New Chapter! Some historical notes for you:
The Spanish War was fought mostly in the Caribbean and in the Philippines right around the turn of the century and it was the first time sensationalized, yellow journalism was used in a big way. American soldiers did die in this war, but what was really telling about this war was that people died, there were close to 3,000 casualties over the course of the few years the war was waged. the papers sensationalized it with how they spun the story. it was more important to give the American people an interesting story than a factual story. Sensationalized news sold papers. Factual, boring news did not. Truly, it was a fight for control of Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the Philippines. America went there under the pretense of helping the revolutionary effort, but there were definitely some selfish reasons for America to be so concerned. These islands had things both Spain and America wanted, so they duked it out and the islands had to suffer. In the end, the Philippines was bought from Spain for 20 million dollars by the victorious party, Puerto Rico and Guam were ceded as U.S. territories, and Cuba was free of Spanish rule. This was all outlined in the Treaty of Paris.
Something about Adoption that I haven't mentioned yet but will mention now, is that it was considered a last resort. some people thought it noble, others thought it sad and desperate. it meant you were incapable of having your own child. For a bachelor to have a child was disgraceful, but for an elderly bachelor like Benjen to adopt a child was bordering on bizarre especially in this society. also, important to remember that there was a whole stigma on non-traditional families. in some parts of the world it as being debunked, but America is a lot more puritanical than any of those countries, especially at this point.
hope you enjoy this one! - FlamingRose
December 23, 1917, Lannister House
"I can't believe you wouldn't change, Sansa," her mother said as they walked up to the Lannister's door.
"I added color, like you asked." Sansa clipped stubbornly. She was dressed in layers of black with a red necklace she added after her mother tirelessly chided her for being too morose.
"Yes, but—oh never mind. There is no sense in talking to you when you're like this." Catelyn took her husband's arm as Sansa's brother Bran came to his sister's side to offer his arm.
"I think you look brilliant," Bran said to her quietly so their mother could not overhear.
"Really?" Sansa asked, "even the red?"
"Especially the red."
"You don't think it's too dramatic?"
"No. I think it's perfect." Sansa smiled at her brother. He was growing so fast. Soon he'd be taller than her. She bravely walked into the foyer with the assurance of her brother's words. Whatever doubts the argument with her mother put in her head were tucked away when she came into the ballroom. She had no time for doubts.
Sansa discovered a power she didn't know she had as a hush fell over those whose eyes fell on her. Good, she thought, let them stare. Let them talk. Maybe when they talk they'll remember like I do.
"Sansa!' Myrcella greeted her taking Sansa's hands in hers, "It's so good to see you!"
"And You! That dress looks even lovelier in the lamplight."
"Thank you," Myrcella answered graciously, "and you are bold and stunning."
"Thank you."
"I must ask though…black?" she came in a bit closer and whispered, "you know how mother hates that color."
"Yes."
"Are you in mourning?"
"Yes," Sansa answered evenly.
"Goodness! For who?" Sansa took a deep breath. This is it, she thought, this is what you've been waiting for. Make it count.
"No one in particular," Sansa said loud enough for the group of women nearby to hear, "just the young men who have died in the war."
"Oh…well, your necklace is lovely, such red color."
"Yes, for blood spilt." She replied. Myrcella's eyes were wide and her mouth slightly open. She glanced nervously about, perhaps looking for her polite response somewhere in the air. Poor girl doesn't know what to make of me, Sansa thought.
"Boldly and excellently expressed, Miss Stark," a voice said behind her. She turned to find Jaime Lannister with a glass in his hand.
"Uncle Jaime," Myrcellas began, but Jaime wasn't finished.
"I fought in the Spanish War. I lost many friends. I can appreciate a voice to remind us war exists even if we can't see it." He raised his glass to her and she acknowledged his respectful nod.
"I like your friends Myrcella. If they are all like Miss Stark, I don't think I shall worry about you ever again." Myrcellas beamed at the compliment, though Sansa could tell she wasn't sure how to respond to her Uncle's declarations.
"Miss Stark," Jaime said with a charming smile, "Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?" He bowed as he held out his hand. Sansa gave a small curtsy and bow of her head.
"Yes, sir," she replied. She took his hand as he led her out onto the floor. Jaime Lannister was as good a dancer as he was handsome. He was a strong lead and his foot work was impeccable, and with the eyes they were drawing, Sansa guessed others noticed.
