Sansa Tully & Jaime Tully & Edmure Tully
or siblings who personify ' family. duty. honor'
Sansa Tully grows up idolizing her brothers. Jaime for his beauty - his gorgeous blue eyes, his tall body, his red-gold hair - and his fighting abilities, akin to the brave white knights in her favourite songs. Edmure for his gallant nature, his pride, his humor that brightened even the darkest situation. Sure, perhaps Jaime is a little arrogant, and he refuses to apologize and maybe Edmure is temperamental, and prideful, and unwilling to let go of slights, but Sansa forgives them, because they are her brothers, her family. Her brothers love her, she's kind, and loving, and beautiful, even though sometimes she's bossy, or naive, or cowardly, but they forgive her. The three Tully siblings always embrace their family's motto: family, duty, honor.
So it's heartbreaking when one afternoon, Edmure's temper gets the better of him. He'd been practicing with one of her lord father's bannerman's son. Their wooden swords crack together and both Jaime and Sansa were lounging on the sidelines watching eagerly. Jaime was still considered too young to engage in these types of games, which explained the scowl on his face, compared to the excitement of his younger sister.
Edmure's getting cocky, and too sure of himself as his swings can harder and his aim gets worse. The lord's son looks to be overtaken, until he dodges one particularly poor swing and whacks the back of Edmure's knees. With a yelp, Edmure collapses with his opponent on top of him. Seeing someone on top of her brother alarms Sansa and she looks to Jaime to see his reaction. Jaime seems unconcerned, he knows it's harmless, but this does not deter Sansa. Before Jaime can caution her, Sansa calls out and charges forwards to her brother's defense. Edmure's face turns as red as his hair when his eight year old sister starts to chastise the older boy. She's getting red faced, and she looks so much like his mother when she used to chastise him, and something in Edmure snaps.
"STAY OUT OF THIS SANSA! STOP ACTING LIKE YOU'RE MY MOTHER!" He throws his wooden sword to the ground with such force, it torpedoes into the unsuspecting shins of his baby sister.
The color drains from Sansa's face and her eyes - his mother's eyes - fill with tears, and his brother stiffens. Edmure's heart pounds, and his chest heaves and the little Lords son takes a hint and takes of running in the other direction. Edmure can only hope he's not off to inform his father of what he's seen. Edmure didn't mean to say that to her, because he's kept it bottled inside ever since the only thing alive to come out of the birthing room was his newborn sibling. Edmure is the oldest, and he remembers his mother best. He was seven years old when his mother died in the birthing bed, leaving two sons, a grief-stricken father, and a squalling baby that Edmure hated. He'd taken one look at the little thing - with her faint red hair, and rosy cheeks and worst of all his mothers' features. His four year old brother Jaime takes to the little worm right away, murmuring soothing words in her ear, and stroking her hair until her wailing ceases, and she calms. Edmure wants to smack his brother, shake him, scream at him because how can he not care that their mother is gone, and all that's left is that thing. Jaime seems to understand him before he speaks, because he echoes their family motto Family. Duty. Honor. Unusually well pronounced, and Edmure doesn't know what to do, so he flees to the safety of his chambers. Its later that night, when everyone save him is fast asleep he sneaks into the nursery and stares down at his new sibling, his sister, Sansa and whispers those familiar words.
Family. Duty. Honor.
But anyways -
Without another word, Sansa flees. She runs until her heart is about to burst from her chest, and stumbles up the steps, blind from her tears. Her stomach churns in an uncomfortable way as she flings open a familiar door and settles on the bed. She hates her brother suddenly, how dare he say that to her. It wasn't her fault. She didn't mean to kill their mother. She hadn't meant to upset Edmure. She just wanted to help. Wanted to protect her brother - protect Edmure, her strong, important, heroic older brother from that mean, vicious boy. Though as she chokes down ugly sobs, she knows she'll forgive him. She knows she'll have no choice because; family, duty, honor. Those are her family's words, and she's nothing if she's not loyal to those words.
