Oh my goodness it has been too long! I know many of you are worried this story has been abandoned. it has not. between covid and getting very very sick, I have had to focus on survival. But now, I get to do fun things again. and this is definitely a fun thing, and now that my medicine doesn't make typing painful I am back on this story. It is so good to be back and doing what I love :)
Historical notes for you lovely people: The Starks are based on the steel tycoons of the Gilded Age, the Carnegies. Carnegie Hall? yep, that Carnegie. therefore, their New York house is derived from Carnegie Mansion in New York.
Dinner parties were insanely lavish. A typical 1910s menu had close to 14 courses.
Irish immigrants came over for years after the potato famine as crops and soil did not recover for years, and the last effects affected the Irish population. Some came to America to have a better life.
The Women's Suffrage movement is amazing and a fascinating point in history, and I would go on forever about it if I am not careful, so all you need to know is that Shae is based on a suffragette that immigrated from Ireland. Her name was Leonora O'Reilley, and she was a total badass. I highly recommend learning all about her.
Thank you so much for reading, and I really hope you enjoy the latest in A Search for Solace :) Let me know what you think if you so desire. Much love!
New Years Eve, 1917- Stark House
The house was in a tense and quiet chaos. The Tyrells were not having their usual New Year's Eve ball. Instead they showed their solidarity with those who were overseas serving their country, and Bran had heard from Meera that the family had gone to the church to pray. Preparations were busily executed to Catelyn's exact specifications. Sansa spent most of her time with Rickon and Bran reading their stories. Rickon was obsessively into King Arthur, Bran was reading a book on European history, and Sansa was deep into Great Expectations, held in absolute suspense as she wondered if Estella would ever find it in herself to break free from Havisham's icy grip and her cold habits to love a man like Pip.
The Lannisters would be in the Stark house that evening. Sansa had set out a simple dress for the night. It was a brown dress with a square neckline and sheer long sleeves that buttoned at the wrist with pearls. She hadn't bothered with any ribbons or sashes. She'd been too enthralled by her book, and preoccupied by her thoughts of what Jon might be thinking of her letter.
Instead of going straight to sleep on Christmas night, she wrote a letter to Jon telling him what occurred that day. Perhaps it was the height of emotion she was feeling by the end of her conversation with her father, or the surge of bravery she experienced as she told him her plans to reject Joffrey should he ever offer her a proposal, but she was awake with a daring spirit and an urge to tell Jon her feelings. She put pen to paper and let the pieces fall where they may. She wasn't as bold in the morning, but regardless she swallowed her fear and made sure to send it out with the day's mail. She hadn't received a response yet, she wasn't even sure he'd gotten it yet, and she wasn't sure what Jon's response were to entail in the event that she received one. He may have found someone else by now. France is full of women, too, a voice in her head kept reminding her. It was at these times she would shake the thought away and fill her mind with haunting visions of Satis House and graveyards and the streets of London.
As the sun began to set, the house lights were turned up and Sansa reluctantly put down her book so that she could get ready for dinner. She took the soap off the counter and carefully peeled back the paper slowly and carefully. She smelled the bar her Uncle Benjen had given her for Christmas and smiled at the scent of Lilac. How soft and lovely it was. It was the perfect thing for her bath to help her relax before what was sure to be a stressful dinner. She undressed and slipped into a tub Meera prepared for her holding the soap in her hands as she sunk into the water. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the warm water to surround and comfort her. She wondered how things would go tonight with Tyrion being among the guests. She also wondered if her mother had alerted the rest of the Lannisters that he was attending.
She wondered what it was like in Paris right now.
Paris, France
"Drink! Drink! Drink!" the men chanted as Theon stood on top of the table, taking large gulps of champagne straight from the bottle. The men cheered as he threw the bottle up in the air. A man behind him caught it and verified it empty, which earned Theon another cheer.
