Author's Notes:
First, let me say Thank You so much! for the absolutely wonderful reception to the first chapter! Had I known time-travel is not such an overused and tired trope as I thought it might be, I might have pushed myself to start posting earlier!
*bows gracefully to all you lovely readers and commenters*
Nonetheless, I am also glad I didn't, as this is a good time to submerge myself in writing once more. So everything happens for the reason.
I do not dwell for long in the modern era as you can see, and although I am slightly daunted by the high expectations expressed and what I put on myself as well, this chapter was a joy to write and I hope it entertains you…
As always, your thoughts are much appreciated! I welcome con-crit too if anyone is so inclined, and don't mind speculations about where this might be going or what might be - I welcome all views!
Sansa
Shaking away the uneasy sensations raised by the image of the bygone young king in the interactive display, Sansa immersed herself in the rest of the tour. This time of the year was quiet and the hordes of tourists had not yet descended, meaning that their small group could spend as much as time as they wanted in each section without being ushered ahead.
Sansa enjoyed the slow pace and the opportunity to take her time and pay attention to details that might escape those in a hurry to dart from one notable sight to another. She saw the indentations in the stone steps where thousands of steps had left their mark, noticed the shapes in masonry indicating where doorways had been mortared shut or corridors expanded. She let her hand rest on the windowsill of the Round Room of the White Sword Tower, feeling the smoothness of the gnarled old wood. How many Lord Commanders of the Kingsguard had touched this very same piece of wood, she wondered. What had they thought, what kind of things had occupied their time?
The tower contained an extensive exhibition or weapons and armoury, including a life-size mannequin dressed in the famous uniform of the Kingsguard, whose headquarters the tower had been. The intricate suit of white enamelled scales, silver fastenings for breastplate and other pieces, long willowy white cloak and pure white unemblazoned shield resulted in the striking and impressive end result, especially when compared to the other ordinary looking armours and pieces of cruel looking weaponry shown.
Sansa walked slowly around the room, mind occupied with thoughts about how much blood had been shed with the armament present, when a group gathered around a perplex box caught her attention. When she reached the focus of interest she saw it to be a helm like she had never seen before, resting in its own case separate from the others. The sign next to it proclaimed that it was a replica of one of the most unusual helms owned by one of the past Kingsguard members, being based on written descriptions and old designs found in one of the smithies in the Street of Steel, where most of the exhibits in the room had been made.
The moment Sansa laid her eyes on it she had a similar queer sensation she had experienced when looking at the picture of King Joffrey – except this time it was the opposite feeling, and even more confusing. The helm itself looked intimidating; metal forged into a form of a snarling dog, prominent canine teeth revealed as if ready to snap around an opponent's throat. With the visor lowered it was clearly intended to give an impression of its carrier being a hound ready to attack, only eye-slits revealing something of a man behind that terrifying mask. Nonetheless, it was fine craftsmanship, and being a modern-day replica, it shone brighter than most pieces in the room.
Yet despite its daunting appearance, it, too, felt familiar to Sansa – and comforting in a way she couldn't explain. Comforting…and reassuring. Almost as if she would have seen an old friend.
"Oh, that's the Hound's helm!" Layla declared. "Not much is known about that man to whom it belonged, except that he served a short time in King Joffrey's Kingsguard before disappearing from the annals of history as so many others during those tumultuous years."
"The…Hound?" Sansa whispered to herself. A coincidence!?
Layla heard her just the same. "Yes, that's what he was called – and seeing the helm it is no wonder, is it? He was said to be a hideous monster, huge in size and dark in temper. Much like his brother who was called The Mountain – another quite revealing nickname, would you say?"
The group muttered its acquiescence and after gawking the exhibit for a while longer, started to move towards the handsomely decorated saddles and shields at the end of the room. Sansa didn't move – she couldn't – but only stared at the helm.
"The Hound has passeth away, mocking gods was his ruthless way."