Jaime shoots his brother a singular, venomous look and turns to chase their baby sister. Edmure's conscience settles in his stomach as his opponent hastily excuses himself and scurries away as well.
Family. Duty. Honor.
Jaime finds Sansa in Edmure's room, clinging to his pillow like a madwoman and wailing. Jaime finds himself at a loss, he has no idea what he's supposed to do. Offer to beat up his own brother? Tattle to his lord father? Try and console his sister? All Jaime can tin about his mother, with her soft words and soft hands. When she'd died, Jaime had been devastated, and had toyed with hating Sansa, until he'd looked down into the cradle and realized they hadn't truly lost his mother. Sansa looked exactly like their mother. He'd recognized it immediately, and had forgiven her instantly. As she grew up, he knew he'd made the right decision. Sansa was the image of what Jaime remembered of his mother. She was kind, and graceful, and courteous. Her hands were soft in his hair, and her hands are soft in his when they run intertwined through the river banks. Since then, he'd never regretted his decision, and never once resented her. Sometimes bad feelings bubbled in his stomach, and he chokes down hateful words, and repeats those three sacred words in his head.
Family. Duty. Honor.
Sansa sulks on the sidelines of the practice yard, trying hard to ignore her Septa's embroidery instructions. Normally, she'd never be so discourteous, but she's unused of watching without Jaime next to her. Father considered Jaime old enough to practice with the other boys. Sansa finds it much easier to concentrate once the Septa excuses herself, and Sansa's allowed to sit quietly and observe her two brothers joke with each other after the other boys are dismissed. Edmure's grown taller, she realizes, and his shoulders are broader, yet Jaime still dwarfs him. He's always been tall, her golden brother.
She turns to observe her golden brother, and narrows her eyes. She's never focused on her brothers together, but as she's gotten older, she's gotten more observant. Jaime and Edmure have always been close, always protective of each other. Jaime's idolized their brother as long as she can remember, and has always been affectionate to both his siblings. Though as she watches them, she realizes that maybe his affection favour Edmure more than they do her. His touches linger, his hands wander a bit when they grasp Edmure's arm. His cheeks - already rosy from exertion - turn rosier at Edmure's compliments.
Her heart skips a beat when she recognizes the look in his eye, the shy pose her assumes, the softness in his voice. She's seen it in other people, in songs, in tales, but never in either of her brothers. What saddens her is that the look in Edmure's eyes does not match the look in Jaime's. But she'll be there when one brother breaks the others heart.
Family. Duty. Honor.
When Jaime comes to her in the middle of the night, wild eyed and red faced and tense she takes him in her arms and rocks him back-and-forth. She can feel his tears forming, but knows he'll refuse to let them fall. Jaime's nose is buried in her neck, and she peppers kisses into his hair. She knows it must have something to do with Edmure, because nobody but Edmure could make Jaime feel like this. She knows its unethical, and father would have a fit if he knew, and it can't end in anything but heartbreak.
She'd never say any of these thoughts, not to the gods, not to Jaime; she'd not even say them aloud to herself in private.
Family. Duty. Honor
On the day Jaime is married off to some fat Frey girl named Walda, or Waldina, or Waldella or something of the sort. Sansa is courteous, as her Septa taught her. She makes a point to not remember the girl's name, in vengeance for her father taking away Jaime's choices. The Late Lord Frey is as smug as a malicious bear with a nice, juicy salmon in its mouth. Jaime doesn't smile once throughout the whole ceremony. He does grimace slightly when he has to encompass Walda's - or Fat Walda, as Edmure's taken to calling her - large frame to wrap the red and blue cloak around her shoulders.
Edmure gleefully calls for the bedding before the customary time, and Sansa is sure for a moment that Jaime is going to hit him. Sure enough, the women crowd around her handsome brother, ripping and tearing at his clothes, yanking on his cloak, and clawing at his boots. Sansa reaches her brother just before he enters the bedding chamber, but instead of removing an article of clothing, she reaches for his hand, squeezes his trembling fingers tight and slips a ring on his finger. Jaime's brow furrows, and he lifts his hand to expect the ornament. It's a thick band of braided silver and bronze, with leaping trout engraved and inside, is those familiar words.
