Hello lovelies! I am updating twice today because I hate leaving days unfinished, but this particular day had so much activity i had to split it into two different chapters. Things to mention on this chapter is making note of the slang used in this chapter. Simp means idiot and Screw means to do harm against a person. I hope you enjoy this installment of A Search for Solace. much love! -FlamingRose
Christmas Day 1916, cont.
As they got closer to the house they heard laughter in the distance. Sansa and Jon exchanged curious looks, both identifying the laugh as Bran's. They made their way around the house to the lawn. Robb, Arya, Rickon, and Bran were shooting Arya's new bow, and by the looks of it, Arya was the master of it in the group.
"Jon! Sansa! Look!" Arya called when she saw them, "Robb got Bran to go outside!"
"As I live and breathe!" Sansa teased. She tried her best to put the moment with Jon to the back of her mind. The way Jon looked at her was so magnetic. It took all her strength to look away. She hadn't wanted to let go of him. If anything she wanted to bring him closer, feel him against her taking breaths in and out, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat against hers. But ladies did not make such bold gestures. Besides, she felt as if she'd made enough decisions of that nature for one day, and she didn't want Jon to feel uncomfortable around her.
"Bran, the snow truly becomes you," Jon chuckled, "all that time inside has ensured your complexion blends in nicely with the scenery." In retaliation Bran threw a snowball at Jon, which then started a war. Sansa squealed as she ran to Arya's side, arming herself with a snowball. She and Arya were back to back, keeping themselves safe, and then Arya hit Jon squarely in the chest.
"Et tu, Arya?" Jon dramatically shouted, "Robb, we've been betrayed!"
"This is war!" Robb declared as the fight ensued, the archery forgotten as the Stark children took off running through the grounds, Robb and Jon pursued by the rest. Jon was quicker than Robb, and he set the pace towards the beech tree on the far side of the lawn. Soon they were high in the tree, taunting Rickon, Bran, Sansa, and Arya. The latter group threw snowballs with no restraint. Bran even made it a ways up the tree before running out of snowballs to toss. Too soon, Catelyn called to the children to come inside. Dinner would be served at five, and they had to get dry and cleaned up. Reluctantly, the Starks made their way inside. Robb and Jon walked behind the rest at a distance. Robb took the opportunity to talk to Jon about all that had been on his mind.
"Our fathers have been acting strangely," Robb said to Jon.
"The war has really put things in perspective for a lot of people. Especially businessmen like our fathers."
"I think it's more than that," Robb insisted, "They keep sharing grave glances and worried looks with each other."
"Do you think the steel mill is in trouble?" Jon asked.
"I don't know. I don't think so. Has Uncle Benjen said anything to you?"
"No," Jon muttered, puzzled, "perhaps the war is affecting business. They need steel overseas. Perhaps they are concerned about supplying such an endeavor. To do so would be taking a very public stand with the British war effort."
"I don't know, but the way they look so grave worries me. Speaking of glances, what goes on between you and my sister?" Robb asked with a bump to Jon's shoulder. Jon swallowed nervously and willed himself not to blush.
"Nothing," Jon replied.
"Oh please," Robb scoffed, "something is amiss. Ever since the Lannisters' ball she's been behaving so strangely towards you."
"Strangely?"
"Out of character," Robb explained looking around to make sure no one could hear their conversation, "did something happen at the ball that I should know about? Did Joffery—?"
"No! No, Robb. Nothing happened. I made sure of it, just as you did. I asked her to dance so Joffrey wouldn't have the chance. She's just—grateful, I suppose," he finished lamely.
'Alright," Robb said relieved, "thank you for looking after my sister."
"Of course."
"You're a good friend," Robb smiled. They arrived at the terrace and walked carefully upstairs so as not to slip on the marble steps. They went their separate ways to their bedrooms. As Jon closed the door behind him he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The realizations of the day had been a lot to handle, but Robb's questions regarding Sansa had been something else entirely. The word frightening came to mind. Robb's questions regarding the mill sparked a different kind of concern. Was business bad? And if it was, why hadn't Benjen said anything? It wasn't like Benjen to keep his thoughts a secret. He took off his necktie and loosened his collar before slipping out of his shoes. Thoughts of the day were swirling in his mind. He hoped a warm bath could clear them before dinner.
