Previously on PotG: Sansa is finally free from Joffrey. Nathalia faints after a whisper. Alessandra and Dyllon turn to each other for comfort at the wall.
Chapter 26: You're A Child
*Sansa Stark*
Shae hums a soft melody as she braids Sansa's hair. The air is calm; making the servants spread gossip that a violent storm will soon pour on King's Landing. For people without education, they can be quite perceptive. A deep sense of calm envelops Sansa. She could just close her eyes and pretend that she is back in Winterfell with her mother. Every night, they would spend a short time speaking while Catelyn would braid her hair. When is she ever getting out of this hellish prison?
"You're quiet, milady." Shae comments as she starts to braid. Fiery red hair falls like smooth water as the maiden's gentle fingers work their magic on the young wolf's hair.
Sansa looks at her reflection in the mirror. Even her appearance has changed. The Tully face she has inherited from her mother is turning her round cheeks to hollow. Her eyes are as blue as the saltwater being shoved towards the shore. Sometimes it scares her how much of a Tully she looks like. Why can't she have even one remembrance that Ned Stark has fathered her?
"Just thinking," She answers finally.
"About what?" Shae has never been one to stop herself from asking questions.
Sansa meets her handmaiden's concerned gaze in the mirror before dropping it. "Nothing," What harm could one confession do, right? "It's been—It's…everything's changed."
The woman looks at her confused before nodding in understanding. "Just thank ze godz for not marrying you to zat monzter Joffrey,"
A bittersweet smile is given to the Lorathi woman. Yes, she may be free from Joffrey but she is still in King's Landing. He is the king and he can still get away with any beating that he orders to give her. "Yes, but I'm still here."
"Ze Kingslayer iz back," This brings a wave of red to show in the young Stark's cheeks. "He'll protect you," The sentence sounds sure as it comes out from Shae's mouth. Natasha had already warned her that Cersei might be less civil and more of a conniving bitch now that Sansa doesn't anymore hold the title of Joffrey's betrothed—more so the fact that Jaime Lannister seems to appoint himself as one of Sansa's bodyguards instead of working his way once more on the queen's good side.
Once her handmaiden is done, Sansa stands to allow the others access to put on her skirts and adjust her corset. A gasp escapes her lips when some maid chooses to tighten the corset around her lean body. A theory starts forming in her mind. Has Cersei ordered them to suffocate her to death?
Knock. Knock.
"Come in," She calls after she checks if anything inappropriate is exposed.
Natasha smiles as she walks inside and behind her is Ser Steffon. Sansa's cheeks starts to redden she catches the playful gaze he's sporting. For the few moments that she has spent in his presence, it is an observation that the male helper has enough humour to lighten up even the darkest of days. He's very handsome, she observes. A few women have already compared him to Ser Loras Tyrell, seeing as their features are similar. They could probably pass as brothers, Sansa muses.
"Good morning, Lady Sansa."
She feels the mischievous half-smile that he is sporting in his lips when her hand made contact with it. The handmaidens start to work on the upper part of her dress so she had to pull away after only very few seconds of contact.
"You look well this morning," Natasha changes the dying flowers on her bedside to fresh ones. Her colored skin is highlighted by the rose-colored dress she is wearing. Sometimes, it still shocks Sansa how she and Nathalia could look so much alike. She doesn't know whether she could like that for her and Arya.
Arya.
Her name is still like a knife wound in Sansa's heart. All her life, she has spent fighting with her little sister…exchanging insulting nonsense when they should have taken care of each other in this den of lions. She wonders if her little sister is still alive. Sansa hopes that she will still be her by the time Arya decides to go back to King's Landing. The smallest lady wolf is the only reason she's staying in hell.
"Perhaps a walk in the gardens would give your pale winter's face some good?" Finished with her dressing, Sansa takes the extended hand of Ser Steffon as he leads her away from the grey confines of her chambers. A few greetings are extended to the noblemen passing by the halls for business. Apparently a few ladies have already taken it upon themselves to catch the eye of the war knight (even though they all know he's a bastard). When they finally reached the gardens, some women threw little snipes and shot her glares.
Shae and Natasha are talking quietly while trailing them from behind. The two have become confidants and have worked their way up the gossip ladder in the castle. If anyone does something remotely suspicious, Natasha would always investigate it further and Shae would report everything to Tyrion. It seems funny. Two noble lions pretending to be spiteful and vindictive. Tyrion and Jaime have changed sides so quickly that Sansa is afraid that her family is being played. After all, Tyrion loves mind-challenging secrets.
But then she remembers the times that the dwarf has saved her. The kindness in his small, different colored eyes is not easily perfected by a viper.
She feels a squeeze on her arms. "What are you thinking so hard about?"