'Mister Lannister?"
"Yes, Miss Stark?"
"Everyone is watching us," she said as she looked about the room.
"They are all looking at your dress."
"Mister Lannister—"
"Jaime, please."
"J-Jaime," Sansa began unsteadily, "Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but I did not expect you to be in favor of my statement."
"Every year, my sister puts on these balls, and because there isn't anything I wouldn't do for her, I go. This year I almost reconsidered. I'm glad I came though. I wouldn't have seen you in your dress or heard you say what I am not brave enough to say. So thank you, Miss Stark."
"Sansa, if it pleases you," she answered.
"It pleases me," Jaime said with a smile, "that we have become such fast friends, Sansa." As the dance ended, Jaime Lannister led Sansa off the dance floor in the direction of the refreshment table, but their path was barred by Cersei. She looked livid. Sansa hoped she cared enough for propriety not to make too much of a scene.
"Dear brother, how handsome you look," she almost spat, "And Miss Sansa—what a pretty picture you are today. You seem to be the talk of the evening."
"Yes, she is, and rightfully so. Very few rival Miss Stark's beauty," Jaime answered. Sansa's cheeks flushed. She wasn't sure if it was due to Jaime's compliment, or to the fact she was witness to an argument that should have remained private.
"I have a sneaking suspicion you had something to do with this," Cersei said through her teeth. It was obvious she was coming close to coming undone.
"I have no idea what you are talking about dear sister."
"Jaime," Cersei said, her eyes communicating far more than her voice. Jaime followed her without a word to a spot on the wall. Sansa tried her best to keep a brave face, but the truth was she was nervous. Being on the wrong side of Cersei was the wrong place for her to be, and yet she found herself crossing that line again and again. This time, she'd done so in a very public way. She was surprised she hadn't been kicked out and told never to return like Jeyne Poole.
"I will not have that girl ruin this ball. This is a time for celebration, and she's insulted us by arriving in mourning. And you: How dare you spin her about the dance floor, parading her about in that awful color!"
"That girl as you so kindly put it has friends and family fighting for their lives and yours. She is in mourning."
"Yes, I'm sure, mourning that cousin of hers—or her disgraced sister. If that is any mark as to her and her family's weak will-"
"She is strong, and she understands almost as well as one who has seen war." Jaime cut her off, "and that cousin of hers, the one you find so distasteful because of his parentage, that boy has more in him than your son ever could have. He's out fighting for the ones he loves while your son hides behind your skirt and torments his food before he eats it."
Cersei forgot herself, even in a room full of people. Cersei never forgot herself, so it came as a great surprise to Sansa when she struck Jaime across the face for all to see.
"Remember who you are, Jaime," Cersei said in a low voice.
"I do. That's why I drink,' Jaime quipped.
"Come Miss Stark," he said as he turned and offered his arm, "let us take a turn about the garden. It isn't as expansive as the grounds at the summer house, but I am particularly fond of them anyways."
"Of course Mister Lannister," Sansa said in a daze. She was shocked and at a loss of what to do after such a spectacle, so she took Jaime's arm so as to get out of the room as quickly as possible. It was quiet outside in the gardens; a welcome change from the activity going on inside. It was cold, but not snowing.
"I want to apologize for my sister," Jaime began.
"You really don't have to," Sansa replied, "I have learned to tolerate ill given statements about my family—especially since my sister left. "
"No one knows where she is still?"
"If I know Arya, she's made it halfway across the world by now."
"She's a wild one," Jaime said, "lots of fire in her, that's for sure."
"Yes," Sansa agreed, "without a doubt."
"I'm sorry that your family feels the need to keep up appearances, especially at a time like this."
"Thank you, Mister Lannister."
"Jaime, please."
"Jaime," Sansa said with a smile, "to be honest I felt the same need until quite recently. War has a way of putting things into perspective."
"Yes it does." Jaime was silent for a moment before speaking again. "If you weren't here, keeping up with appearances, where would you be instead?"
"Winterfell," Sansa answered almost immediately, "If I had my way, I'd be there right now."
"Your summer home? In winter?" Jaime chuckled.
"It's beautiful in the winter,"Sansa replied, "it is aptly named, even if that wasn't father's intention when he named it. We spent Christmas there last year. All of us together."