"It is quite striking, isn't it?" Layla had moved quietly right next to her, startling Sansa from her reverberations. "I wouldn't much like to meet the man wearing it in a dark alley."
"Did… did he have a name? Besides the Hound, I mean?"
Layla frowned in concentration. "I am sure he did, but I have to confess I can't remember if I have ever seen it. He wasn't very prominent figure after all. Without this unusual helm and the catchy nicknames for him and his brother, they both probably would have been already completely forgotten. You know, they were on the losing side and the winners write the history – the same old story."
"Yeah, of course." Something in the Hound's helm still pulled Sansa and despite Layla and the rest of the group leaving the room for their next destination, she stayed staring at it for a long time. Something in it called for her; a feeling, a sensation of odd intimacy.
"He hath served, servitude with no pride, he hath fought, joyless victory by his side."
The helm didn't offer her any answers, the eye-slits between the bared canine teeth revealing only darkness behind them.
Don't be ridiculous, she finally snorted to herself, turned away and followed the group.
After some vigorous trekking along the long corridors of the Keep, culminating in a traverse through an old tunnel from the famous Black Cells to the courtyard where the stables at one time had stood, they had lunch. The tunnel was only one of the many hidden passageways built into the keep, Layla explained, discovered by chance by the builders undertaking maintenance of the old foundations. Many more had been discovered since then, but only a few were kept open for public due to health and safety concerns.
Sansa could understand such concerns easily after their small group had squeezed its way through the narrow underpass. The history of the tunnel and the depiction of its concealed opening mechanism, relying on knowing exactly how to press and pull a crude stone carving of a dragon on the wall, was exhibited under a perspex glass next to the entrance, but the mechanism itself was not in use to protect it from wear and tear.
The old stables had been replaced by a modern cafeteria, where Sansa indulged in a hearty meal of pan-fried salmon and green beans, followed by her favourite dessert of lemon cakes. Despite being a busy tourist destination the cafeteria clearly took pride in its offerings, especially the cakes being absolutely delicious with just enough lemony tartness to keep things interesting and crowned with delicious lemon icing. Layla entertained the team with ghost stories and mysteries; weeping women roaming the corridors, a knight in a burning armour, mysterious sightings of green fire in the Blackwater Bay. None of them took the stories for real, of course, but then Layla got serious.
"All jokes aside, they say that there have been some strange things going on here. People disappearing, never to be heard of again, that sort of things."
"No kidding?" Melarie perked up.
"Well, I personally take such tales with a spoonful of salt, but people do talk. And there have been some confirmed disappearances over the last decade." Layla took another bite of her sandwich and chewed it methodically.
"Go on then, don't leave it there," Melarie urged her and the others backed her up.
"I am sure these people disappeared for all the usual reasons, you know; ran away from home, travelled somewhere without telling their family and then maybe meeting an accident or something. In any case, there was at least a young boy who vanished some five years ago. A woman who hasn't been seen after she visited the keep some…uh, ten or more years ago. Have a look yourself." Layl gestured towards the exhibit on the wall, consisting of newspaper clippings, photographs and written notes about strange goings-on in the keep.
Sansa nodded along with the others. She wasn't really into horror or supernatural things but listened politely nonetheless.
"And some other people at earlier times, but those are of course much more subject to scepticism," Layla concluded and pushed her plate away. "Shall we continue?"
"Only if you can guarantee that you get us all back safe and sound," Mateo joked as they paid their bills. Everyone laughed, Sansa included. The elderly couple asked to be excused for the next round, choosing instead to rest for a while in the old Godswood to enjoy the fresh air and surrounding greenery instead of climbing up and down steep stairs in musty corridors.