A giggle of embarrassment escapes her when she is caught. "Everything,"
"Well that's a lot to think about this wonderful hour of the morning. Do you often spend time thinking such drastic, dark thoughts when you could simply be enjoying the warmth of the sun?" Well he is a bit poetic, isn't he?
"I love the sun," She finally consents. A light-headed feeling invades her head. She's just like a child again, strolling in the blissful gardens with a handsome fellow talking about romantic notions about the sun. "Winterfell was always cold. I've always wanted to be in King's Landing before—," She trailed off, not really in the mood to talk about the catastrophic results of her life here. The scenery has not changed. It is still as beautiful as ever. It is the people that drive her away from here. She wonders if the free cities are the same as King's Landing. If so, her one true wish is to flee the sordid games that the families—including hers—are playing.
"—before your betrothed turned into a selfish bastard?"
She slaps him in the arm whilst looking around to see if anyone has heard him. "You cannot simply verbalize those words in here. The queen has spies everywhere. You would be dead before you can drink a sip of your wine in your chambers tonight,"
For a moment, he looks surprised at the threatening tone in her voice. He opens his mouth to say something before closing it again. "Does this mean you're thinking of my chambers?"
She laughs at the hilarity of his statement. Steffon says it in the most casual, and curious tone and is rewarded with a dazzling smile. She has gone through a lot for someone so young. He almost feels sorry for her. "You're so silly,"
For the sake of watching her smile more, the young helper surprises her by twirling her around. Behind Sansa's flashing red hair flowing in the air, Natasha gives Steffon a small gratified glance.
"You have your brother's smile," He comments once the laughter subdued. The others walking the gardens are completely curious but the conversation seems to be mysteriously hard to understand. The Stark girl and the bastard boy simply look like two lovers taking delight in the quiet day given by the gods.
If possible, the grin in Sansa's face widens. "I do?" Then she pondered on the statement. "Which one?"
They continue walking. This time, her head almost seem to find its way resting on the nook of Steffon's shoulders. "Robb and Jon—since they are the only ones I've met before."
"Do I really?"
It dawns on him that this is more important to her than he thinks. So he gives her his most open smile. "Your eyes—though of different shape than theirs—light up the same way."
"How do you know this?"
He leads her to a more covert part of the gardens. With chant or not, talking of the Starks like family within hearing distance of the Lannisters is like treason to itself. "I was a lonesome, travelling helper living alone and helping only the smallfolks overseen by the greater ones when Robb Stark announced siege towards King's Landing. You don't know how important it is for a helper to gain respect of his or her fellow according to the amount of influence his or her help has done in Westeros. I gathered what little I have and went to your brother's camp. I am very good hunter, you see. I figured the only way to get close to someone as influential as your older brother is to do him kindness. I spent a full night hunting wild boars and deers. In the end, I killed enough to feed Robb Stark and his bannermen. Greatjon is the first to greet me. He smiled his beastly smile at me and clapped me so hard on the shoulders that it was almost dislocated." They stop to laugh at the extremely overemphasized storytelling. "I was presented to Robb Stark that night and I have been his cupbearer ever since,"
"You were my brother's cupbearer?" Sansa's disbelieving tone did not escape him. "Why did you not tell him that you were a helper?"
The young guardian ponders upon her question for a moment before smiling a tight-lipped smile, "People tend to keep more secrets from us—they're intimidated by what we could do, how strong our power is. They know what a secret could do—it can ruin families, cities, even nations. However, they simply cannot keep their mouth shut when speaking with their fellows. You would not believe the amount of begrudging insults your brother's soldiers have for their undetermined fate."
"Why would they do that?" Don't they think it honorable to fight for your king?
"They're soldiers, Sansa—pawns, for lack of word. It doesn't matter how many are killed. They just need to get to the king." She shivers with pity for those poor men. "It's hard having to give up your life for the sake of a boy you've never even met. How could they possibly know that they're fighting for the better side?"
"B—but Robb is good. Joffrey is bad." She is starting to sound like an ill-tempered child.
A laugh escapes her companion. "They haven't exactly had front-seat observation in the games."
Games. The games killed her father. Everything had been a scam to see who would get the final seat on the iron throne.
"When you come back—" Sansa tightens her hold on him. "—will you please tell them I'm alright?"
He nods, and she feels something fall on her stomach. Steffon had been a great reminder of her brother. She even congratulates herself on not harboring some sort of romantic affection for him. Maybe it's because he reminds her so much of Robb. Still… she cannot deny that he is very handsome. He's leaving soon. In a small second, she wonders if she can convince him to take her. Then again, maybe she's better off in a walled city rather than sleep in a tent all night wondering if the enemies are planning a surprise attack.
"How's Nathalia?" She finds herself changing the subject.