Family. Duty. Honor.
When Tommen is born, Sansa is in the room. She's holding the fat, puffy fingered hand of Walda, whose wailing and carrying on. She's crying, screaming, and thrashing in the bed and Sansa is disgusted. She knows the pain of childbirth herself, having already birthed little Arianne, then Quentyn, and Trystanne some years later. Though she carried out birthing with much more dignity than this lump of a girl. She admits the crying, but she never acted quite like this. Though Sansa endures Walda because Walda is crying out for her mother whose long dead, just as Sansa had both times. She feels a pang when she remembers her children, and her husband at home in Sunspear. While she may not love Doran, she feels certain affections for him, and misses him and their young children. Doran may not be the knight from her songs, but she's grown rather fond of her husband, permitting their age and cultural differences.
She's drawn from her thoughts by a blood-curdling scream. Sansa peers between Walda's chubby legs and Maester Wilmarn's bony arms. The Maester is urging Walda, and she's sobbing, until Sansa grips her shoulders. "Walda." It's the first time she's spoken, and Sansa knows Walda's paying attention because she's reigned in her sobbing and minimized the tears. "This is your child. Nobody can do this but you. So get hold of yourself, and greet your son." In truth she's not sure of the baby's gender, but hopes for a son. Walda nods vigorously, her thin yellow hair stuck to her neck, and grunts and clutches her hand.
When Walda screams, and Jaime's babies wail - Jaime's sons, she amends, as she stares at the little thing - joins the symphony. While the Maeaster moves to clean the baby off, Sansa washes Walda's face with a cool cloth, while the Septa readies her for Jaime's arrival. She's rearranged gently; a new blanket is folded on her lap. Though, before the baby is placed in her arms Walda is already fast asleep against the pillows. Sansa smiles warmly at Walda, and smooth's the hair off her forehead.
Her nephew is placed in her arms to present to Jaime. He's small, pink, and plump. Her first thought is that he looks exactly like Walda, her second thought is beautiful. His little fists are clenched; his hair is Jaime's exact shade of blonde. He's yowling just as Jaime did when he'd been born, according to their father, at least. She carries him into the corridor, where Jaime and Edmure were waiting. Edmure steps respectfully, but with a large grin on his face. Jaime steps forwards almost hesitantly, staring at his sons face in wonder. He takes his son in his arms and smiles down at him. "Tommen," He says, as his siblings crowd around him to coo at their brand new nephew. "Tommen Tully."
Sansa grins down at her nephew, reaching out a hand to stroke his chubby, little cheek. "Welcome to the family, Tommen."
Family. Duty. Honor.
Sansa ends up staying longer than she expected. She sends a quick raven to Doran, and spends all her time with Jaime, Edmure, her sickly father, and chubby little Tommen. Tommens growing quickly, though he's only months old. His little eyes turned the ocean blue she's accustomed to seeing, and his golden hair grows out in ringlets. He's a sweet, quiet little thing who delights in being held and receiving the attention of everyone around him.
Though today, she does not break her fast with Tommen and her brothers, she dons her black mourning gown, her thin, gauzy black veil and adopts a sorrowful persona. She joins them on their march down to the riverbanks, passing the sorrowful faces of the lesser River lords. Condolences are spoken as Jaime and Tommen pass. Her old Septa, Septa Darone steps forward to take Tommen from his father's arms. They stand solemnly over the elegant boat half-sunken under Walda's weight.
Walda had died seveteen days after she had birthed Tommen. She'd recovered well, but developed a fever, which confined her to bed for days. She'd died overnight, without so much as a sound. Jaime had not been devastated, or saddened really by her death. Sansa knew that no matter how many years had passed, or his marriage, or the birth of his son, Jaime was still in love with Edmure. They had never spoken of it before. Jaime realized she knew about it, and she respected him enough to not speak of it. She caught it in his gaze, his smile, and his words.
