A.N/ Somebody asked what the point of the veil was and it stems from one of Arya's later chapters. "Even the Veiled Lady was beautiful, though only those she took as lovers ever saw her face." The Veiled Lady was a real courtesan of Braavos, along with The Poetess, the Moonshadow and the Merling Queen. I read the passage and thought how interesting it would be to make Sansa that woman...after all, overt is covert. Hiding in plain sight, yada yada. And, for reference, Sansa will NOT be a courtesan. She's thirteen, been through a lot, and a Stark – there's no way she'll be jumping into bed with anyone for a long time. It would be unbelievably ooc to make her do that. Also - Somebody last time complained of missing the domestic side of them in their canal house but honestly Sandor is not really for that yet. It'll be a while before he can put aside the bottle. Have faith!
Anyhoo, enjoy! Bit of angst in this one.
Chapter Seven
The next day Giacomo Costa and his sister visited Sansa in her rooms and found the girl sitting on her balcony with her sworn shield. She was sat back against a carved chair with her head flung backwards, listening peacefully as he read to her in his deep tones. "I much prefer the old histories," she murmured lazily. "You're so good to read for me."
The large man snorted. "I remember when your tales ran to Southeron tales of knights and fair maidens."
"Thankfully my taste has matured," Sansa remarked, but then noticed the two visitors. "Giacomo, Ginny...come in. There's a flagon of lemon water on the table." She quickly collected the loaned books and packed them away in her trunk.
Sansa busied herself with welcoming the two adults and asked for two more seats to be moved onto the balcony. From here she had a beautiful view of the Isle of the Gods although when lit the Temple of the Red God was a bit of an eyesore. Yet on mornings such as this, before the burnings, it was quite pleasant to sit here in the morning sun. She'd even coaxed one of the Palace cooks into making her lemon water. This morning she was dressed in a light gauzy dress of pale blue that flowed out around her body and her hair was pulled back with one of Ginny's borrowed combs of jade.
"You suit the Braavosi fashion, my dear," Ginny complimented. "Yet your sworn shield still prefers to wear leather and armour. You must roast in the day's sun, ser."
"It takes a fine sort of man to wear velvets and silks," Sandor replied sourly and they all chuckled – including Giacomo who was never seen out of silk.
"What's the news of the day?" Sansa asked as she refilled Sandor's cup.
"We have organised a celebration for this evening in honour of your nameday," Giacomo announced. "And the Sealord has contributed many of his entertainers. The dancers from Lys have arrived."
"My nameday!" Sansa shook her head. "Please, my Lord, Lady. I don't need any such celebration. I am but ten and three."
"A woman," Ginny interrupted and her red lips stretched into a grin. "It is only proper."
The previous week Sansa had been awoken during the night by her first flowering and, still half asleep, had screamed in shock. Ginny had been the one to calm and comfort her in the absence of her mother, and told her that she was now officially a woman. Sansa felt a strange sort of pride in the fact that she was now a maid flowered but it felt a little strange to mention it around men, especially Sandor. The huge man had been exceptionally unhelpful during that day, wincing whenever it was mentioned and scowling at the excited maids.
The entire palace had been invited, including the more famous courtesans and the handmaidens Sansa favoured the most. The Sealord himself was the guest of honour and he brought along several of the richest Braavosi as his own guests, as well as a couple of distinguished merchants and princes from afar - including the yellow bearded Pentoshi from the day before. Sansa got ready in her rooms and invited several of the apprentice courtesans to join her. They spent most of the afternoon pampering and bathing, with bowls of figs and dates to see them through until the feast.
"I can't wait to see the dancers," one of the girls gushed, a lithe beauty from Lys who was two years Sansa's senior. She and a younger girl were arranging Sansa's hair into elaborate curls as she sat before the looking glass, sipping a glass of sweet milk. "Whenever my father held feasts they would entertain." Durriyah had been the daughter of an important merchant who'd sold her after her flowering to the Palace of Silk. Sansa had been astonished to hear of such a thing but Durriyah reassured her that it had been a great privilege. "There are not many girls lucky enough to have the chance," she'd insisted.
"Singers rarely made the trip to Winterfell, and we had no dancers, nor mummers," Sansa admitted absently. "It was such a long journey and the weather usually drove back any who tried." She took no pains in hiding her birth among the handmaidens. They were all fond of the Costa's – or, at least, fond of their gold – and Sansa doubted they'd betray her secret. Besides, she would never have been able to keep the secret in a palace of gossiping girls and even if they did want to tell somebody the gates were always locked. Ginny would sniff out their intentions before they managed to put their slippers on.
"I've never seen snow but a poet told me it's like falling diamonds," Durriyah admitted.
Sansa smiled but did not correct her new friend. Snow is beautiful yes, she thought, but deadly. It can freeze the breath in you.
They all dressed in the gauzy light dresses of Braavos except that tonight they also strung necklaces of fine jewels around their necks and hung pearls from their ears in honour of the feast, all gifts from their various patrons or admirers. One or two of the younger handmaidens went without jewels but were happy enough to experiment with different hairstyles and paint their lips pink. A girl named Nadia brushed a pale powder across Sansa's face and circled her eyes with a flick of liquid charcoal. On her cheeks she painted two streaks with rouge gloss and rubbed them in to make her look like a painted doll.
