Legends of Old

The chill in the air was unlike any other she had ever experienced. Not that it was cold. She had noticed it had become colder of course, but this cool air was something different. It sunk right through to the bones. Sansa grimaced and wrapped her shawl around herself even tighter. Margaery's wedding was to be at the end of the month and all the preparations had been made. Her gown was almost finished by the seamstresses and she had insisted on Sansa being one of her bridesmaids.

Sansa had wanted to protest, but since Joffery was leaving her alone, she decided she wouldn't complain. "You're looking quite gaunt these days little dove. Very pale too." Sansa looked to the queen who had requested her presence within her chamber. It was simply meaningless conversation, but it seemed Cersei wanted to catch up with her.

"I have not been feeling well Your Grace. Must be the weather because it is changing," Sansa explained. Her occasional headaches and backaches had gotten a little worse and every night when she retired for bed, she would collapse into the pillows. Shae had even remarked that she was rising later than usual. It wasn't entirely Sansa's fault though. All she desired was to sleep. If she could get away with it, she would have taken afternoon naps, but Lady Margaery always insisted upon her presence.

What was worse though is Sansa on various occasions had begun to feel nauseated. It would pass, but it was very annoying and often had her excusing herself to her room for several minutes to rest and let it pass. Sometimes it made her dizzy. "Yes, you haven't been eating as much. Are you feeling alright little dove?"

Mustering up a fake smile for the queen, Sansa gave her a confident nod. "Yes Your Majesty. Thank you for asking. Just some occasional backaches." Cersei's eyes narrowed and Sansa found herself shifting uncomfortably. "Sounds like your monthlies will be coming upon you soon. It has been almost a month now or more. It is a bother, I know, but part of being a woman."

Feigning humble gratitude, Sansa nodded and continued her sewing. She felt the queen's eyes linger upon her for a few moments longer before she too started sewing. "I am told you've taken an interest in reading to occupy your time. Tell me Sansa, why the intrigue?" Sansa licked her lips. A nervous habit she had picked up, but she hoped it wasn't noticeable. "Not an intrigue Your Grace. Just merely an activity to pass the time and become more knowledgeable about the world."

She heard the queen snort, but she didn't dare look up at her. "You think you can gain knowledge of the world by reading books?" The sardonic tone in her voice wasn't hard to miss, but Sansa wouldn't show that she was upset by it. Cersei had always given her snide remarks.

"No Your Grace, but perhaps an idea." The queen scoffed at that, but Sansa remained silent. She knew better. "Books lie to you and they contain nothing of value. They always seem to sugar coat the harsh truth about anything and everything. You won't get knowledge of the world from books little dove. You'll get it from experiencing the world."

Oh, Sansa had experienced the world alright. She had learned the harsh truths and seen all manners of horrors, all at the hand of Joffery. "What are you making?" The queen inquired, but the disinterest was evident in her voice. Sansa looped another fine red thread. "Just a small little tapestry banner to place in my room. A rose."

The queen raised her brow. "A rose? Whatever for?" Sansa smiled wanly and continued to sew. "Oh no particular reason Your Grace. I just think roses are beautiful." The queen said nothing and bit off a piece of thread to begin a new embroider pattern. "Perhaps Lady Maegery would prefer you to make something else. I am already starting to sew clothes for the future prince as should you."

Sansa wordlessly nodded. Cersei let out a frustrated sigh and stood up. Taking initiative, Sansa stood up with her and looked at her expectantly. "You may leave. I am sure my son's betrothed has some tasks for you to do. Perhaps I'll see you again for another private chat within the week." Nodding and giving the queen a low curtsey, Sansa departed hoping to reach her room and have a few private moments to herself.

If anything, she was glad to have been out of the queen's presence. Just being in the same room with Cersei was suffocating enough. Shutting and bolting her door, Sansa went over to her bed and reached under the mattress to grab the notes she had been making the last few weeks on Lyanna's poetry. She had some idea of what the first few lines meant, but these were her own interpretations.

