Author's Notes: Sorry about the delay with this chapter… The start of Game of Thrones Season 8 is confusing me a lot, many characters there being so profoundly different than in the canon and consequently, in this fic, that it just makes my head spin… And it is hard to avoid it, its presence so pervasive in the media at the moment. Besides, I don't particularly need to avoid it either, as I do enjoy different fanfictions of our beloved characters - some more, some less, and try to endure the bad with the good.
That said, the writing is a bit slower for now – but the good news is that the season is short.
Once more, many thanks to Hardlyfatal for betaing!
The next chapter will pick up from Arya and Gendry again (and may I say that I rejoice the path their story has taken in the show and cross my fingers that it will be along the similar lines in the books… with that extra finesse brought on by GRRM!).
As always, thank you so VERY MUCH for all the lovely comments I have received - they make my days!
In the previous chapter: The Stark troops have united in Riverrun, where Lady Catelyn has made it her mission to transform Arya into a lady again. Arya accepts it better than before, having learned more about the world and a woman's role, but to her chagrin the gulf separating her and Gendry grows bigger and bigger. As a result of a challenge issued to Gendry by Theon, Gendry starts training in sword and scholarly matters, a notion Lady Catelyn supports as a way for him to become his own man one day. A chance remark Arya hears makes her wonder if King Jon could legitimise Gendry in the future, thus making their situations more compatible.
Sansa
"Lady Sansa," the Elder Brother greeted Sansa from behind his desk that was overflowing with books, parchments, earthen jars, hessian bags and various tools and utensils. It looked like the desk of her Uncle Tobin, an amateur genealogist and historian. The only thing missing was her uncle's trusty laptop.
The man behind the desk was nothing like her uncle, though, with his military bearing and stern outlook, and in truth, Sansa was a bit nervous.
She had woken up that morning still feeling the warm aftermath of the previous night's encounter, the slight physical discomfort having already dissipated. It had been all she had dreamt of, Sandor a surprisingly gentle lover despite noticeably not having had much experience in the finer aspects of lovemaking. Yet his instincts had been intuitively correct, and his body just as glorious as Sansa had anticipated, as much as she admonished herself for such shallow thoughts.
After dressing and visiting the kitchens to get hot water for her moon tea, Sansa had made her way to her long-awaited meeting with the Elder Brother; the busy leader of the brothers had finally found time for it.
The Elder Brother looked upon Sansa kindly enough; thus encouraged, she stepped closer and sat down on the chair he pointed.
'Elder Brother, I am so glad you agreed to see me," she started.
"My duties keep me busy, as you can see, but we rarely have visitors of nobility. The least I can do is to give you some of my time." He leaned back, put down the parchment he had been studying and crossed his arms, all the while studying Sansa from under his eyebrows. "What can I do for you, my lady?"
"I…" Sansa didn't know how to start, a rare uncertainty creeping in. This man was her idol. She had read everything about him she had been able to find – which was admittedly not that much. His origins were obscure, his personal life clouded in shadows, even his exact date of death had been debated by the academics. What had been known, without a doubt, was that he had been a genius and one of the most forward thinkers of all time.
No wonder Sansa felt jittery. Yet there was something she wanted from him and there was only one way to get it - to ask - so she plunged ahead.
"I would like to become a healer to help people in need and your skills are highly regarded in that area. Hence I was wondering if you could help me to learn?" Her mouth was dry and her throat was growing thick. Meeting people she admired always had that effect on her, despite her usually unflappable self-confidence.
The Elder Brother smiled benevolently. "To help people, you say? It's very admirable; the smallfolk will be grateful for a lady who is so invested in their well-being. And there is so much you can do: provide a safe space, food, warmth, and carers to look after the sick... and coin is always welcome, and can be used in many ways to assist the stricken."
Sansa pinched her lips together. Obviously she hadn't made her intentions clear.
"I didn't mean that way – although I will make sure that it, too, will happen. I meant that I personally want to become a healer."
The Elder Brother frowned. "Why would you want that, if you don't mind me asking? You're a noble lady, and undoubtedly you shall marry soon and your time will be taken by supporting your husband and his house, and in due course, supervising your children. Being a healer is hard work and it would be most unusual for a lady like you to take on such a dirty and unpleasant vocation."