Sansa lowered herself slowly into the tub of hot water. Wisps of steam came off the top warning her of the heat, but she didn't care. It was soothing to her aching body. She hadn't expected to walk from the churchyard, and her feet suffered for it. A small price to pay in exchange for Jon's comfort on Christmas. She wanted to make sure he felt like he belonged, and she would be lying if she denied feeling happy when he said her gift was the best gift he received. She closed her eyes and let her body relax and her mind wander. She allowed herself to daydream of that night's feast: snow covered grounds and warm fires, crisp wassail, mulled wine, and a plump goose made to Septa Mordane's exact specifications. Merriment and laughter, Uncle Benjen's stories and jokes, and Jon…Jon sitting across from her, his eyes shining in the candlelight, that same look he had for her the night of the Lannister ball—like he was divulging a secret to her and only her. His dark curls and handsome chin, the dimples that formed in his cheeks when he smiled…there was a knock at the door. Sansa was startled out of her reverie.
"Yes?"
"Sansa, are you almost finished?" Arya called, "I need my hairbrush!" Sansa sighed.
"Just come in to get it! And close the door. I don't want the warmth escaping." Arya quickly made her way inside and closed the door. She was dressed quite prettily in a crimson dress cinched at the waist. Sansa ordinarily would have thought crimson too bold, but Arya's dress was more subtle due to the black piping along the panels of fabric. It was a beautiful piece of fashion, and Sansa was impressedArya had such an article of clothing in her possession. She watched from the tub as her sister brushed her hair, her brow furrowed in concentration, her hair unwilling to cooperate as usual. As Arya was finishing up, Sansa stepped out of the tub wrapping herself in her dressing gown.
'Sansa, could you put this ribbon in my hair?" Arya asked holding out the black ribbon she'd gotten that morning, "it won't do what I want it to…I swear one day I will just chop it all off. Maybe it will listen to you." Sansa smiled as she took the ribbon from Arya's hand.
"There," she said after a few moments of hair taming; "now it's in its place." Sansa smiled at her sister through the mirror.
"Now I have a gift for you."
"A gift?" Arya repeated, "Why didn't you give it to me this morning?"
"I didn't want the boys to get jealous. Besides, I don't want mother and father to know. This is our secret." Arya's face broke into a smile, eager and curious. The last time someone gave her a secret gift was when Jon gave her a Swedish hunting knife two years back. It fit so perfectly in her hand, and she hid it under her bed in a spot she was sure no one would find it. She was intrigued to see what kind of secret gift Sansa's was going to be.
"Come with me to my room," Sansa said with a wink. Arya skipped behind her sister. Sansa went to her desk and took a parcel out of the top drawer. She turned and handed it to Arya who unwrapped it in haste. As she removed the brown paper, her eyes went wide.
"Sansa!" she cried, "they're wonderful!" She held out the pair of trousers to get a good look, then went to the mirror to put them in front of her on her waist. Sansa had outdone herself this year.
"I'll make alterations to them for you. They're a little long, and they might be big around the waist, but we can fix that. You can try them on after dessert tonight."
"Thank you!" Arya said as she threw her arms around her sister, "they're perfect."
"You're welcome," Sansa chuckled. Arya scampered to her room.
"You are the best sister a girl could ask for!" She exclaimed with a smile before going through the bathroom to her room. Now alone, Sansa began to dress for the evening. She put on her underthings, her stockings and underskirts. She selected a blue dress to wear to dinner. She put on a simple silver necklace and sat down to arrange her hair. She brushed it until it shined smooth and free of knots. She then carefully twisted section of her hair, placing the pin from Uncle Benjen and Jon expertly in her hair. She admired the way in gleamed in the soft light. She loved it. Not even a day and she already had such a strong attachment to it. She took a breath and tried to calm her giddiness. Septa was sure to have prepared a lemon cake with a white icing drizzle for dessert. And her goose was always the best in New England. She looked at the clock. It was time to go to dinner.
She entered the dining room to be met with warm smiles and greetings from all of her family. Everyone rushed to choose their seats and hurried to sit so that the long anticipated meal could begin.