The wind blows south and the seas move north

She took that to mean that Winter was coming. The freezing blizzards from the north would undoubtedly sweep to the south and the oceans tended to rise in their level and bring about freezing hurricanes and other storms. At least as far as she had gathered. She hadn't experienced a real winter, but as a Stark girl, she had been taught all about it.

Soldiers and men will shed blood and go forth

It definitely meant war, but Sansa was more curious about the differentiation between soldiers and men. They were one and the same were they not? Or did men mean civilians? Would they join and shed blood? Whose blood? Who were they fighting against? And where were they going? Go forth to where? Decorously, Sansa jotted down a few more notes. It seemed a war with soldiers and men would come about during the coming of the Winter. Sort of like now.

Sansa froze and skimmed over the first two lines. It was getting colder and the realm was in the midst of battle. Sansa felt her throat go dry. The words described the current situation perfectly even if its tune was ambiguous.

Women and children will cry and wail

Shuddering a little, Sansa remembered the riot that had happened some weeks ago. The faces of the hungry women and children. The accusing glares of the men in the city and the ones that had tried to rape her to have their fill. And then of course the riot broke out leading to numerous beatings, murders and rapes. Women and children will cry and wail. Perhaps they were wailing all over the realm. Loyalty was divided and innocent towns would be pillaged and ruined. Women and children would be the ones to suffer. Sansa noted that too. It was interesting how she could compare Lyanna's poetry to the current events that were shaking the kingdom today.

But the one who heeds this note should set sail

So much for her seeing it as poetry. Lyanna had written a warning, what could it possibly mean? What did she have to heed exactly? The war? She frowned and couldn't think of anything else to add to that except that the line specifically said 'sail.' Although that might have been for rhymes sake. Needless to say there was something in Dorne to find and Sansa was curious. Was it literal? Was there really something there? Had Lyanna Stark ever been to Dorne?

Deciding she had attempted to decipher as much as she could, Sansa folded the notes and placed them back in their hiding place along with the Targaryen history book. The queen and many others had spies everywhere and she didn't want something like this to fall into Cersei's hands. Even if it was meaningless poetry drizzle.

Simpering to herself, Sansa went to her window and peered out over the view she had of King's Landing. She would give anything to be back at Winterfell again with her little brothers. At least there she would have security and safety. Would the Hound have honoured his word and taken her back home? She honestly thought so, but then again she was a young girl still ignorant of the minds of men in many ways. And that was definitely saying something since she had let someone like the Hound take her virginity.

There was a knock on her door and reluctantly, Sansa went to answer it. It was one of Margaery's page boys. "What is it?" The boy bowed. He was the nervous type, but Sansa found it in her heart to smile at him. The nervous ones were usually the kind ones. "Lady Margaery begs your presence within her chambers for the f-fitting of her gown." Sansa nodded and cleared her throat for a kindly worded reply. "You may tell her ladyship that I will come as soon as possible and would gladly see the fitting for her dress."

The page nodded, still shaking a little in nervous fear and suddenly Sansa was struck by a facetious thought. If the boy had been talking to the Hound, he'd have probably pissed himself. It was almost enough to make Sansa laugh. And then that concealed laughter almost brought tears to her eyes. She should have gone with him. Her brothers would have protected her in Winterfell and she doubted Joffery would waste precious men to bring her back. She was hardly his plaything any longer. He often ignored her.

Smiling to herself sadly, Sansa took a look at herself in the mirror and for once saw that Queen Cersei was right. She was starting to look a little gaunt and pale. Mostly because her appetite had changed and she couldn't stomach much food without feeling nauseated after every meal. Or perhaps it was the subconscious strain of everything that had happened to her. Well…if she lost her looks perhaps she wouldn't stand out so much. Sighing, she smoothed out her gown and made her way to Margaery's chambers.