Passing the wall exhibit Sansa glanced at the people in the pictures; a relatively recent picture of a young boy with soft brown eyes and a shy smile, a beautiful young woman dressed in a kind of mini skirt that was all the rage some forty years ago, an old black and white photo of a serious older gentleman with bushy whiskers – almost dozen persons disappeared in the Keep - allegedly. The pictures were accompanied with faded newspaper cuttings declaring yet another innocent person being lost to the 'Curse of the Red Keep' and printed brief descriptions of individual cases, which Sansa didn't stop to read. She couldn't prevent cold shivers travelling down her spine, but luckily she didn't have time to mull over the cases for long before she had to almost run to catch up with the group.
During the whole tour Sansa had been overwhelmed by an increasing premonition that she had seen the place before. But how was it possible, when she had never set a foot to Kings Landing? Maybe it was because of all the books she had read and websites she had visited? Sometimes the sensation carried with it positive connotations, like with the Hounds helm, but mostly she felt ill at ease.
On a previous day she had gone to see the Great Sept of Baelor and while admiring its many towers and colourful glass domes and windows, stepping out to the great steps she had felt a sudden cold chill. 'Someone walking over my grave', grandma Emlyn might have said, but Sansa thought nothing of it then, assuming it to be only her body's reaction to a cooler evening breeze after the warmth of the sept.
However, now she was experiencing similar chill several times in a row; first at the entrance to the dungeons, then at the remains of the Tower of the Hand and most of all, in front of the notorious Iron Throne itself in the cavernous big hall aptly called the Great Hall.
The sight of that asymmetric monstrosity of spikes and jagged edges and twisted metal was disconcerting, and the ominous threat it exuded was almost palpable. This time however Sansa was determined to not let that despoil her enjoyment and she stared at the throne determined not to give in to her uneasiness. It must have worked, as after a while the effect of the throne ebbed away. Nervously she looked around, tempted by an impulse to get closer, all the while knowing it to be impossible due to chains separating the chair deemed too dangerous for the audience.
Sansa wasn't sure what to think. Yes, the history of the place was dark and bloody, but why should it affect her so? Maybe she was getting a cold and these were early signs of it? She huffed in exasperation. She didn't have time to get sick! She still had three more days before she had to go back to White Harbour and move to her own place to get ready for her independence and a new life of studying at the academy.
To distract her mind of such gloomy thoughts she sought Layla's company at a time when she was not actively engaged in her guiding duties.
"I wonder if I might ask you something?" she started, courteously as always.
"Of course you can - that's why I am here!" Layla had an open smile that made it easy to open a discussion with her.
"Do you by any chance happen to know anything about House Stark, from Winterfell? They used to be Wardens of the North hundreds of years ago, and before that, Kings in the North."
Yes, Sansa had read all she had found about her ancestors, but it never hurt to ask more from people who might be in the know. Layla had mentioned that she had studied history at the Kings Landing University, specialising in the dynastic transition from the Baratheon rule back to Targaryen dynasty.
Layla smiled. "Of course I know about House Stark! Doesn't everybody? Although I didn't study them in detail, one simply can't explore the era of the War of the Five Kings without stumbling into them. What do you want to know? I can't promise you definitive answers, but you can try me!"
"Well, as it happens, my family's origins are in that House – from hundreds of years ago," Sansa hastened to add, lest Layla thought she was boasting just for the sake of it. "I know quite a bit about them, but I am especially curious about the oldest daughter of the line that was extinguished, Sansa Stark. There is not much written about her – probably because she was just a woman, so I wondered… Do you know anything about her?" Sansa bent slightly forward in hopeful expectation of hearing more of the woman who had plagued her thoughts so much over the years. Yet she was to be disappointed once again.
"Sansa Stark… your namesake, even! Hmm…" Layla tapped her fingers on the windowsill she was leaning to. "As you say, unfortunately women get so often erased from the history unless they do something truly remarkable. And Sansa, to my knowledge, did not… She was of course betrothed to Prince Joffrey, but that didn't last long after the so-called treason of Lord Eddard Stark - which we all by now of course know to be absolute bull!"