"I want to sit next to Jon!" Arya declared as she chose her seat. Sansa chose the seat next to Robb and across from Jon, happy to see that the light from the candles made Jon's eyes shine beautifully.
"That hair pin is even more beautiful on your person, Sansa," Uncle Benjen observed, "don't you think so, Jon?" her mother cleared her throat and shot Uncle Benjen a look Sansa didn't understand. Uncle Benjen merely smiled cheekily in response.
"Yes," Jon said. He'd been admiring her since she came through the door, and he had yet to take his eyes off her. Such behavior might have unnerved Sansa before, she might have even called it indecent, but now his attentions elated and excited her. A tinge of fear came into the mix of feelings. It surprised her that her vision of Jon was changing so drastically. A knight in soot covered armor never looked so appealing before. She was starting to understand what Jon meant when he said their behavior could be considered improper.
Jon realized he had been staring at his cousin for much longer than was deemed appropriate. He averted his eyes and focused intently on unfolding his napkin and placing it in his lap. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Robb trying to make sense of his and Sansa's behavior. Jon was almost fearful of hoe Robb might react if he discovered that Jon was pining for his sister, that since late June this feeling had been seeping into him little by little, finally culminating in the realizations of this afternoon. Maybe he would understand, but then again, maybe not. It took Jon this long to understand what was happening, and it was happening to him.
Arya watched the exchange between her sister and Jon curiously. She knew something was going on between them. Why the shared glances and the walks outside in the cold? Something was amiss. She thought of asking one of them, but she doubted they would tell her. Jon might, but sansa wouldn't. When she wanted to hide something, she hid it well. She was always the best at hide and seek when they were younger.
Dinner was incredible, just as Sansa imagined it while sitting in the warm water of the bathtub. The goose, the wassail, even the green beans were wonderful. And Jon, sitting across from her, his features illuminated in the candlelight. His smiles, his handsome chin, his eyes, all softened by the glow of the candles. As everyone started to move slowly to the parlor upstairs Sansa smiled with absolute contentment.
"Septa Mordane has outdone herself," Uncle Benjen declared, "You'll have to roll me up the stairs to bed. Jon, Robb, I have assigned the task to you two strong young men."
"We will do our best uncle," Robb laughed as he looked at Jon out of the corner of his eye. All through dinner Robb had kept an eye on his cousin. He was hoping Jon and Sansa might say something at dinner that would give him a clue as to what transpired between them at the Lannister house, but they said not a word to each other. They exchanged nothing but looks all night. And what's more, they were both so content to leave it at that. It was like their own language. If he didn't know any better, Robb would think the pair in love.
Arya smiled as she went up the stairs daydreaming about her trousers. She couldn't wait to go upstairs to try them on. She'd have Sansa help her, just in case they didn't fit. That way, Sansa could fix them for her. She was one of the best seamstresses Arya knew. The Stark family had a seamstress on staff to take accoutrements off and on dresses before and after washing or to make adjustments to hemlines and waistlines, but Sansa insisted on learning as much as she could about needlework. Arya thought it silly how much Sansa fretted over ridiculous things like piping and embroidery stiches, but as she got older, she started to see the sense of knowing so much about sewing. She'd begun to admire the talent.
Once upstairs the lemon cake was served. Sansa couldn't hold back her eager smile as a piece of cake was passed to her. She savored the taste of it, the lightness and sharp, sweet citrus taste. As they all finished their cake, Ned asked for a song.
"Sansa, my dear," he said gently, "may we have a song?"
"Yes, Sansa, please sing!" Rickon added, "You have the prettiest voice."
"If Bran plays with me," Sansa answered looking at her brother. Rickon's smile grew.
"Oh yes! Please Bran!" Bran could not deny his brother's pleas. He sat down at the piano and opened the lid. He began playing, and Sansa began singing Silent Night. She continued with The First Noel. Arya and Rickon, full from the night's rich food, were drifting to sleep. Uncle Benjen, Mother, and Father were smiling to themselves. Robb was tapping his finger against his knee keeping time with the music—a far off look on his face. Jon had his eyes closed, the most beautiful, serene smile gracing his lips.