She watched calmly, as Jaime expertly shot the flaming arrow into the boat as it sailed down the river, carrying Jaime's dead wife. After the boat sailed far enough it was out of sight, the Septa's said a prayer and the funeral was over. Jaime stayed there, watching the river. While the others retreated back to the castle, Jaime, Sansa and Edmure remained. Silently, Sansa accepted her nephew back, and cradled him to her hip with one arm. Tommen was silent as well.
Edmure reached over, and grabbed his hand, squeezing it firmly. Sansa took his other hand, lacing their fingers together. The Tully siblings stood together until Jaime felt ready to leave. She wasn't sure exactly why Jaime stayed, there was no love between him and Walda, but she had been his wife, and the mother of his son.
Suddenly, Sansa understood. This child would grow up without his mother, who would have no female guidance, or mother figures except for his Septa's.
Just like she had, and just like her brothers from very young ages. She tightened her grip on Tommen unconsciously. She resolved to be there for Tommen, and to be there for Jaime, until they were both strong enough to stand on their own feet.
Family. Duty. Honor.
Less than a year later, Sansa stands in the same spot, wearing the same gown, and the same veil. This time, however, her family has accompanied her. Edmure stands on the end, clutching the miniscule waist of his own Frey wife. This one's name is Roslin, and she's the exact opposite of Walda. She's small, pale and beautiful. Her thin arms are wrapped around him in turn, and she can tell he's holding back tears because of his clenched jaw, and furrowed brow. Jaime's in the middle, holding Tommen in his arms. Tommen's wrapped up, fast asleep; his face nestled in the crook of his father's neck. Jaime's tense, standing straight and tall and unyielding to the sad atmosphere around him.
Sansa herself is on the end. Next to her stands her husband, Doran Martell. He's feeling good today, and his legs aren't hurting so much today. He's slightly crooked, but Sansa supports him physically as he supports her emotionally. Their children are beside them. Arianne, just five years old, understands the situation with a maturity unnatural for her age, holding her father's hand and staring at the grandfather she has never met. Her hands are folded on her protruding stomach, she's four months heavy her third child. Doran holds her close, and whispers in her ear as Edmure sets the boat aflame.
Again, as always, she thinks of the Tully words. Family. Family has always come first for her and it always will. Family meant her brothers. Family meant her father. Family meant home, here, in Riverrun where the river washes away your sadness and you can lose yourself amongst the trees. Duty comes next. She'd done her duty, had she not? She had not rebelled, or spoke against her ambitious father when he paired her with the Prince of Dorne. She had not spurned Doran's advances on their wedding night, though her husband was five and twenty years her senior. She`s born him an heir, and adored him ever since he'd fell in love with their daughter. She was a good lady to Dorne, the smallfolk loved her and she charmed the lesser lords easily enough. Honor the last. She had honored her gods, praying daily to them even in Sunspear. She honored Doran, she had never thought of keeping a 'paramour'. She honored herself, and acted like the proper lady her Septa had always taught her to be.
Sansa realizes in that moment, looking down the dock at her brothers, that her houses words have extended. Family has always been her first priority, and the biggest part of her life. Once, her family was her brothers. Most of the time it was the three of them against everyone else in the world. Then their family expanded, ever so slowly, without her realizing it. Looking at Roslin and Edmure, entangled like to young lovers. At Jaime and precious Tommen, and at her own family. Her husband, who has been unwaveringly supportive and loyal throughout their marriage, she looks past his face and sees his soul. His warmth and kindness and love, all of which was passed on to her darling little Arianne, who stands properly and reaches for her mother's hand when she sees her staring at her. She rests a hand on her stomach and a tear slips down her cheek. She can't wait for her family to grow a little larger.
Family. Duty. Honor.
... but most of all, family, love, and three siblings eternal bond.