"Lady Sansa," Margaery exclaimed. Sansa could see her dressed in an unmade gown of damask ivory with two seamstresses fixing the sleeves and taking measurements. "My lady you look absolutely stunning," and she meant it too. White suited Lady Margaery as if she was a goddess of purity. Sansa walked up to her and gently felt the fineness of the material between her fingers. Embroidered in a cream shade of thread were various flowers of House Tyrell. Margaery would indeed be a real beauty on her wedding day.

"Thank you Lady Sansa and look over there," she said pointing to yards of green damask and silk embroidered with gold threads over the bed and chairs. "For the bridesmaids?" Margaery nodded and Sansa went to inspect it. The fabric was fine indeed, but she wondered how the Crown could afford all these fine things. Her father had said that the royal treasury was greatly in debt.

"It's beautiful," Sansa complimented feeling quite pitying for the girl. Although Joffery wasn't cruel to her (so far) who knows what he would do once they were put to bed. She had heard what he had done to those whores. "Care for something to eat? Help yourself." She gestured over to the table adorned with sweetmeats, sugar pies and fruits. Sansa immediately went for the peaches.

She had requested some peaches be brought to her a few days earlier and they had been conveyed courtesy for Lord Baelish. Sansa didn't know why she had developed such a taste for them, but she had craved them day and night for the last couple of days. The soft flesh, the sickly sweet juice, the burst of flavour in her mouth. She couldn't think of anything more.

"You like peaches?" Sansa quickly swallowed her morsel and turned to Margaery. "Why yes. I never had peaches much back in Winterfell. Quite a delicacy over there, but thanks to you, I am addicted to them." Margaery chuckled and gave an order to one of the seamstresses. "If you please, would you allow Mistress Summers to measure you? These gowns have to be made swiftly on such short notice."

Quickly taking another bite of her peach, Sansa put it away, cleaned her hands with a napkin and smiled at the seamstress who gave her an unsure smile back. "So what have you been doing to occupy your time Lady Sansa?" It was just a means of friendly conversation, but sometimes Sansa wanted to know if there was an ulterior motive behind Margaery's kindness. Honestly, why take pity on her? Why take her in? Why protect her?

"Reading my lady. Some on Targaryen history, but I have become interested in the myths and legends of old. If only I had more books at my disposal to read more about it." Margaery seemed to ponder for a bit before replying. "Perhaps I can speak to Grand Maester Pycelle. He may be able to lend you a few books for use at your pleasure." Sansa highly doubted he would, but thanked Lady Margaery anyway.

There you shall be able to behold what the Gods have born.

"My lady," Sansa asked softly. Margaery turned to her and raised a brow. Sansa struggled to smile. "Have you ever been to Dorne?" Margaery shook her head and Sansa frowned. "But I know a lot about it. Why the question though? Is there something of significance there?

Maybe Sana thought. "I was thinking of Princess Myrcella being so far away from home. I am wondering what she would find favourable in Dorne," Sansa explained. Margaery thought for a bit. "Well it is hot like Kings Landing. One of the hottest places in Westoros. Very rocky with a lot of mountains."

Sansa licked her lips. "It doesn't snow there?" Margaery gave her a bewildered look. "In Dorne? Never. Water there is worth as much as gold." Sansa nodded, but was deeply troubled by this bit of information. She hadn't paid much attention to Septa Mordane when she spoke of the weathers in various places. Perhaps she should have, which begs the question…

What did Lyanna mean in her poem of finding a frosty path leading to gold in the Marches of Dorne? Frosty meant it was cold and that there was snow. Honestly what sort of metaphorical meaning could 'frosty' stand for in Lyanna's poetry? The words were only getting more complicated and harder to understand.

Aemon, alone in his chambers, stared at the woman standing in the corner. For a blind man, he knew that his look was full of pity, but he could see her. Not as others could see, but he could see her. When she was here, his vision came once again, but only to look upon her and her sorrows. Her white shift stained with blood, her blue eyes welling with all the guilt and sadness of what her own wanton folly had brought about, her skin pale from death, but still beautiful.