"And now for my kiss!" he crowed. A young woman with brunette curls and dark eyes leaned across the table, indicating that Theon should bend down to her level to receive his prize. Theon got on his hands and knees, and the woman kissed his smiling mouth. The kiss deepened at the prompting of the whoops and hollers of the spectators. The soldiers had found themselves in a third-story Parisian apartment of two local girls. All were invited, including many girls from the building as well as any sweethearts the soldiers had discovered in their time in France. It was a packed house with couples in every crevice and corner of the place. Margery and Robb leaned against the back wall, champagne glasses in their hands, and smiles on their faces as they watched Theon make a fool of himself for the girl with dark eyes.
"I don't see how he will ever slow down enough to fall in love," Margery commented, and Robb laughed uproariously.
"Theon? Oh come on dearest. He falls in love with every girl he meets!"
"Even me?" Margery teased. Robb stopped for a moment to look deep into Margery's teasing eyes.
"Yes," he said seriously as he caressed her cheek, "but he realized-when he saw the way I looked at you- I was done for the rest of my life. You were it." Margery lost herself for a moment in his intensely clear eyes, her heart hammering against her chest. She never knew love to be anything like what she had with Robb. She was lucky to have stared in his direction boldly enough for him to take a chance.
"So," Robb said, a playful lilt back in his voice, "the good sort of upstanding guy Theon is, he decided to fall for Ellaria instead." At this Margery lost herself in a fit of giggles.
"Oh the poor man! She must have eaten him alive!" Robb laughed in response.
"And she did! The man was devastated, I assure you, but as you can tell he bounced back rather quickly!" he said as he gestured back to Theon who now had the curly-haired brunette in his lap. Margery watched in amusement as the girl put a multicolored cone hat on Theon's head, and Theon did nothing to stop her. Her gaze scanned the crowd finding the smiling and red faces of the inebriated men and women filling the apartment. In a gap in the crowd, she caught sight of Jon standing outside the french doors onto the small balcony in the chilled night air.
"I think I see Jon brooding," Margery said to Robb, nodding her head in his direction. Robb barely glanced over his shoulder before looking back at her.
"When is Jon not brooding?" he said as he nuzzled her neck. She felt her weight sink further into the wall as if to steady herself when her legs couldn't. He nibbled on her ear and she caught her breath.
"Robb," she said decidedly.
"Hmm?" he murmured in her hair.
"As tempting as you are right now," she noticed how he smiled against her skin at the compliment, "I think I want to check on Jon. It's New Year's Eve. He shouldn't be alone and sad on New Year's Eve."
Robb groaned as he let his head drop onto her shoulder before backing away.
"Alright, be the compassionate beauty I know and love," Robb drawled, "but come right back."
"I promise I will," Margery said with a side glance from behind her long lashes. Robb leaned back against the wall as he drank in the sight of her form as well as the rest of his champagne. He loved watching her walk away. It was one of his favorite things, watching her hips sway from side to side and her shoulders twist and turn as she weaved in and out of the crowd. God was he lucky she was his, and even luckier that he was hers.
Margery shuddered a bit as the cold air hit her. Jon was leaning against the balcony looking out at the moon.
"Jon, why don't you go into the party?"
"No thank you," he said with a peculiar tone. Margery took a moment to study his face. He had a look of absolute adoration she'd rarely seen on his face. She found the look surprising. She looked up at the moon.
"What a poet you are, in love with the moon."
"What?" he said, startled. He tore his eyes from their focus point and turned his wary eyes onto her. Margery met his look of caution with a smirk.
"You're in love with the moon, Jon. Or at least, that's what it looks like."
"I'm not," he said quickly as he turned his attention to the street below.
"Alright, Jon, not the moon. But you are in love." He didn't answer for a long enough moment for Margery to make the assumption she was correct in her estimation.
"Why do you say that, Margery?" he asked.
"Well, the look you have-it's what men look like when they're in love. You are looking at that moon the way Robb looks at me and how Theon looks at himself." This earned her a quick and uninhibited laugh from Jon-a gift she had only seen him give to those close to him. She counted it as one of the most precious gifts she'd receive.