"Your skin is like milk," Nadia complimented, her accent heavy and thick. She had the darkest skin that Sansa had ever seen and her beautiful eyes were long and cat like. They looked as though they missed nothing. Sansa leant forward so that Nadia could string a necklace of amber around her neck and as she did so inhaled the other girl's exotic perfume. It spoke of sunsets and forbidden kisses. She complimented her on it and Nadia kindly dashed some on her neck, and then moved to gently rub a little on both Sansa's nipples. Sansa blushed and kept her gaze away but the older girl only giggled then turned the young Stark towards the mirror to look at herself.
The dress she was wearing was a sheer white and fell to the floor like a waterfall. It hung loosely about her growing body but as she turned she could see the outline and curves of her hips and breasts. A dress such as this would've once scandalised her but here she felt only glamorous. She wore golden sandals on her feet and two golden bands above her elbows in the Tyroshi fashion, which had been gifts from one of Giacommo's friends, and her hair was left loose so that it curled down her back. With her dress, her hair, and painted face she looked beautiful, exotic, and undoubtedly virginal. She wondered briefly what her mother would think of her new look.
She was about to thank Nadia for her help when a knock came from her door. "My ladies, the guests have begun to arrive," a servant warned. So instead she grinned at her new found friends and held out her hands.
"Let us dance."
The Palace of Silk had already been a beautiful building, but tonight the Costa's had outdone themselves. They'd hung new banners and tapestries from the walls (in subtle colours of Tully blue and red), brought in extra goose stuffed cushions for the shiny white floor, and the thick Dornish wine flowed generously. Best of all, they'd hired entertainers of all sorts to amuse the guests and Sansa had spent a good half an hour watching a Dothraki man swallow fire and juggle sharp knives on his chin. Afterwards there had been a mock show where two ugly dwarf's pretended to joulst from the backs of a pig and dog, but she'd turned away from the embarrassing display for it reminded her too much of the Lannister Imp.
She was not introduced as Sansa Stark as a celebration of this size would surely draw eyes from King's Landing but under the name of the Veiled Woman, an apparent favourite courtesan of Giacommo. She left the veil upstairs but was assured that all the makeup she was wearing would easily hide her identity.
Of course, Sansa knew none of more distinguished guests yet she managed to make a remarkable impression thanks to her ready smiles and courtesies. Many a man drew her into a dance and she laughed and giggled as she tried to remember the foreign steps. She was dancing in the arms of a young Braavosi man when Giacommo clapped his hands for silence. "Introducing the three great courtesans of Braavos, here to honour the Veiled Woman on her nameday."
The first courtesan seemed to be walking on air as she moved so gracefully forward. She was beautiful, as they all were, though her cheeks looked so sharp they might've been able to cut through glass. Her straight back and cool gaze made Sansa feel instantly intimidated. She was known as the Poetess, dressed as always in her favourite sombre black and gold, and accompanied by her current paramour, an exiled Tyroshi prince, who walked proudly beside her. She gave Sansa a quick nod before taking her seat on the raised dias at the front of the hall. Sansa joined the others in clapping as the next two joined the first at the front.
The Moonshadow was serene and gentle in white lace and the smiling Merling Queen was accompanied like always by a dozen little handmaidens, who scattered rose petals where they walked. She had never spoken to these women, she would never have dared, but they had their own rooms and handmaidens on the other side of the palace and they often spent their time away entertaining their clients. They were the very essence of longing, the very embodiment of desire, and every woman, including Sansa, paled in comparison.
Sansa lowered her hands and was about to ask her partner if she could sit down but then felt somebody's gaze on her. She looked up and grinned when she saw Sandor making his way through the crowds towards her.
For once she forgot her courtesies and, ignoring her partner, closed the distance between them. "You came! I thought you'd shun it."
He looked uncomfortable but was desperately trying to hide it. Sansa studied his garb and found to her surprise that he was wearing the silken dress of the Braavosi for once. The navy blue shirt stretched across his wide chest and accentuated his strong arms, while the dark cotton breeches were tucked into heavy boots of bronze. For once, he wore no sword belt. He looked as fine as any Braavosi lord...but Sansa found herself strangely missing the rough spun tunics and boiled armour which had protected her more than once.
"You look..." she started, but trailed off when she realised she was about to say gallant.
"Like a fool?" he suggested and looked down at himself with a scowl. "I feel it."
"Don't." She slowly reached out to take his clenched hand. She moved it to her waist and took the other in her spare hand. Her gown was so thin that she could feel the heat from his palm on her skin.
"I thought you preferred the dances of the Free Cities now?" he murmured.
"We aren't of the Free Cities," Sansa reminded him with a smile. "We will dance like this again when I reclaim Winterfell. This I swear."