"Your brother Jon is taking care of her," He says lightly like there's some story he hesitates to tell her. "You cannot imagine the sounds coming from their tent at night—"
"No no no no," She covers her ears, not wanting to hear more. Never has she even thought about Jon's private activities in bed. She does not even need to know that he's not that innocent as she expected him to be. "Do not continue that sentence!"
They both continue with the hysterical course of their conversation. Somehow, Sansa's gaze drifts towards the alcoves. Jaime and Cersei Lannister are in deep conversation. Somehow, the sun makes a bitter halo around the two—making them seem like a golden masterpiece. She feels a stabbing ache in the gut. She's his sister, Sansa. But they all knew the rumors circulating the sickening relationship between the two Lannisters. Unexpectedly, she feels tired and all the feelings of captivity come back.
Steffon, sensing her swift change in demeanor, follows her stare. His frown matches her once he understands what made her seem so sad. "He's a cunt,"
"No, she is." Sansa slaps a hand to cover her mouth as soon as the words came out.
From behind them, Shae and Natasha are mildly laughing at her slip of the tongue.
Well, it's not like she didn't mean it. To be honest, Cersei deserves far worse.
The twins, closer to them that they thought, walk in their direction—one face seemingly amused and another annoyed. They must have heard their laughter and decide to be courteous enough to greet them a good morning.
"Lady Sansa, I see you've been entertaining our guest." Even though he was a publicly known bastard of an unknown lord, Steffon was still given an honorable treatment for the praise given by Joffrey and his friendship with Jaime Lannister.
The younger girl catches the eyes of a questioning Jaime Lannister before replying, "He wanted to see the garden, your Grace. I offered since I know this area quite well,"
"Yes, when you've been frolicking with Jaime?"
"Cersei!" The said man hisses. His handsome features turn raged at the accusation. Ever since he had talked to Sansa before her, Cersei has never gotten over her jealousy.
Steffon, noticing how Jaime keeps on glancing between him and Sansa, takes the younger girl's arm and loops it through his. The irritation in the Lannister's green eyes grow. "The garden is very charming. I don't see why it is seen inappropriate for Sansa to be taking a stroll with a man. Only those with vulgar minds can process the most inappropriate thoughts. King's Landing has a certain…clandestine that I will surely miss." It takes all Sansa's willpower not to let her jaw drop at the smooth way Steffon has scolded the queen.
It would not be very good if the royal family and some of the highest in the society are found exchanging harmful words in the middle of a busy garden. Slowly, Sansa is lead away from the heated presence. Her last look behind her is seeing Jaime staring almost pensively on her and Steffon.
*Jon Snow*
He runs a finger down his beloved's pale cheek. Nathalia's olive skin often looks so bright and blooming that no one would even dare question if she is feeling sick. Now, it seems as if she is a corpse lying on their small bed. All the color is drained from her face. What had she seen in the whispers?
Jon has never worried for her safety. Even though he may seem protective, he knows that she can take care of herself. Seeing a powerful woman such as her looking so helpless, he doesn't know what to think anymore. The healer had been called and, after he examined her body, he declared that she is as fit as could be. She may have only fainted from exhaustion or stress.
Robb had checked on her once and asked how she was. Even he was frightened on Nathalia's sudden fainting spell. Then, once reassured that she was fine, he went away and married the healer from outside Westeros. Jon had felt his palm twitch as soon as he heard the news. Nathalia would surely not take that kindly. She once told him that she approved of Robb Stark's deal with Walder Frey since a sacrifice is always vital in war.
"Jon!" Nathalia sits up while clutching her heaving chest. The action is so sudden that Jon wonders for a short while if he's imagining her alertness. Her dark eyes are wide and frantic as if she's reassuring herself that she's safe. Once they landed on his unmoving figure, Nathalia launches herself in his arms. Her breathing is labored and too tense. "You're here."
Why would I not be here? "Of course I am," He whispers fiercely.
"What happened?"
"You fainted, love." Nathalia would not want him to beat around the bush anyway. Next, he looks anywhere but directly to her eyes. He has learned the hard way that she has some kind of sixth sense that tells exactly if a person's lying. Somehow, he realizes, the fact that he keeps avoiding her eyes after seeing her finally awake is more suspicious than him trying to put on a calm façade.
"Jon, what else happened?" Her voice is not one to be swayed by sweet words.
Jon sighs. He hopes that Robb would have the strength to face her wrath. At least he has an edge being her lover, while Robb has nothing but a makeshift crown not even recognized by the king of Westeros. "Robb has married the healer Talisa while you were unconscious,"
Confusion, realization, then understanding that passes through Nathalia's eyes. Jon feels that expected sense of dread when pure rage overtakes all her other emotions. He has never seen Nathalia in her guardian rage and has only heard stories from the Lord Commander that she scared the shit off Allister Thorne.
