activities curiously but cautiously, stepping aside to avoid a puddle of water spilled by men carrying buckets. The wolf presses her nose against her side and she scratches it behind the ear, talking softly to it as she does so.
A tall, broad-shouldered man clad in half-armour observes her from among the trees, near where the horses are tied up. His face is a ruin, half of it terribly burned, and despite his long dark hair being combed to the burned side to cover it, the sight is gruesome. His eyes are grey and sharp and relentlessly trained on the girl.
As she meanders closer to where the man is standing he squares his shoulders, sets his jaw and walks towards her. At first the girl doesn't pay him attention, but when he gets closer she notices him. An unsure beginning of a smile – forced and polite – appears on her face. The man speaks.
"That little sister of yours is getting herself into trouble."
"?"
"Aye, it is you I am talking to. Or do you see anyone else around?"
"Pardon me ser, I was…"
"Fuck your sers. I am not a knight. You can save your courtesies too, I have no use for them."
"I am sure I don't know what you are talking about, I didn't mean to…"
"Doesn't matter what you mean. What does matter is that Lord Eddard's wild spawn is grating the hells out of the royal party. Prince Joffrey doesn't like her giving the queen the brush-off and spending time with commoners instead."
"Oh that. You are absolutely right! I know that Arya can be terribly wilful and obstinate and I agree with the prince that her place should be with her future good-family. It is only proper."
"Couldn't care less about what's proper, but I do care about making this journey as trouble-free as possible."
"I…I think I understand. But why come to me? I have already tried to tell her to stop being a child and start behaving like a lady, but she won't listen to me. Even Septa Mordane has a hard time with her."
"Does it take Lord Eddard himself to make the girl behave? Odd folk in the North."
"If our mother was here she would do it. But unfortunately she is not… But why is it so important to you, if I may enquire? She is just a little girl after all."
"Aye, little girl she may be and otherwise I wouldn't give a horse's fart about what she does – but she is the get of the Hand of the King and if she enrages the royal prince and gets punished for it, the Hand might get upset. And if that happens, then King Robert gets upset and bothers the Queen. And then Cersei gets upset – and believe me, you don't want to be around when that happens."
"Oh."
"Stop glaring at me like that, I am not going to eat you alive, girl. Not quite yet, at least."
"I was not staring at you."
"Don't lie, you stink at it. I have seen you gawking at me, being afraid of me."
"I … I am not afraid you. You are my betrothed's sworn shield, I'll be safe with you."
"That you'll be – doesn't mean you like to be near me though."
"I trust you have good intentions if you seek to talk to me. And I see the matter is of great importance. But how could I be of assistance? What could I do?"
"Hells if I know what or how. You are the one trained by septas and maesters. If it was up to me I would use my fists but… As long as you figure out how to keep that hellraiser in check, I don't give a toss how you do it."
"I…I am not sure what can I do - but I promise I will try."
"Hmmphh!"
Act II
SCENE: The Riverlands, the Inn at the Crossroads, outside the main entrance.
It is dark, past sunset, torches set on sconces around the courtyard shedding flickering light on the wooden porch and stairs leading from the inn to the yard. The yard is hard-packed earth and rectangular in shape, surrounded by all sides with buildings; stables, kennels, sheds and opposite to the inn, the guestrooms.
The door opens, sounds of laughter and bright lights spilling from the opening. The auburn-haired girl steps out in the company of another girl, shorter, younger and brown-haired. The younger girl speaks animatedly, using her hands in wide gestures, while the older girl only nods now and then, maintaining her composure.
The yard is almost empty, only a few hurried servants crossing it carrying bundles and boxes, not stopping to look at the new arrivals. A stable cat slinks along the side of the shed, its tail slowly flicking back and forth, its whiskers standing out stiffly.
The burned man leans against the wall beside the porch, hidden in the shadows. He stands as still as the gnarled timber itself, not moving a muscle. Even the cat doesn't notice him until it is right next to the man, and then darts nervously to the side.
The girls are halfway across the yard when the younger stops, crosses her arms across her chest and after a few more exchanged words, turns on her heels and runs way. The auburn-haired girl stares after her with pursed lips.
The burned man steps out of the shade and quiet as a shadow walks behind the girl, who startles and turns to look up at him. There is no fear in her demeanour.
"She may not be happy but at least she is behaving."
"I beg your pardon?"
"The wolf-girl. Your sister."
"Ah. Yes, she is not very happy. Yesterday when the prince and I were walking in the woods we ran into her, practicing alone with her wooden sword. She was very agitated for having lost her practice partner and spoke insolently to the prince."
"Aye, I heard about it. Everyone within the hearing distance of the royal chambers last night heard about it."
"I was luckily able to diffuse the situation by asking Prince Joffrey to show me his prowess in arms; I told him that seeing Arya's practice reminded me that I hadn't seen him training at arms since Winterfell. We came back to the camp and I followed his training for quite a while."
"Clever girl. Good to get him away from that hellspawn."
"She may be a bit wild but I assure you she is very sweet – when not provoked. And for some reason Prince Joffrey seems to aggravate her greatly."
"That he does. So what happened to her playmate?"
"I spoke to my lord father and he acted on the matter. I believe he sent him back to Winterfell."
"You did? Well done. I wouldn't have thought you to be so resourceful."
"The highest duty of a lady is to support her family; first her lord father, then her lord husband. I try to do my duty, especially as our lady mother is not here."
"Hmmmpph!"
"And when we are married, I will do my duty to Prince Joffrey."
"Just as well you think that way, as that is what he'll be expecting from you – and more."
"What do you mean, pray tell?"
"Nevermind. You'll find out."