As Sansa sang, Jon could not help but look at her from time to time. She was radiant in her blue dress, and she sang so sweetly. He closed his eyes to preserve the memory and his propriety. If he didn't close his eyes he'd be staring too much, and people would notice. As she and Bran finished Oh, Holy Night, Bran stifled a yawn.
"It's late," Sansa said, "I suppose we should all retire for the night."
"A wise choice, daughter," Ned said standing. He came to kiss Sansa on the forehead before scooping up a sleeping Rickon in his arms.
'Robb, help your sister to bed," Ned said nodding towards the sleeping Arya. Robb did as his father told him, picking her up gently, trying his best not to wake her. Uncle Benjen made his way out of the parlor escorting his sister in law leaving Jon, Bran, and Sansa in the room. Bran moved to put away the sheet music, but Sansa stopped him with a gentle touch to his hand.
"That's alright Bran," she said, "I'll pick it up." He smiled sleepily and thanked her as he walked to his room. She picked up the sheet music one by one, slowly and carefully, all too aware of Jon's eyes on her back. They were alone.
"It is impolite to stare, Jon," she said softly.
"I'm sorry," he apologized, flustered. She turned to smile at him, trying her best to keep her giggles stifled. Jon's face relaxed into a relieved expression. She was teasing him again.
"It's quite alright. I am guilty of the same social sin," Sansa replied, "I definitely stared at you through dinner enough to be impolite three times over." A blush came to her cheeks. She was being bold again. A lady did not speak like this. Arya would be so proud of her.
"It's alright. I didn't mind," Jon replied with a smile. He wondered at his lack of filter. You idiot what are you saying? He chastised himself internally. They stood facing each other, the air thick with tension. They both could feel their own yearning build with every second they stood so far apart. Jon took one step forward.
"Sansa—"
"Jon?" she inquired mirroring his steps.
Jon lost his nerve. That familiar guilt was coming to the surface. He wasn't high born. He was not worthy of a woman like her.
"Merry Christmas," he said. Sansa was too close to take the resignation. She wanted so badly to touch him. Before she lost her nerve, she quickly took steps toward him and put a hand on his forearm, like she had during their walk. In a blur, she kissed him on the cheek. Jon's eyes widened in surprise.
"Merry Christmas," she said quietly.
Jon was not himself, or perhaps he was finally behaving as himself when he moved a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb grazing her cheek, and glanced at Sansa's mouth. The way he looked at her so uninhibited, so intently and so vulnerable, Sansa was sure he was going to kiss her. Instead he closed his eyes, his hand cupping her cheek, and leaned his forehead against hers. He rested there for a moment before slowly backing away from her.
"Goodnight," he muttered before escaping quickly to his room. Sansa sunk down in the nearest chair desperate to find her breath again. She somehow lost it. Jon took it when he closed the distance between them. She needed a moment to compose herself.
Jon closed the door to his room behind him and let out the breath he'd been holding. His face felt hot and his heart was beating at what must have been a mile a minute. His mind raced as he undressed. What was he thinking? What if Uncle Ned or Robb or—God forbid—Aunt Catelyn had come in? How would he explain his behavior? How could he have been so reckless? He had to stop this foolishness. She was Sansa Stark. She'd marry a handsome, intelligent, wealthy, well connected man someday. Like a Tyrell or a Baratheon. Well, not a Baratheon. Someone kinder than Joffrey, much much kinder. Like a Greyjoy. Theon perhaps, once he came to his senses and stopped courting a new girl every week. Someone like that was an appropriate match for Sansa, not Jon. But the way she had said his name…so full of hope…he would do anything in the world to keep her hope from shattering. And she kissed him. Sansa—the perfect lady! She knew her etiquette like the back of her hand, and tonight she abandoned it. Her tender gaze, gentle hand, her soft lips against his skin…Jon flopped on the bed, face in the pillow, and let out a frustrated groan that quickly turned into a growl. He was in trouble now. This is what he got for not being careful.
When Sansa finally composed herself she slowly got up from her chair and deliberately put one foot in front of the other all the way to her room. When she got to the door she opened it with a trembling hand and let herself in. She shut the door and leaned her forehead against it letting out a slow, shaky breath.