Sansa's heart sank. Well, it had been worth a try.
"I think she married a minor noble in the Vale and died soon after – I am sorry, that's all I know." Layla peered at Sansa under her brow. "I know for sure that she didn't come back to Winterfell. I did my Honours thesis about House Bolton and their short rule in the North, and know much more about the goings on in Winterfell during those times."
Sansa nodded. She was interested in Winterfell as well, but it was still just a place, not once living and breathing human being.
"It was really tragical and completely unfair how Bolton's first gained hold of Winterfell," Layla continued, oblivious to Sansa's carefully hidden disappointment. "Not many people know this, but it was not by conquest or military campaign, but by the treachery of the ward of Starks, Prince Theon Grejoy from the Iron Islands. You see, he had been handed over to Eddard Stark as a hostage after one of the Greyjoy Rebellions, but apparently over the years become more like part of the family to the Starks. He was especially close to the last King in The North, Robb Stark – Sansa's brother, actually. But then something happened and he returned to his own family and turned against House Stark, gaining Winterfell by deception and because of his intimate knowledge of it. Yet in turn he too was betrayed and tricked to hand it to Bolton – and that's how they gained ownership of the castle."
Sansa tried to recall if she had ever heard of anyone named Theon Greyjoy, but the name didn't ring a bell. House Greyjoy she knew of course – they were still a well-known family, owners of a large cargo and fishing fleet in the Irons Islands – but Theon? No, she couldn't place the name. Just another faceless victim of the many wars that had ravaged Westeros over the years.
Layla sighed. "Not much good it did for him. His fate is probably the worst of the many players in that cursed war; he was tortured and brutalised and used as a play thing for that horrid Ramsay Bolton." She shook her head, her mouth tightened. "I'll tell you Sansa, during that assignment I read some things I rather hope I had never laid my eyes on… how humans can be so cruel, I never understand. You probably think he deserved all he got, and maybe he did – but then again, nobody deserves that."
Sansa was not keen to know 'that' was, knowing a little about the reputation of House Bolton, and so they moved on, chatting about their respective visits to Winterfell, and the tak about architecture soon steered them away from less pleasant topics.
The tour was finally approaching its end, the group winding its way through the old living quarters of the royals. Most rooms were unadorned, the bare walls revealing nothing of the richness they might have once contained. Some were furnished, in the styles of different periods of the keep's history. The furniture was real antique although it was not guaranteed that they actually had ever been in use in the Red Keep itself, Layla told them. Nonetheless, the impression was powerful and once again Sansa found herself imagining life in the olden days.
One room especially drew her in although it was just a simple chamber furnished with a period bed, a table and a chair, an ornamented screen blocking one corner of the room and a few other knick-knacks. Sansa was the last to inspect the room and knowing it to be almost the end of the tour she went to the window, leaned against the window sill and rested her head against the glass. The scene below was serene; a few people still lounging on the tables of the cafeteria terrace, shaded by big umbrellas decorated with the logo of a popular coffee brand; an old man emptying the bins; a dog wagging its tail and running to its owner. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was peaceful and once the retreating voices of conversation from the corridor had faded away she felt as if she was the only human being in the whole place, no matter how nonsensical it was.
Suddenly the air in the room became thick and heavy and she found it difficult to breathe. It also felt warmer, much warmer than anywhere else in the keep.
Why is it so hot?
Slightly dizzy she turned away from the window, intending to follow the others. Halfway across the room, however, another spell of dizziness came over her and she looked around to see if there was anywhere she could sit down.
What is wrong with me?
Seeing nothing but the antique bed and feeling her knees getting weaker by the second she pushed aside her ingrained respect for the rules and perched herself gregariously at the edge of the mattress. Dear me! Shaking her head Sansa gave herself a few minutes, a few minutes only – and then she would leave.
Only a few minutes.
The temperature in the room increased and the atmosphere was even more suffocating than before…
Only a minute…