Without a word he led her into a traditional dance of the Seven Kingdoms and the other couples recognised the steps and joined them, laughing at the hilarity of it. They moved as one, their steps correct and precise. Sansa had learnt this dance as a child with an unwilling Arya and she remembered how on her eighth name day Robb had stepped in to whirl her about. Afterwards Jon had offered his hand but she'd refused him with a childish arrogance because he was only a bastard. She regretted that more than she'd known, especially now as Jon was now her only living family. She wondered if he was still at the Wall and whether he knew about Winterfell.
She looked up into her closest friends face and wished she could smooth out his lips into a smile. She cared about him deeply and was touched that he was trying so hard to fit in with tonight for her sake. She squeezed his hand so that he looked up at her instead of at his feet and winked.
She began to lead him in the opposite direction with a quickness that surprised him. He caught on after that and even lifted his arm to spin her around. The musicians behind them saw what she was doing and hurried their pace to match, while the observers clapped and encouraged them.
Sandor didn't smile though his eyes softened and by the end of the song he had lost some of the tenseness that stilled his body.
Sansa laughed, throwing her head back with pure enjoyment as the crowds laughed with her. She gave Sandor a playful curtsey and let him lead her away from the floor.
"That was wonderful," she beamed as she tried to catch her breath. Her chest heaved with the effort and she had to take some sweet wine from one of the passing servants to cool down with. She felt her cheek and saw that she'd smudged her face paint, though could hardly care when so happy.
"I wanted to make you happy," he admitted gruffly. "I had no gift to give you other than this."
The thought made her eyes swim. "It was the best." And then she kissed him.
It was a simple chaste kiss on the cheek but by the way he dodged her and drew back Sansa felt as though she'd slapped him. The look he threw at her was one of pure fear and before she could question him he'd turned to shoulder through the crowds. "Sandor!" she called, alarmed, but he'd disappeared amongst the new faces.
She now felt as though she'd been drenched in cold water from the canals and the smile slid off her face.
"My Lady!" Durriyah approached and Sansa could tell from her glazed eyes that she'd sipped a cup too many. "What a beautiful night. I've had about a dozen marriage proposals, at least," she giggled.
"Congratulations," Sansa replied quietly, straining to look after Sandor. There! Wasn't that his navy shirt? "Excuse me, Durriyah."
"But where are you going?"
Sansa ignored her and pushed through the crowds towards the place she'd thought she'd seen Sandor. "Sandor?" she called. Since when had the singing been so loud? The musicians seemed to be playing so loudly now...and the fire eaters were making the hall hot and uncomfortable. She came across the Sealord with his chimp pet chained to hand but ignored his attempts to address her.
"My lady? What's amiss?"
She didn't know. That's why she was panicking.
She eventually managed to leave the hall and hurried outside to the gardens. Sandor was staying in one of the little gardener's houses by the back gate so she hurried towards it, thinking of how several of the apprentice courtesans snuck out here to meet their various lovers. The heels of her sandals were sinking into the grass and she knew that she was dirtying her dress. She wondered why Sandor had left her. As a grown man he had every right to be alone when he wanted but it just felt wrong to her. He never left her like this. Especially when upset which is what seemed to be happening. The look he'd given her had been one of fear...it was a look she was not used to seeing.
She came to his house and was about to burst in through the door when she heard a noise that made her flinch back.
A sob.
She recognised that type of sobbing. It was the type that racked your body and left you gulping for air.
She felt her stomach drop and she thought quickly about turning back and leaving him. But she couldn't.
She moved closer to the door and peeped through the gap. It had obviously been left ajar by those inside it, as they hurried to undress.
There was her sworn shield, partially naked - but sobbing onto the shoulder of a dark skinned woman. Nadia.
Sandor didn't seem to notice that his tears were dripping down onto the woman's bare breasts. His strong arms were holding onto Nadia's tightly, she could see his muscles taunt in the moonlight, and the cords of his neck were tense as he cried. Nadia was murmuring soothing words in a foreign tongue.
She stepped away from the house and realised she too was crying.
Even when she was back in her rooms she couldn't stop the flow of tears and when Leah drunkenly crawled into bed later she pretended to sleep.
Her thoughts were a whirl and she had to bite her lip in the darkness as to not wake her bedfellow. Her very veins seemed to be pumping a poison around her body that made her feel sick.
She felt like she was turning to stone. As though the Grey Touch was choking her.
When Sansa awoke late in the morning she was still fully dressed and her eyes were puffy and red. Her handmaidens later asked her what was wrong but she lied and blamed it on too much Dornish wine. She was numbly sitting in the bathroom tub when Leah approached. Sansa shivered when she noticed the note.
"Who?" she whispered, but knew the answer already.
Afterwards she would rip up the paper and throw the pieces into the fire.
I'm leaving, little bird, though I swore to you I wouldn't. It would not be the first time I've broken a vow.
I told you before that you shouldn't put your hopes in me. I am a man without honour. Without peace.
Stay safe and do not leave the palace. Don't do anything stupid.
I'll be back for you.
S
A.N/ I am tooooo cruel. Still, it's all part of the plan. I have to rip them apart for a little while so they can both grow up.