"So? What prompts the look?" Jon smiled in spite of the crowd inside that might witness it. The truth was he wanted to smile. Ever since he received Sansa's letter, he'd wanted nothing more than to smile throughout the day. He'd received the letter that afternoon. He'd eagerly torn at the envelope, curious to know how the ball went. A lot apparently happened that night. She wrote of her dress, of her conversation with Jaime Lannister, her impulsive trip to Winterfell, her stay with Benjen, her visit to his parent's graves, and Ned's shocking declaration at dinner. She concluded with her meeting with her father, and it was here that he caught his breath.
…And here I am, after meeting with Father, writing to you- my dearest, Jon. I cannot describe the kind of emotions that run through me, nor do I want to try to pick them apart so late in the night, but one overwhelming fact stays with me on my mind and on my heart. I couldn't answer Father when he asked me if I had a fondness for anyone in particular without revealing a new found truth that deserves to be between the two hearts it most closely concerns first. I had to write to you as soon as possible so that you know what I have recently discovered. I have that certain fondness for you, Jon, the kind of fondness that sends me running to Winterfell in search of your glances and your touch. And this fondness grows, and I have yet to find it's limit. It is an elating discovery to know how strongly this feeling for you persists, but how painful it is that you are so far away. Come back to me, Jon. I will be here. I will be waiting.
Completely Yours,
Sansa
At first he wasn't sure he'd read any of it correctly. He was sure he'd been caught in a reverie. He was stuck in a dreamlike stupor. He must have imagined it. But every time he read the letter, there it was. She had a certain fondness for him…her dearest, Jon….and the fondness grows! It was stuff straight out of the dreams that occupied his mind when he thought of home. It was said! Right here! on the page! And how bold of her, to be so frank with him when he had yet to tell her so directly his own feelings. He'd decided he would write to her that second, and he hid himself away in his quarters, doing his best to write a heartfelt letter she deserved. He went through ten sheets of paper writing down the wrong thing. Nothing seemed right for her. She deserved better words than the ones he could supply.
He found Sam engrossed in studying his book on sound waves and asked if he'd like to stretch his legs by taking a stroll to the old man's bookshop. It didn't take much convincing, and soon the pair were in the shop, Sam browsing the spines of the rare books collection and Jon clumsily asking the old man for some stationary and a pen as he had written through all of his paper.
"I'd also like to see if there are any good works by Shakespeare, or Lord Byron…maybe Percy Shelley? I don't know much about poetry. But I don't know that I have the appropriate words for my letter…"
"This is for a woman, yes?" The man said with a twinkle in his eye. Jon felt his face flush as he nodded and looked at the ground. His face got even warmer when he heard the old man chuckle.
"My boy, she isn't fond of Lord Byron, she is fond of you. Speak from the heart."
"but my heart is usually very quiet about this sort of thing," Jon replied, "what if my letter is too short?"
"All the better," he said with a clap of his hand on Jon's shoulder, "for things that are rare are all the more valued." The old man gave him a spot at his desk in the back room to write after selling him the pen and stationary saying he'd be more than happy to help him if he got stuck. Though with the right atmosphere, and the priceless advice, he found he didn't need it. He settled in to write, and after about an hour, he was satisfied with what he had produced. It was short and to the point, but it was unfiltered and all him.
"Jon?" Margery prompted him. He broke out of his nostalgic reverie.
"Sorry, just lost in thought," he said.
"So what prompts the look?" Margery asked again. She had a guess, but she wanted to hear him say it.
"Sansa," he said. He couldn't manage to say her name without smiling. Margery smiled in response.
"Sansa!" she repeated happily, "how lovely, Jon!"
"I got a very nice letter from her, that's all."
"And I am sure you wrote a very nice letter back," Margery replied.
"It was, I think," he said. He looked out over the city again. Margery watched him curiously. She smiled at the thought of her dear friends and their blossoming affection for each other. Her smile faltered for the briefest of moments, though, when she thought of how difficult it must be to be so far away from each other. And poor Sansa, waiting for Jon to return, but never knowing if he will. My God…at least she had Robb now, today. She didn't have to live in isolated uncertainty.
"I'm happy for you, Jon," Margery said. Jon smiled.