"The child has been conceived," he whispered to her. For why else was she here out of all the creatures he had summoned? The woman in question nodded even though he had not worded his statement as an enquiry. "Daenerys ?" The woman shook her head. Being one of the dead, she could only speak in riddles and only speak truth to the ones that were seers in their dreams.

"Then who?"

The woman touched her belly in a gesture of mourning for her child. "Only the Avatar can bear the Prince of Promise." Aemon went quiet. "There has been no Avatar for two thousand years and many think that such a person was a myth. Most history regarding them was believed to be stored in the North and destroyed. The Prince of Promise is rumoured to be in the royal Targaryen line."

The bleeding woman shook her head. "The line still lives. It still lives, but only though the firstborn daughter. If she dies then the magic protecting the wall will crumble, the Others will cross and so will their enigmatic leader who wishes to save the realm through death." Aemon's fist clenched and he rubbed the chaffed dry skin of his temples. This wasn't making any sense.

"If the line still lives why haven't there been any more Avatars?" The woman was silent and regarded him disdainfully. Perhaps it had something to do with him being a Targaryen, but he could understand her woes frankly enough. "They have been dormant and were awoken when the Dragons were born. The line lives with the firstborn daughter."

That was as much information as he was going to get out of her. She was just too repetitive. "If the Avatar power has awoken, that means the old magic once possessed by the Avatars to keep the kingdoms safe has been awoken again." The bleeding woman nodded, but said nothing else. Aemon became thoughtful and tapped his fingers on the table.

"Where can she be found? This firstborn daughter who carries the Prince of Promise?"

"You cannot find her. She will find you, if she lives." And with that said, the bleeding woman disappeared. Even though it was his own séance that had summoned her, the spirit itself had decided that this conversation was at an end. However, he understood the message clear. He would have to wait. How long that would be, he didn't know and that was only if she remained alive. Did they even have the time?

He supposed so. If she remained alive, the Wal'ls magic would hold. They only had to worry about Mance Rayder for now. At least his fellow Watchmen would, but Aemon knew the truth. Quickly clearing up the candles and powders and blood on the table that he had used to summon the bleeding woman, Aemon gathered his scrolls and headed to his inner chamber where the warmth of his bed awaited him. What would he dream tonight? Maybe the Gods would show him her face. This Avatar. The mother of the Prince who was Promised as she was the Protector of the Realm.

Sansa spent another week unnoticed by all save for Margaery, but even she was busy with the wedding preparations. Sansa grimaced and gently squeezed her breasts. She barely had any a few weeks ago, but they had swollen a little and they were very tender. Sometimes her nipples tingled. It was very annoying and she was so self-conscious about it, that she wore more padding under her gowns with higher collars to hide the cleavage she now had.

Shae swore that her breasts were growing because she was becoming a woman, something that Sansa was able to allow herself to smile to. She had come to like the idea of a flower blooming in darkness even though Lady Margaery had said otherwise, but she hadn't realised it would be this bothersome. The worst of it though was that now she was constantly sick. All morning and all night. All she could think about was being sick and all she could feel was sickness.

Milk and porridge had become too much for her to handle in the mornings or at any time. She could not even stand the smell of wine and instead drank mouthfuls of cold water in an effort to appease her queasiness. Pastries and meats she had no care for and could only stomach chicken and bread for her supper. Perhaps sometimes soup, but nothing more.

"I think perhaps we should call in a healer or one of the Maesters. You do not look well my lady," Shae remarked to her as she played with her food. Instead, Sansa bit right into a peach and looked at her absentmindedly. "I am just a little ill. I am sure it will go away." Shae 'hmphd' in response and scratched her thigh. "You're as pale as the snows of the north. I wouldn't be surprised if you start looking like a white walker soon."

Sansa managed a slight chuckle and stood up a little too fast. She felt dizzy and sick and hunched over to let it pass. Shae was at her side in an instant, but Sansa assured her that she was alright. With a grimace, Shae let her go and take a seat by the window. Sansa took up her sewing to pass the time. She was still making that rose and was determined to finish it.