"I see," Jaime said with significant gravity, "I am sure Winterfell is a sight to see at this time of year. It is a fine house. I remember it well. Your family gave a farewell ball for the young men going to war this summer."
"Yes."
"It was a lovely night, a real relief for the families for sure. I am sure Robb enjoyed it. Even Jon seemed to enjoy himself, though I've noticed he's not one for dancing." Sansa thought Jon and Robb's names sounded odd coming out of Jaime Lannister's mouth. She found it curious and a little unnerving that he seemed to have noticed things about Jon in particular. Lannisters unnerved Sansa. Though she was finding some of them to be pleasant company, she still had to be careful.
"Jon is a more reserved type of person than Robb," Sansa replied.
"Though it seems he doesn't mind dancing with you."
"Yes," Sansa answered evenly, careful not to give too much away," he tends to keep to those he knows well."
"I see," Jaime said, "well Miss Sansa, this conversation has been lovely. I find your sense and your considerate nature to be absolutely refreshing tonight." They had just walked inside the house again, and Sansa began to feel the eyes refocusing on them.
"Thank you," Sansa politely replied, "And your company was a pleasure, Mister Lannister—Jaime!" Jaime grinned at her quick correction. Sansa could almost see the shadow of the boy he was once upon a time. He took her hand a kissed it as he bowed. She watched as he disappeared through the crowd. She stood still, not entirely sure what to do with herself. She heard the whispers surround her, but she stood tall and proud.
"Sister," Bran said as he came to stand next to her," you are the talk of the evening."
"So I hear," Sansa said as she caught Mrs. Glover staring in her direction. She scanned the crowd and was stopped by her mother's cold glance.
"Mother does not look pleased."
"No, she doesn't," Bran agreed, "But I am." Sansa looked at her brother as he gripped her hand. She kissed his cheek.
"Thank you, Bran," She whispered, "I truly do not know what I would do without you."
Catelyn was upset—close to livid. Ned never thought Sansa could elicit such a reaction from her mother. That'll teach me not to underestimate my children, Ned chastised himself. He wouldn't say it out loud—if he did his wife would then be livid with him—but he was proud of Sansa.
"She did what she thought was right. Social consequences be damned," Benjen said as he came to stand next to his brother. Ned turned to look at his brother to find a smile beaming with pride.
"That she did," Ned agreed, "she misses him."
"All of them," Benjen observed. He kept his voice low so as not to be overheard by anyone, especially Catelyn.
"Do you have any idea where Arya is? Have you heard from her?" Benjen asked.
"No, but Sansa has. I'm sure of it."
"Has she told you?"
"No. And she won't. I know she won't."
"And loyal," Benjen said, his smile widening ever so slightly, "you raised her well."
"Too well," Ned sighed. Benjen chuckled.
"Perhaps, but Ned, there is no doubt you have fine children. And if tonight is any indication, they are growing up to be fine adults." Ned looked at his daughter who was joined by her younger brother, both standing tall and regal. He knew in his heart, his brother was right. He could not have asked for finer children. It was a proud moment for him, but still something nagged at him.
"Benjen, you're a man of war—you fought for your country I mean."
"Yes," his brother said, almost impatiently.
"So I know this has crossed your mind. Though please stop me if I say something—"
"Ned, speak your mind. It will be faster and easier for both of us if you don't try to spare my feelings."
"Right. Well, I worry about Robb, of course, as I'm sure you worry about Jon."
"Of course."
"And now with Arya, wherever she is, I worry about her too."
"Naturally."
"But I worry most about Sansa." Benjen stayed silent. So did Ned.
"If they don't come back, what will happen to her? If Jon…they've just grown so close."
"They are rather fond of each other," Benjen assented. Ned silently watched the young people dance across the floor. They didn't have a care in the world. If they did, they did better at pretending otherwise than he did.
"You know your children best, and that being the case I won't say anymore on that matter. As for Jon, he is my son, and if I knew anything about my son, it's that he has a frightening sense of duty and honor that led him to leave home to fight in the war, but I also know that the fondness he has for your daughter, the love he has for all of us, may be enough to bring him back."
"How can you be sure he'll come back?"
"I can't," Benjen answered simply, "I can only hope. That's all we really have, you know: hope."
'I suppose you're right," Ned replied as he and his brother settled into a comfortable silence. He watched his children across the room, Bran whispering things to Sansa to make her laugh, and hoped he'd see all his children together again.