Sansa understood him, she truly did, but couldn't help a flash of annoyance. She clenched her jaw and tried to maintain her patience.
"With all due respect, I know that, but I came here specifically to see you and further my skills, if possible." Sansa maintained her tone calm and polite, but was determined to get her point across, "I escaped the Red Keep on my own after being kept there as a prisoner of the crown. I travelled across Westeros in a one-horse wagon with my father without being apprehended by the troops sent after us. I came here with only a few of trusted companions, in the company of men whose house is the stern enemy of mine. I believe many of those things could be considered unusual for a lady."
The Elder Brother pressed the tips of his fingers together and eyed Sansa thoughtfully. He didn't seem offended, which Sansa took as a good sign.
"Yes, they would. Maybe you are, indeed, different. But why healing? What do you know about the mysteries of body and mind?"
Sansa though for a moment. She tried to recall how much was known about medical science at that time. Would she blow her cover if it appeared she knew too much? However, she knew she had to impress the Elder Brother for him to accept her.
"I know that a human body is a magnificent and complicated instrument. Its powerhouse is the heart that drives blood through many vessels to limbs and torso, and it is fuelled by food that gets absorbed from our guts, and air from our lungs. I know that people can get sick because of reasons beyond our understanding, or because of an injury, or because of elements they catch from the air, water or from their surroundings." Sansa stopped to gather her thoughts, then continued.
"I know that a broken bone must be set to the same shape as it was before, and with the wounds, the most important thing is to keep them clean so they don't suppurate. I know that if the disease is in the guts, it is harder to treat, but there are herbs that can be used to help. I know that the sick must be kept clean and well-nourished and allowed to rest, but once they start getting better, they must exercise to regain the strength of their body and muscles."
She stopped to catch her breath before continuing, but the Elder Brother raised his hands and bowed his head in mock submission.
"That is quite enough, my lady! I see when I've been beaten. What you say is mostly true, although some of those statements are quite radical. Where did you learn all that?"
Sansa blushed. "We had a wise maester in Winterfell, and some old women still had ancient knowledge from the times reaching as far as to the First Men. In King's Landing I spent some time with Grand Maester Pycelle."
All that was naturally just blatant lies but she hoped that it sounded believable enough. Luckily the Elder Brother didn't interrogate her on the details but leaned back in his chair, smiling.
"You have paid attention, I see. I trust you would do the same should I share some of my secrets with you?"
"I would, I swear!" Sansa bit her lips to avoid smiling too broadly. "If I could just follow you on your rounds and observe, maybe ask a few questions – I would be ever so grateful!"
"I can see no harm in having you to join me – but if you do, you must promise to do exactly as I say and when I say. Do we have an understanding?"
Sansa nodded. "We do."
They agreed for Sansa to come again the next morning, and then the Elder Brother gave her a hand-crafted booklet filled page after page with descriptions of various illnesses, their symptoms and suggested cures. Sansa had a quick look at it but didn't recognise it as one of the books later reproduced as facsimiles she had read in her own time.
That made it even better – what a luxury it would be to read unpublished works of the famous Elder Brother!
As Sansa was leaving the main building, one of the brothers who was allowed to speak ran after her.
"Lady Sansa!"
Sansa stopped and smiled at the man. "Yes?"
"Ser Jaime asked to speak with you, if you may." The brother was breathing hard after his sprint. Sansa wondered when Jaime had had a chance to ask after her, and for a moment she felt a temptation to decline. Yet… maybe she was being unfair. The least she should do would be to hear the man.
"Very well. I will see him right away." She bent her head in acquiescence and turned back towards the guest rooms.
Sansa knew that Brienne's upset the previous day couldn't have been caused by anyone else, and the good opinion Sansa had started to form of Jaime had been ruined in one sweep. Irritation hastened her footsteps until she had arrived at his room.
Jaime lay in his bed, his upper body supported with pillows. As soon as Sansa entered the room, he straightened himself even further.
"Lady Sansa, I am grateful that you came," he said. His face was haggard, deep grooves etched into his forehead.
"You wanted to see me about something?" Sansa didn't waste time on preambles or courtesies. If she was right in her suspicions, the man didn't deserve any.
"I did, indeed. I can't exactly come and go from this room, so…." Jaime shrugged. "I wanted to ask you about Lady Brienne."
Sansa frowned. "What about her?"