"Thank you, Margery," he said looking up at the moon, "tonight isn't so bad of a night." She turned back into the apartment to leave him staring at the sky. She could hear everyone inside counting down to midnight and she wanted to be by Robb's side as they got closer and closer to a New Year. She wanted him to be the one she was with as the clock struck twelve.
Jon heard the counting inside, but he didn't bother to go in. Instead, he stayed on the balcony staring at the moon. He wanted to be looking at the sky at midnight. It was the only thing he knew for sure he could share with Sansa right now. Even though she wasn't with him, when the clock struck twelve where she was, she'd see the same sky.
The Stark House, New year's Eve- 1917
"The Lannisters are here," Bran said peeking into his sister's room.
"Come in, Bran," Sansa said as she ran her brush through her hair. Bran checked the hallway before slipping inside.
"I still don't like this, Sansa," he said, "Joffrey-"
"Is simply Cersei's son. And she is simply looking for the best possible match. I just have to show myself to be undesirable to her and no proposal will occur." Sansa was cool and calm. She left all thoughts of Jon in the tub with the now cold bathwater. She was adorned in her armor of chiffon and pearls ready to play the part of charming host and undesirable prospective daughter- in-law. It was going to be hard to balance the two. She thought she had an edge since she invited Tyrion. It could prove to be useful. Slowly and carefully she put on her pearl necklace around her neck and pearl barrettes in her hair. She could do this. She was determined to be perfectly charming, also just the right amount of… what was the word her mother used when Arya drove her mad? Oh yes. Obstinate. Just the right amount of obstinate.
"Sansa, how can you ensure no proposal?" Bran asked, "you know how Joffrey is."
"I do. He likes his women meek. Demure. Sweet. I will do my best to stray from those qualities."
Bran was not convinced. He shifted on his feet.
"From where I'm standing he just cares if his women are unwilling," Bran shot back.
"Fine," Sansa said, "Cersei likes her women to have those qualities. Easily malleable…" she added with a bitter note.
"How will you be the perfect hostess if you avoid those desirable qualities?"
"There are other qualities a hostess can have. I can be accommodating without being sweet, enchanting without being demure, and perfectly modest without being meek. It will be fine Bran."
"I still think we should just tell father what happened."
"Father knows I will not accept a proposal," Sansa said firmly, "that's all he needs to know." she adjusted a lock of her hair bringing it back behind her ear and out of her face.
"All ready, Bran," she said from her seat in front of her mirror, "how do I look?"
"Beautiful," he said, "the perfect hostess." Sansa smiled as she stood to meet her brother and take his arm. He didn't move towards the door.
"Bran?" she asked, "what is it?"
"I'm thinking of asking Mother and Father if I could stay in the city for school instead of going back upstate."
"What? Why?"
"I'm worried about you. When Rickon and I leave, you'll be here all by yourself."
"Nonsense, Bran. I'll be fine."
"But without Arya here-"
"Bran," Sansa said, "I'll be fine. You and Rickon must stick together."
"If you're sure…"
"I am," she said, smiling reassuringly, "I most definitely am. Now let's go downstairs. We don't want to be rude."
"Maybe you don't," Bran replied with a smile. He took his sister's arm as they went downstairs. Once on the landing, Sansa caught a glimpse of Joffrey in the foyer, politely speaking to her father. How her father seemed to miss Joffrey's look of abject boredom was beyond her. Or perhaps he was just being polite, pretending he didn't notice… She smiled when she saw Myrcella next to her Uncle Jaime. She was dressed in a beautiful gold gown and was dripping in peridot jewels from her ears, neck, and wrists. Her hair was beautifully wavy, catching the light perfectly.
"Myrcella," she said once she and Bran reached the bottom step, "you are perfectly radiant! What a beautiful gown!"
"Thank you," Myrcella blushed, "I wanted to dress…optimistically." She smoothed out the skirts of her gold gown. Bran shifted so as to stand between Sansa and Joffrey. She stole a glance at her brother and wondered if he had made up his mind to be the body between her and Joffrey all night. That was sure to get tiring, she thought.
