meh, some asoiaf fluff, cause i haven't written one for months. oh well.
Sansa thinks it began around the sixth day of summer, nine years ago.
The date is lost on her, but she remembers it was a hot Saturday morning, because Father iced his coffee and complained how disgusting it tasted, which caused Mother to roll her eyes. She then proceeded to make the day better, make everything better, by handing each and one of them with cold deliciously surreal melon juice.
Sansa remembers it exactly as it was, mostly due to the fact that her favourite dress was ruined when cousin Griff sloshed his drink all over her clothes.
Back then, she had the most ridiculous crush on her cousin. With his soft silver hair, bright tempting purple eyes, handsome, handsome face, he was everything Sansa wanted. He still is.
Nine years ago Sansa was too shy, too much of the lady-like blushing virgin Mother taught her to be, she didn't know what to say when Griff asked her to ride with him.
Just along the backyard, Griff had said. It's not like we're going to ride around Hawaii, m'lady, he told her, and his voice was a deep seductive purr that shouldn't belong to a man of sixteen, much less a prince.
He was courteous, and gentle, but even as a young girl of twelve Sansa could see the glint of mischief, his craving toward danger that Sansa didn't possess.
She wanted to say yes.
She had wanted to, so much. It was wrong of her to hesitate.
Griff saw it as her weakness, categorized it as something 'Lady Sansa Dislikes' – she would know; he had told her he made a list of things he wouldn't do when he was with her, so they could be more comfortable around each other – another mockery she didn't realize until she was sixteen.
Arya though, was different.
She was as wild as Aunt Lyanna was, as headstrong and passionate, had a habit of doing something Mother told her not to do.
It was annoying, disgusting. Sansa wasn't envious of the way she handled her clothes, or how her hair was a good comparison to that of a rat, dark brown and unkept.
Plus, the way she rode – rides – like that of a man, better than a man despite her age, is not something to be envious of.
Griff had wandered toward the stable after her supposed rejection, when a black horse whirled past him, fast and strong and frightening.
The horse, Stranger, didn't stop to look at the dumbfounded body it so mercilessly attacked, neither did the rider.
Arya rode around the backyard, galloping and jumping over spectacles better than her brothers, better than Robb and definitely better than Sansa, like she had done this so many times, she didn't know how to stop.
It was strangely endearing. Sansa had found her sister that time strangely endearing.
Unfortunately, so did Griff.
Next summer was clearer for her to see, that Griff had taken interest on her sister.
The innocent, curious kind of interest, she's sure, because Griff had taunted her sister about comic books and new shows on the telly, about math and World War II, the possibility of werewolves' existence and an honest to god arguments whether Hitler's moustache was capable of doing – things Sansa'd rather not know.
Really, Bran looked like he was going to have nightmares for the entire week after one of those arguments.
They fought and struggled around puddles of mud, getting their clothes dirty and laughed and scowled at each other, until dinner came and they talked about pancakes instead, or Tim Burton's fantastic idea of eau de human pie, which, just. No.
Sansa still didn't get it.
At the age of seventeen Sansa had pretty much gotten over her crush on her cousin.
Griff had many relationships then, girlfriends and boyfriends both, it was a bit disorienting.
When Arya and Gendry Baratheon started dating, well; contrary to public's opinions of how Griff would react, Sansa didn't expect him to be so supportive. Arya had been so happy.
But then Griff took him aside when Arya talked animatedly to her history teacher, Jaqen H'ghar, and said, in dangerously sweet tone, "I'd rip your balls off with a fucking ruler, if you break her heart."
Oh, Sansa thought, and smiled.
She's not really surprised to hear Arya broke things off with Gendry.
Though she's sure as hell surprised when this summer, as Sansa is eating her favourite lemon cake, she tackles Griff onto the ground, punches his ribs until one of them literally breaks, then kisses him senseless until they're panting for air and Jon is clearing his throat awkwardly for the twentieth time.
As Robb grudgingly hands his money – twenty bucks – to a smiling Rickon, Sansa thinks she truly understands them better, this time.
sobs uncontrollably.
this seems appropriate at the time, duh.