"She didn't arrive this morning as agreed, so I was wondering what has happened. Did she say anything to you?"
Jaime leaned forward as he spoke, his expression keen. Sansa wondered whether it was only the loss of a personal helper or whether there was something else behind his apparent eagerness.
"No, she didn't. I only suggested this arrangement if she was willing, and she is free to change her mind about it at any time. Maybe she decided that it didn't suit her, after all."
Jaime dropped his head. "I was afraid of that, and yet hoped it would not be so."
"What happened yesterday, in any case?" Sansa's curiosity got the better of her.
"She didn't say anything?"
"No, but I could see that she was upset." 'What did you do to her?', Sansa wanted to ask but settled to hearing what Jaime said, first.
The muscles of Jaime's jaw tensed. "If she didn't share it with you, I shall respect her decision on it. Suffice to say that I told her something she didn't take too well. I never meant to offend her, believe it or not."
"Hmph." So it had been something Jaime had said. Sansa's veneer of courtesy chafed and she longed to leave him to stew in the mess of his own making. He probably deserved it, the arrogant man. How dared he to be rude to Brienne!
Then Jaime Lannister surprised her.
"When you see her, would you – could you tell her that I want to apologise to her? Tell her also that should she decide to come back, I promise I will not raise the subject again."
Jaime swallowed hard, his eyes intent upon Sansa's face. From the way he then cleared his throat and pulled his collar, Sansa guessed Jaime had not resorted to such pleading many times before in his life.
She relented, but only slightly. "I will pass the message to her, but it is completely up to her what she does with it. I will not presume to pressure her one way or another. Good day, Ser Jaime."
With that, she turned on her heel and left.
"He has nerve, I'll admit that much," Sansa remarked to Brienne later that evening.
"How did he look?"
Sansa turned to face Brienne, thrown by her question. "Look? Well, he appeared tired. Worn-out. Pale." Then she understood. "He did seem to be regretting whatever it is he did or said."
They were sitting on a long bench outside Sansa's hut, opposite the woods and shrubs surrounding the clearance where the women's accommodation had been built. The wind rustled the leaves and brought with it a salty breeze from the nearby sea. Sansa breathed it in, enjoying the smells and sounds so deeply ingrained in her consciousness from her childhood in White Harbor.
Throwing another sideways glance at Brienne, Sansa touched her arm.
"You don't have to share your secrets with me, Lady Brienne, but it pains me to see you hurt. Whatever Ser Jaime did, he had no right and I don't expect you to go back to him. I am sorry I even asked."
Brienne closed her eyes and flinched visibly. "He was kind to me, my lady."
"Kind? To make you cry? I saw the signs of your tears yesterday, Brienne. I have understood you have a certain fondness for him, which I have to confess surprised me at first. My lady mother told me you didn't even like the man and wanted to be removed from his company – but I guess something changed along the way."
"He is not what people think he is." Brienne's voice was quiet but steady.
"I thought so too when I met him. I had formed quite a different picture of him from the gossip at the court," Sansa admitted. "And yet he hurt you. I can't forgive him for that."
"He proposed to me," Brienne said so softly that at first, Sansa wasn't sure if she had heard her correctly.
"What?"
"He asked me to marry him," Brienne repeated, only marginally louder.
Sansa was flabbergasted. Jaime? Proposed to Brienne? How was that even possible?
"But… how could he? He is in the Kingsguard and the knights of the Kingsguard have sworn not to take a wife!"
"He was dismissed from his position. He suspects Lord Tywin pulled the strings, but it was in Joffrey's hand the letter of dismissal was written."
"Oh!" Sansa's surprise was turning into excitement. "In that case, and if you truly like him, isn't that wonderful?" She squeezed Brienne's arm in her delight, being rewarded only with a heaved sigh.
"My lady, can't you see that it would be impossible? Lord Tywin wouldn't settle for a gooddaughter from a minor noble house, especially one sworn to his enemy. He married his own daughter to a king and won't settle for much less with his son and heir."
Sansa was speechless. The indifference with which opinions and preferences of children were met by their parents still sometimes caught her by surprise. Even Jaime, who must be well into his thirties, was expected to toe the line his father drew in such matters.