"Have you noticed how drastically your sleeping patterns have changed?" Sansa refused to comment, but Shae pressed on. "There is something wrong with you." Sansa gave up. "I know. I am tried and I am sick. I am so worried about the situation. My brothers, my mother, my sister Arya, my future…" Her handmaiden pressed a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezed it meaningfully. "You have to stop these dark thoughts from consuming your life. It is ruining your health and it may as well ruin your beauty."

Sansa spared her a wry smile and returned to her sewing. "I'll try." The sewing kept her occupied and Shae went about her daily chores within Sansa's room, but it wasn't long before Sansa began to feel fatigued. She was always so tired. So sleepy. There was a knock on the door and as Shae went to answer it, Sansa put her sewing to the side half expecting it to be one of Lady Margaery's servants. Instead she was more surprised to see Grand Maester Pycelle.

"My lady," he said quietly. He must have been using a lot of effort to keep any disdain he had for her out of his voice. "Grand Maester," Sansa said respectfully. Behind him two servant boys were holding old heavy leather bound books. "Lady Sansa, I heard that you had taken an interest in reading and Lady Margaery graciously asked if I could spare you some books." Stunned to say the least, Sansa gave the Great Maester a gracious nod and gestured for his servants to place the books on her desk. "Here are some histories of the Dorne, their mythology and their geography. The lady said you had some interest in Dorne and were thinking of Princess Myrcella."

She eyed him warily and nodded. "I was musing to Lady Margaery if the Princess Myrcella would find anything she liked in Dorne so that she wouldn't be so sad missing her home." The Grand Maester spared her a smile believing nothing. Sansa wondered what gave her away. Her eyes?

"Here are some histories and mythologies of the Targaryens, some folklore both common and uncommon and geographies of Westeros and the free cities." Sansa thanked him with a curtsey and then remembered something. "Grand Maester, I thank you for your books truly. But I was wondering if you also have something on very old mythology. About the things beyond the wall."

Pycelle gave her a hard look as if he wanted to understand something, but then grinned at her. "Thinking of taking the black Lady Stark?" Sansa gave him a hearty chuckle. "The men of the Nights Watch don't take women, but I am interested in their history and all the myths from the age of the heroes. My brother Jon Snow serves the Nights Watch." And my father would have had he lived.

Pycelle humoured her, but amiably promised to see what he could find for her. When they left her in silence, Sansa gave one look to Shae and then to the books mounted on her desk.

Thank the Gods for Margaery.

Getting into her seat, Sansa opened up the first book on the geography of Dorne. She could see a long pass leading to the sea of Dorne or at least what she thought was a pass. It would be perfect to sail from there to Tarth, but there were no bays in that pass. Whatever the case, it was interesting to say the least. Dornish history however, wasn't as interesting. She could not find anything referencing to something the Gods had built to behold or any sort of gold.

Sighing in exasperation, Sansa closed the book only to realize that Shae had politely left her be. Well, what did she expect? As if the handmaiden would want to help trudge through hordes of dull words and boring books. Sansa rubbed her temples and instead picked up the lore and legends upon the Wall. At least the Maester had left her something in regards to the myths of old. She had heard many of their fables from old Nan and the myths about the Others were similar here. They were nothing more than the walking dead, but where they sprung from, how they came to be and their purpose was still unknown. There were many theories of course, but no one knew for certain. Besides, they hadn't been sighted for thousands of years. More myth than ancient fact.

But what intrigued her more was the enigmatic being called the 'Prince of Promise.' A person who lived eight thousand years before Aegon's Landing and had fought against the Others and drove them off. Sansa had expected someone just and merciful, but the old Prince of Promise had sacrificed his own wife to make his sword. Dragon lore had prophesized that he would rise again and fight the Others. Many thought it was Prince Rhaeger, but he was long since dead.

As she flipped through the pages, Sansa came across something she had never heard before.