"Nathalia!" His cry is unnoticed as his beloved storms out of their tent. He does not miss the way her body seems to be parallel with her mood.
As soon as the thought of Nathalia shouting at his brother fills his head, Jon makes his way out of the tent faster than he even thought possible. It's not hard to find her for she is the only woman in the camp. Her long, dark hair is cascading against the cold wind of the upcoming winter. The men, parting to make way for the fierce guardian, peer curiously as they sense her rage. Jon continues calling her name. He knows that she notices his cries but does not turn around to give him a chance to talk some sense in her.
When she finally disappears inside Robb's tent, he knows that everything is doomed. As if the gods are willing it, the skies grow darker and a soft rumble starts to build up to a thunderstorm. This won't be good. Jon exhales his frustration before opening the entrance to Robb's tent. Great. The council's here to see Nathalia release her rage.
"What in the seven hells have you done?" Her voice is a thousand leagues and he wonders shortly if the slaves from the free cities could hear her disapproval. By now, Robb Stark is seated at his makeshift throne, eyes wide with surprise. His new wife stands beside him, holding his slowly whitening hand for support.
"I—I'm sorry?" Nobody can judge the young king for appearing weak since they have not seen the female helper filled with such distain. Even the old warriors appear to be lowering themselves in their seats to be less noticeable.
"You made a deal with Walder Frey!" Jon tries to grip Nathalia's shaking shoulders but she pushed him away. "That old fart will never forgive you for what you've done!" Untouchable…that's what she looks like. The wind picks up on her rage and joins in the torment by swaying the thin walls of the large tent. "You may be a king, but you're still a child! That is the first of many deals that you will do. Neglecting to honor your word for love! What does that imply? You're weak!"
"I am not weak!" Robb Stark, looking murderous, stands furiously. For a while, Jon's brother forgets who he is speaking to. The council stops muttering small, unintelligible words and looks at Robb Stark with a slight look of horror. Nobody has ever spoken to a helper this way.
Jon knows Nathalia well enough to distinguish the real reason of the twitch on her left eye. The only time he witnessed the obvious sign of annoyance was when she was releasing all her hidden rage by ranting about how much of an arse Karstark is. Oh fucking seven hells. "Robb!" He couldn't help but place a hidden warning in his tone.
"What, Jon? Do you think I could just stand here while she insults my worth as a king?" His half brother looks like so much like their late father that it holds Jon star struck for a short moment. Robb has always been a Tully by appearance. Is it wrong of Jon to feel a little bit envious? He has always been the one to look like Ned Stark. Right now, Robb is a king and a Stark while he will always be a bastard. "You weren't there when we won the battle of Oxcross—" Talisa's hand hang's awkwardly as Robb tugs his free. He slowly walks towards the helper as he continues speaking, "—If it wasn't for you, we would still be holding Jaime Lannister—Tywin Lannister's best swordsman—captive. I think we would be fine without you."
There is a stinging sound echoing as soon as Nathalia's hand comes in contact with the smug king's face. "You ungrateful bastard!"
"Shh shh, Nathalia, stop." Jon is beside her, soothing her by wrapping his arms around her waist and gently caressing her shaking body.
But she is relentless, "You think you're strong? Great? Those are preludes on the more brutal wars you'll encounter. Do you think they'll stop fighting once you take your sisters back?—once you bury your father's body in the tombs? You've bought yourself entrance to the most dangerous games, Robb Stark! No one ever stops playing the games. You're a child! This is only the start of the repercussions—your father dying, Sansa taken captive, and Arya lost. You're so foolish, ruining the first alliance that you have made!" The thunder bellows as the whole party goes silent. Everyone is too shocked to having witnessed a helper's wrath for them to try rationalizing the situation. "It seems I have chosen wrongly. Excuse me,"
The chaos she leaves in her depart causes the young king to stare helplessly at the entrance of the raging tent. Nathalia does love her dramatics, Jon muses.
I suck at updating, I know. I don't have a valid excuse except the beginning of college. It's not really as glamorous as I thought it would be. There is tons of paperwork, memorizations, and tests all piled up in one week. I really wanted to update since I've been getting a lot of positive feedback from you guys. I'm not promising to update weekly like I have done before, but I will do my best.
So what about that dramatic scene with Nathalia and Robb huh? It's so fun to write a character who has no filter when it comes to the eye-opening department. I am not against Robb Stark's infatuation with Talisa. In fact, I found it romantic. However, it was very foolish of Robb to decide against his promises too quickly. Who, better than Catelyn, would be the best at calling out his mistake?
Jaime and Sansa's story is a bit of a slow burn. Sorry for that. Hey, at least we're getting some jealousy now hehe
Please disregard the last chapter's author's note. I have decided against changing tense of my story. I like it better this way, anyway.
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