"Sansa," Jaime greeted, holding out his hand. Sansa took it in hers and he bent to kiss the air above it.
"Mr. Lannister," he raised his eyebrows in response.
"Oh! I'm so sorry. Jaime. It is good to see you."
"it is good to be invited," he replied stepping closer to her, "and as I understand it, you've invited my dear brother in the spirit of the season."
"I have. I thought I'd be inclusive and welcoming to all the Lannisters," she replied.
'the epitome of diplomacy, Sansa," said Jaime, "and cleverness if I may say so."
"You may," she replied. He smiled.
"Let's all go into the dining room," she quickly continued, "the menu Mother has created is delicious." As everyone walked in, Bran hurried to read the names at every place. He was happy to see that the Lannisters were seated across from the Starks. He was not pleased to see that Joffrey was seated across from Sansa. He quickly switched the name tags so that Joffrey sat across from him instead of his sister. He could handle Joffrey for a night. The dining room was adorned with the finest China and silver that the Starks owned. There was champagne on the table and the smell of cornish hen was wafting from the butler's pantry. Everyone sipped on aperitifs as they waited for the last of the Lannisters to arrive. Sansa looked about at the table and saw that Bran had switched the names at the table. She saw with great disappointment that Tyrion Lannister was seated at the end of the table far away from her own seat. Quickly, and so that no one would see, she switched her own place card with Rickon's so that she would be across from the man she was so curious to know better. Shortly after Sansa took a couple of sips from her glass, Tyrion Lannister arrived with a woman she had never seen before dressed in a purple satin floor-length dress with gold and green floral embroidery heavily lining its hem . She found it surprising that she was not little like he was, but she was petite, at least a head shorter than Sansa. She was slender with dark curls spilling out over an intricate, braided bun at the back of her head held by a god net. Her eyes looked out under thick black lashes, and her nose was sharp and defined giving her an intelligent gaze. She stood next to him fiercely darting her eyes about the room taking stock of every person. A hush fell over the dining room as everyone waited for the initial interactions between Tyrion and the rest of his family. Jamie was the first to extend a welcome.
"Tyrion! So good to see you brother," he said, holding his hand out to him.
"And to you, my brother!" Tyrion said gladly taking it, "You really must come to the house sometime. Shae and I would love to have you."
"Shae, good to see you."
"Thank you," she replied with a slight bow of her head. Sansa noticed a slight accent in her voice and was curious to know where she was from. She didn't think she was American.
"Mother, do we have a place for Miss…um-" Sansa faltered when she realized she didn't know Shae's last name or marital status. How to address her was lost to her. She glanced at the woman hoping she didn't take offense to her stuttering. Sansa was relieved to see Shae smile in her direction.
"Miss O'Ceallaigh," she replied, "Shae O'Ceallaigh, thank you. Though it may be easier to use my American surname, Kelly. Lots of people say Kelly instead since I came to America. I know Gaelic isn't common here. And thank you, Miss Stark, for being so welcoming to Tyrion and I." Sansa now could place the accent, as well as the surname as Irish. She knew there were many Irish people that worked for Stark Steel, but she had never met any of them, and definitely not any women. She found Shae's accent to be absolutely beautiful.
"Of course, Miss O'Ceallaigh," she replied, stumbling through the name as best as she could, clandestinely reveling in Cersei's utterances and glances of disapproval towards her brother and his companion.
"We do have a place, Sansa," her mother said tightly, obviously nervous about the whole affair, " next to Mr. Tyrion Lannister."
"Wonderful," Sansa said with the hope she would get to hear her speak even more during dinner. She saw Cersei frown at her from across the way. Inspired by her look, Sansa took it a step further.
"May I say your gown is absolutely lovely."
"Thank you," Shae replied kindly, "I rarely have an opportunity to wear such finery. I spend so much of my time outside." That explains her darker complexion, Sansa thought.