'It was believed after the first Prince fought the Others, he made a magic barrier that barred all things unnatural from the North to pass into the South. Eventually the first men of the Night's Watch built a Wall amidst that very barrier. The Prince then founded a line with every first born child being called the Avatar who possessed his power to use the magic of old and protect the world from the magic of all things unnatural both north and south. Not much is known about them and hardly any evidence is found within their existence. Some say the last Avatar left his or her post and married within the Targaryen line."

Sansa sat their perplexed. Painstakingly, she searched the book for anything else said on these Avatars, but there was nothing save for that paragraph. Dimly, she placed a bookmark on that page and closed it. She wondered who she could ask about it. Grand Maester Pycelle may fill her in, but she didn't trust him enough and he had only come here on Lady Margaery's bidding. She doubted anyone else knew of these legends so who could possibly help her?

It seemed she was just leading herself to a whole lot of dead ends and unanswered questions over a poem Lyanna Stark had written many years ago. How could she think it even meant anything? Perhaps it was nothing but her aunt's imaginative drizzle. Deciding to jump into her shift, Sansa unlaced herself for the night and for the first time in weeks she stood in front of the mirror and was very surprised by what she saw.

She was very pale as others had said, but she had clearly developed a woman's body now. Her hips had shaped a little, but it was her breasts she was amazed at (as sore as they were). Even though they were still small, they had become round and pronounced during the last two weeks. She hadn't expected it to happen so fast.

Grimacing, Sansa threw over her night shift and wrapped her robe around it. She supposed she would work on her sewing a little longer before heading to bed. Biting into a peach and watching the flames crackle, Sansa began to wonder about her brother Robb. How was he faring? Would he ever be able to rescue her? Would Joffery give her up for his uncle? She wanted to believe it to be so, but she doubted it would happen. The Gods seldom answered her prayers and the only mercy they had given her was sparing her being Joffery's queen.

Suddenly not in the mood to sew, Sansa hauled her body to her bed and hid under the covers. Perhaps it would be best if she occupied her time trying to understand Lyanna's poem. She would continue reading up upon the histories and mythologies if only to keep her mind off the more depressing issues and the problems at hand. It seemed like a wonderful idea indeed.

It was barely dawn when Sansa woke up. Hardly any light was in the sky so the room was still very dark. It wasn't good for Sansa. Her stomach was churning and any moment now, she was going to…

She hunched over on her knees so that the upper half of her body was leaning over the bed. She gagged and clutched the sheets and soon enough vomited all over the floor. She spluttered and coughed for a few moments afterwards before she composed herself. Her stomach was churning and she still felt unbearably queasy. Perhaps she had eaten something spoiled. She lay back down on the pillows feeling a little dizzy and rested there for several minutes. When the nausea began to subside a little, Sansa gathered herself together and pulled herself out of bed.

She stumbled across the room for some spare linen and went to the floor to wipe up the vomit. She felt acutely embarrassed about it, but since it was the early morning, she didn't want to call upon her handmaidens and have them make a fuss over her. Instead she bundled up the sheet and placed it on the desk. Shae would have it washed in the morning.

Breathlessly, Sansa wondered back over to the bed and sat quietly. She waited for the full rays of dawn.

Shae was the first one that came as was expected and Sansa ordered her to draw a bath and have the spare linen cleaned and have a scullery maid scrub the floor. "Are you alright my lady?" Shae whispered in her thick accent. Sansa gave her a quick nod. "Must have eaten something spoiled."

With help, Shae went about filling up her tub with water and Sansa dismissed her for an hour so that she could soak in peace. She slipped her body into the hot water and began to feel a little cleaner, but the nausea was still there. She gently rubbed her stomach and relaxed her head back. The sickness had been plaguing her for a few weeks now, but it seemed as if it had finally decided to purge itself out.

As she began to scrub herself, Sansa was overcome with an odd feeling. A twinge of fear mixed with a sense of foreboding and suspicion. It was whispering in the back of her mind and it was a thought she definitely did not want to entertain. A thought giving a plausible explanation for her moon's blood being so late and her current maladies. Sansa brushed it off and continued scrubbing, but the thought would not go away.

It would not go away.

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