"What's up with you?" her little sister said from behind her. Sansa jumped as she turned around to see Arya perched on her bed.
"Arya! You frightened me," Sansa admonished, "I thought Robb carried you to bed."
"He did."
"You were asleep in the parlor."
"Yes, but I woke up once Robb took me to my room. I waited till he left before sneaking into your room to wait for you."
"What do you want?" Arya grinned as she brought the trousers out from under her. Sansa allowed herself a tired smile. Of course.
"I want to make sure they fit just right."
'Alright," Sansa said as she went to turn on her desk lamp, "put them on and stand in front of the mirror." She dug through her desk drawer for her sewing kit. She turned the lamp towards arya shining as much light as she could on her sister.
"This is going to take a while since I'm working in the dark, and you'll have to stay still."
"I can stand still," Arya declared confidently. Sansa stifled a laugh.
'I can!" Arya whispered back fiercely.
"Okay," Sansa conceded, "I'll believe it when I see it," she added, knowing Arya would take it as a challenge. She set about pinning hems and seams making sure to allow for flexibility. The pants would do Arya no good if she couldn't run and jump and climb in them the way her dresses sometimes inhibited her from doing. Sansa made sure to give her a full range of motion.
"What took you so long to get to your room?" Arya asked. Arya thought she sensed hesitation in her sister, but when she looked at her she was unfazed and steadily going about the task of pinning the hem of her right pant leg.
"I was picking up the sheet music," Sansa replied.
"That's a long time to pick up sheet music," Arya observed suspiciously.
"I just took my time," Sansa explained. Arya remained unconvinced.
"Now stop fidgeting or these pants will never be hemmed," Sansa said changing the subject. Arya looked forward again. She didn't press her sister, but she knew she was hiding something. She thought back to that evening's dinner. Surely Jon knew. They seemed to be sharing the secret, whatever it was. Arya decided to change the subject.
"I don't want to go back to the city," she said softly, "I want to stay in Winterfell."
"The Lannisters are sure to comment on our absence if we don't go to the Tyrell's New Year ball," Sansa answered not looking up from her task.
"All the more reasons to stay put," Arya bristled, "screw the Lannisters. They're all a bunch of simps, the lot of them."
"Arya!" Sansa scolded, "You wouldn't want harm to come to Myrcella, would you?"
"I suppose not."
"Remember, she is still a Lannister."
"I still think they're simps."
"No one as cruel as Joffrey could get away with the things he does by being a simp," Sansa said, her voice low with distaste. Arya smirked at her sister's use of slang.
"I didn't think'simp' was a word proper ladies used," Arya teased.
"I seem to be doing a lot of things proper ladies don't do lately," Sansa blurted. She focused on pinning the hem of the left pant leg.
'What kind of things?" Arya asked eagerly, her mischievous smile making its way onto her face.
"Hold still," Sansa ordered.
"Don't change the subject," Arya shot back, "what kinds of things, Sansa?" Sansa took her time answering, hoping the silence would be too much for her sister, but Arya stubbornly waited—Sansa finished pinning the pant leg before answering.
'Well, getting into a snowball fight today was not very ladylike," Sansa replied, grateful she thought of something, "or wandering through the churchyard in the snow."
"I guess getting your skirts wet in the snow doesn't fit in the manners book," Arya assented. Sansa was glad there wasn't enough light for Arya to see her blush. She'd have to be more careful with her words in the future.
'Alright Arya, your trousers are pinned. Tomorrow I will tighten the waist for you, but I am tired and must sleep."
"Oh please finish the waist Sansa!"
"Tomorrow dear sister," Sansa insisted, "tonight I need rest." She put her sewing kit in her desk drawer as a sign of finality. No more alterations would be done that night.
"Alright, tomorrow," Arya agreed reluctantly. She tip toed her way back to her room, and Sansa began to undress. She changed into her nightgown, the silver hairpin being the last thing she took out of her hair. She carefully placed it back in the small box it came in. She turned off the light and slipped between the sheets. She closed her eyes hoping for a dreamless, uncomplicated sleep.