Ned hurried to pour the newcomers aperitifs and Catlyn led everyone to their seats, encouraging them all to sit while the first course arrived. Sansa eagerly sat as she waited for everyone to find their places. Bran looked at his neighbors confused before settling his eyes on his sister, and his mother gave him and Sansa both a warning glance and let go of a long and dramatic sigh to signal how exasperating the two of them were. As long as her mother didn't make her move, Sansa didn't care. The fact she was seated near Tyrion now would give her ample opportunity to win Cersei's disapproval.
Throughout dinner, many surface-level comments were made about ties, dresses, the food, and even the weather, but Sansa, sitting with the social outcasts, had much more provocative topics in mind. She was so curious to know aobut Tyrion's companion, and Tyrion himself. How could a man of such social standing fall so far in his family's eyes? He dressed well, he had a commanding voice and a presence that was double his physical height, and aside from an Irish woman as a companion, Sansa didn't see all that much the Lannisters could object to. Perhaps Shae was enough.
"So, Miss- um- " Sansa paused, hoping not to struggle so much with the Gaelic name on her second try, but Shae interrupted her before she had the chance.
"Shae, please. I am not so formal as to go by O' Ceallaigh on a regular basis. Only in court," she said with a glint in her eye.
"Are you a lawyer?" she asked, her interest piqued. She had never met a woman lawyer before. She didn't know women could be lawyers, though she didn't see why not.
"No, I am an activist. I work with the women's suffrage movement and worker's rights organizations here and hopefully nationally. We had a great victory recently here in New York winning the vote for women in the state. We hope to take this to a national level soon."
"Suffrage!" Sansa repeated in awe. She had heard of suffragettes. She had heard them described as criminals, spinsters driven insane, angry hags, violent and volatile women who would stop at nothing to undermine the way of the country. They'd bombed buildings and attacked police. She had a hard time seeing Shae as such a woman.
"Yes, suffrage. The right for women to vote. Sansa, do you know that men can own property, vote for laws and positions in office, and women cannot? Women, though affected by the laws of this country, and required to abide by them, affected by the governing of leaders locally and nationally are not allowed to have a say on how they are governed and by who? It's preposterous! Only just this year the State of New York became the first state to fully enfranchise women on a local and state level. We are hoping to make that a national occurrence, in all fifty states."
"We?"
"The National Women's Suffrage Association and its affiliate the Women's Suffrage Party here in New York. We are women who are speaking out against injustice and fighting for equality. I write speeches for them and lead protests and rallies."
"That's fascinating," Sansa said. She was genuinely interested in this woman, "have you ever been arrested?"
"A few times. It's lucky I have such a good lawyer," She said with a smile as she took Tyrion's hand and smiled. Tyrion, deaf to the mutterings of his sister, smiled and returned the grip on Shae's hand.
"That's how Tyrion and I met," Shae replied, "I was arrested, and he was appointed to me. I didn't expect anyone to truly try to defend me, but he did. He cared. He's a good man."
"With a Gaelic name, I assume you're Irish?"
"I am. From Galway," Shae smiled, "I'm guessing my accent gave me away. Tyrion says it's beautiful. I didn't know I had one."
"How did you end up coming here?"
"I came here with my family. My father was a farmer, and after the famine hit, our family was never able to recover. We came here to find something better. I started working in the mills when I was ten, started fighting for worker's rights at fifteen, and soon started fighting for women's rights, too. We deserve a voice, Sansa, even if others are determined to keep us silent."
The cornish hens were brought out, and Shae and Tyrion gave compliment after compliment on the perfection of the seasoning and the crispness of the skin. They were wonderful guests and endlessly fascinating conversationalists. They told Sansa about the worker's strikes and unions, about women's suffrage and the latest details they'd learned about the war effort. Sansa couldn't get enough. She marveled at their eloquence and poise. She'd started the conversation with the sole purpose of getting under Cersei's skin, but by the end of the tenth course, she was simply hanging on their every word. It turned out she didn't have to work very hard to be someone Cersei disapproved of. She did all of that fine on her own.
As the final course was served, Shae leaned forward in her seat, fixing her eyes on Sansa.
"You've heard so much about us, Sansa," she said, "I feel like I've been talking your ear off about my exploits."
"Oh no! I love them! I wish I could listen to you all day."