"Surely it wouldn't matter so much? Lord Tywin would get his wish of seeing Jaime married and the next lord of Casterly Rock, and you –"
Brienne interrupted Sansa, a rare occurrence for her. " –and I would be the goodsister of Queen Cersei and the new lady of Casterly Rock. I would have to abandon my own house and my lord father, as long as he supports House Baratheon. People would call me a broodmare and worse, and one day Jaime would look at me and realise that he asked me only because I was there to help him when he needed help the most."
Sansa stared at Brienne's downcast head and slumped shoulders and realised with sadness that Brienne spoke the truth: the truth about what people would say and what kind of nightmare would await her in the den of proud Lannisters and under Cersei's wrath – although perhaps not about Jaime's feelings. Sansa re-assessed her meeting with Jaime in a new light after Brienne's confession and recognised the agony behind Jaime's pleading.
She patted Brienne's hand, not knowing how else to comfort her. The unfairness of the situation – not of Brienne's or Jaime's doing, but because of the patriarchal views of the time – frustrated her, but how would either of them be able to do anything about it? If Jaime had indeed been dismissed from the Kingsguard, he was expected to marry, and marry well. Meaning, according to Lord Tywin's wishes. Although Sansa hadn't met the famous Warden of the West, she had read and heard enough about him to know that he was a man not easily swayed or prone to sentimentalism, even when it came to his children.
The women sat still for a long time, Sansa's hand still resting on Brienne's, while the sun descended behind the woodland, sending its last purple hues across the field before the darkness of the night swallowed them.
Sandor arrived after midnight. Sansa had dozed off, secure in her knowledge that he would not abandon her, the nervousness of the other days completely forgotten.
A quiet sound of door opening and closing woke Sansa. When she opened her eyes, she saw Sandor standing in the middle of the room still as a statue, staring at her.
There was no threat in his gaze and despite the menacing figure he presented with his size and looks, Sansa felt something soft and fragile blooming inside her, something that filled her with happiness and security. She was not alone anymore in this foreign world amongst strangers, having to hide her secret in order to survive.
She had Sandor now: a confidante, a lover, a companion. He was a hard man, yes, and reserved. He harboured secrets of his own, nightmares beyond anything she could imagine, but she hoped that in time Sandor, too, would realise that his time as an outsider and a loner was over.
Sansa stretched herself, thus alerting him to the fact that she was awake.
"Sandor," she whispered, her tone an invitation.
And he came to her.
This time their time together was more relaxed, more exploratory. As comfortable as they were in each other's company, they didn't talk more about Sansa's revelations and Sandor asked surprisingly few questions from her. Sansa gained an impression that as long as he didn't know about the specifics, he could brush them aside and pretend they didn't exist.
She understood him and in part felt the same. She neither, was ready to face anything that might shatter the hard-won accord they shared. Just to live and love and enjoy, without bringing in the complications of real life – she needed that as much as he did. There would be time for serious discussions later. They would have to face obstacles and challenges whether they wanted it or not, so would it be so wrong to have this time to live in their own little cocoon of happiness?
Afterwards, Sansa told him about Jaime and Brienne. Sandor nodded, not surprised by the turn of events, astounding Sansa once more with is perceptiveness.
"He may not want to give up so easily," Sandor spoke into the crook of her neck, his lips moving against her skin, the scarred side scratching it.
"Why do you think so?"
"Stubborn as a mule when obsessed. Doesn't know when to let go."
After Sandor left, Sansa thought about his words and wondered where it would leave Brienne. Would Jaime be successful in wooing her, or would she give up her chance for happiness because of Jaime's affiliations? The fact that she might be facing a similar battle with her own family over Sandor was not lost on her, but she refused to think about it.
Later. All that must wait until later.
The next few days saw Sansa busy, spending her mornings with the Elder Brother on his rounds with the sick at the island and afterwards in his study discussing the cases they had seen, her afternoons with Shae teaching her how to dress, do her hair, speak and carry herself, and nights… they were reserved for Sandor.
They didn't have all that much time, Sandor sneaking into her hut after everyone had retired, leaving again well before the dawn to avoid being caught. As much as Sansa trusted her companions, she wasn't sure they were ready for the scandalous revelation of her relationship with the Hound.
Brienne had stayed away from Jaime for one day, but after some deliberation, had agreed to go back to him. To Sansa's renewed assurances that she didn't have to, Brienne had pursed her lips and said that she had promised to help him and that's what she would do.
From thereon Brienne went to Jaime every morning, but as far as Sansa knew, those sessions were their only interactions. However, Brienne never came back from them in distress, so Jaime must have been a man of his word and Sansa felt it would have been imprudent for her to meddle in it any further.
On the third day of Sansa's new arrangement with the Elder Brother, he got called away on an urgent matter in the middle of their session in his study. He left, instructing Sansa to wait, as sorting the issue shouldn't take long and he would be back soon.
While he was gone, Sansa meandered around the room studying the items and manuscripts scattered so freely across all available surfaces. One big bundle of papers especially piqued her interest after she glanced the heading at the top: 'Observations On The Effect Of Nourishment On Recovery From A Fever'.
She picked up the top stack of papers and saw it was a carefully constructed study where people recovering from fever were given different foods and observed for their recovery. The first group had received mostly dairy products, the second mostly meat and the third mostly vegetables. Everything was written in a neat hand in an organised fashion, and something in the way the observations were laid out, intrigued her. Somehow it looked, in the lack of a better word, familiar.
Sansa looked through the next stack and saw that it was very similar in structure and style, but about comparing different herbs and their effects on wound healing. The next after that was about analysing the stools of a patient to see whether there was a connection in their appearance and the condition from which the patent suffered.
All of the studies were very methodical and organised in the same fashion, proceeding from general observations and background to the way how the study was conducted and which endpoints were analysed and how, then proceeding to the results and conclusions and what it meant. After recognising the pattern, Sansa looked in more detail the papers in her hand and gasped.
Indeed, the first page carried the written heading of 'Introduction', and on the second page she could see 'Materials and Methods', then 'Results', 'Conclusions' and finally, 'Discussion'. As she leafed through the rest of that stack and then through the other two she had already read, and a few more from the same pile, she saw all the headings repeated time after time, without the fail, in each of them.
She dropped the papers as if they burned her fingers when the realisation hit her.
The hours spent over scientific and medical journals during her advanced undergraduate studies came back to her, the universally used and accepted manuscript journal always following that same basic principle; IMRaD, as it was abbreviated. Nonetheless, it was a modern principle, only in use for a hundred years or so, as she knew from her readings of medical history.
Sansa stepped away from the table, sudden coldness hitting her at the core. Was it possible that the Elder Brother had invented that style completely on his own? Had he been a forerunner in this too, despite none of those manuscripts having survived until the modern times?
Sansa sat down, taking deep breaths to fight away lightheadedness engulfing her. After having calmed down, she tried to think the matter through rationally.
Maybe he had – maybe he had really seen the beauty and logic in organising his thoughts in such a manner? He was an advanced thinker and an experimentalist, which she had already seen with her own eyes.
Or…
Maybe he is from the future, too?
By the time the Elder Brother returned Sansa had calmed down. She had decided she needed to dig into the matter a bit deeper.
"So, where were we, my lady? I recall we were discussing the unfortunate boil Brother Hidbert has developed, did we not?"
"I am sorry, but while you were gone, I took a liberty of looking through some of these studies – I hope you don't mind?" Sansa pointed at the stack.
The Elder Brother glanced at them without concern. "No, I don't, not at all. I agreed to help you, and I was planning to get to those soon anyway." He sat down, his heavy bulk making the chair creak under him.
"I noticed they have a rather unusual structure in the way they have been organised. I have never seen books in that format." Sansa looked at him innocently, from all accounts being only an eager student wanting to learn from the master. "May I enquire what made you write them that way?"
The Elder Brother's demeanour changed subtly. The way he tensed was hardly noticeable, but Sansa saw it.
"No reason, it just seems to make more sense."
"It is rather unusual. Did you come up with that structure on your own?" Sansa was not ready to give up so easily, but she took care to use her most polite tone
The Elder Brother squinted at her. "Well, if you have to know, I was shown that way by a maester who spent some time on the Quiet Isle before unfortunately passing away. I found his method very efficient and practical and have followed it ever since."
Sansa's pulse quickened. There had been someone else? Or was that merely a cover story to hide the truth? They way he was shifting in his chair, as if it had suddenly become uncomfortable, made her think that was the case.
The Elder Brother was definitely hiding something, Sansa was convinced.
And she simply had to get into the bottom of the matter.