"You can always come to visit us at the house," Shae said, "Tyrion likes you quite a lot. We'd love to have you."
"yes," Tyrion added, "it'd be good to have a fresh face in our home. And such a sharp mind."
"Thank you! I would love to. I want to hear more of your stories, Shae. You've led such an interesting life."
"Thank you, my dear, but it seems to me you are leading a fairly interesting life yourself or at least beginning to," she said. At that moment, Jaime Lannister was negotiating with his youngest nephew, Tommen, to switch seats with him. Tommen, bored with Tyrion and Shae's talk, happily agreed and promptly went to sit next to his mother. Jaime sat with his brother and across from Sansa. This prompted Shae to continue.
"In fact, I heard from Jaime earlier today that you made quite a stand at the Christmas ball."
Sansa was glad that Shae said it in the lowest tone possible. She didn't want to run the risk of embarrassing her mother.
"I am not one for lavishness in times of war, that's all," she said simply and evenly.
"I am surprised you weren't thrown out by my dear sister," Tyrion said wryly with a pursing of his lips and a furrowing of his brow.
"Mr. Jaime Lannister took pity on me, and took it upon himself to rescue me," Sansa said, smiling at the taller Lannister that had just sat at her end of the table drinking his glass of cognac.
"That was gallant of you, brother," Tyrion remarked.
"Oh I don't know about gallant, Tyrion," Jamie said, "Sansa really didn't need any rescuing. But I was quite happy to be a part of the stand she was taking, a veteran soldier myself having fought in Hearst's War." He said this with a hint of bitterness, but recovered himself quickly, "It does me a world of good to see a young lady give a damn, that's all." Sansa glanced at Tyrion and Shae to see if Jaime's swearing took them by surprise, but all she saw were smiling and understanding faces. It struck her that the brothers must have had a special bond in a way, both of them having to deal with their sister. Sansa guessed they dealt with her in very different ways, though. Tyrion seemed to avoid her at all costs, for starters, whereas she couldn't seem to remember any time that Jaime wasn't a place that Cersei was.
"Now we will all be going to the garden for the stroke of midnight," Catlyn announced to the room, "We have warm wraps for all of you so that you won't get a chill, and we can hear the church bells clearly tonight." she was the epitome of grace in her blue dress and diamond earrings. Tommen and Rickon, eager to get out of their seats, hurriedly walked ahead of the entire group. It was their first sit-down dinner party, and they were extraordinarily bored by the end of it, restless to run and play in the winter air. Bran did the gentlemanly thing and offered his arm to Myrcella, but couldn't help but glance nervously behind him to look at his sister. He had no need to worry though because Jaime intercepted Joffrey before he even got two steps in Sansa's direction.
"Miss Stark, may you do me the honor of walking about yet another garden with me?" He asked with a charming smile.
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Lannister."
"Jaime," he gently corrected.
"Jaime," she said, "I'm sorry I am still not used to the informality."
"Cersei has enough formality for the three of us," Tyrion said as we and Shae came up on Sansa's other side, "that allows us to be quite informal ourselves." The garden had been transformed into a beautiful nocturne sanctuary. Gas lanterns were lit and hung on wrought iron stands, lining the entire perimeter of the garden and giving off a soft, warm light. Wraps were passed around to every person so as to stave off the cold, and hot chocolate was passed about. Rickon and Tommen ran through the garden weaving in and out of the bushes, their mothers calling warnings that they were not to soil their nice clothes and how much trouble they would be in if they got grass stains on their pants. Sansa took it all in. How beautiful everything was. Everyone stood about, chatting with each other and laughing between sips of hot cocoa. As the first bell tolled, everyone went silent. Myrcella and Bran stood on either side of Sansa as the church bells chimed. Sansa reveled in the simple quiet, and looked up at the sky, staring wide-eyed and smiling at the moon, and for a moment she felt peace. She felt a kiss brush her cheek.
"Happy New Year, Sansa," Bran said. She looked at her brother briefly before gripping his hand and looking back up at the moon with a hopeful smile.
"Happy New Year Bran," she said, "hopefully, this will be a good one."