A/N: I've gotten so many emails saying people followed or favorited this! Thank you for reviewing to: Max20.7, Moshi, The Three Stoogies, and a number of guests.
I also wanted to address a critical review that someone left anonymously so I could not respond to it. The person noted from my playlist that eventually there is Sansa/Sandor and the reviewer did not like this and stated that it's giving a child to a man in the employ of the people torturing her. And that it is like punishing her all over again. And that the age difference is creepy.
As we learn in the books, Sandor's loyalty to the Lannisters wanes in time. Even a dog will only be kicked so many times before he bites back after all. Moreover, Sandor was never complicit in their abuse. He never hit her and even did his best to shield and spare her when he could. Moreover, nothing serious is going to occur between them until she's a bit older (15-16) which is well within normal for the world and time period. At that point they do have an age difference but she's no longer a child in Westerosi eyes which is what we have to look at this as. So basically.. if you stick with it… the SanSan won't be creepy!
OH Playlist is updated again (at long last) All the bolded songs are new.
Moon Four (Waning Gibbous)
Mending Wall
Summary: While Eddard languishes in the Black Cells, Sansa tries to endure and finds an unanticipated friend.
"Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast."
— Robert Frost
"A skinchanger is a person who can bind themselves to and enter an animal's mind. The skinchanger can control the animal and experience each of its senses. Skinchangers are associated with the ancient magic of the Old Gods and the blood of the First Men. As such, skinchangers are most commonly found in the Northernmost reaches of Westeros where worship of the Old Gods remains extant.
The ability most commonly begins with vivid dreams in which the skinchanger sees and perceives the world through the senses of an animal. With practice and training, a skinchanger can develop the ability to enter the mind of an animal at will, though this takes a great deal of time to perfect and can initially be both sporadic and uncontrolled.
Having a personal connection with an animal makes entering the beast's mind easier. As such, many skinchangers choose to inhabit dogs due to their close proximity to humans, trusting nature, and superior senses. Wolves can be inhabited similarly to dogs, but this is more difficult given a lasting bond must be forged. Skinchangers who inhabit dogs or wolves are known specifically as wargs."
That was where Sansa had lost her nerve the first time.
She had shut the book in fear and even gave it wide physical berth, not going near the table upon which it sat for almost a week. If she hadn't been hesitant to even touch it, she might have taken it to the library in the Red Keep. However, Sansa was not given freedom of the castle and knew better than to ask to visit the library — or for any favor, really. Moreover, Sansa would not even know where to re-shelve the book. She wasn't even sure it had come from the library, though from whence else it might have come Sansa had no idea.
Perhaps that was what frightened her rather than the text of the book.
When she had woken, the book was laying at the foot of her bed, just as though she had fallen asleep and left it there.
But she hadn't. Sansa had never seen such a book in her entire life.
Someone had put that book there. And that meant someone had snuck into her room while she was sleeping while she remained unaware. It also meant someone somehow had some idea about she and her siblings' strong connection with their direwolves.
Sansa wasn't sure which of those two things made her more terrified.
"However, the bond between a skinchanger and the animal exhibits a unique duality in that the animal can exert its will upon the skinchanger as well. While all men know that the stories of skinchangers portray them as bestial, evil creatures who can not only control animals but shapeshift into them in totality, it is more likely that these stories originated from long ago skinchangers who gave in to the will of the creature they inhabited resulting in the current antipathy toward skinchangers known today."
She shuddered and remembered the horrible stories of exactly that sort that Old Nan used to tell: the ones Bran and Arya had loved and Sansa had covered her ears during.
Sansa thought of Arya, somewhere in the Red Keep. Arya would have loved the book and certainly would not have been scared of it like Sansa. But Sansa had no way of sharing the book with Arya. She had barely caught a glimpse of her sister in weeks. Besides, Arya was probably still furious with her. If not for her, Arya would be safely back home in her beloved Winterfell with Bran and Rickon. Now, she wondered if her foolhardiness might keep either of them from ever going home again.
Thinking about Arya caused the book to weigh on her.
Loneliness and missing Lady caused the book to weigh on her even more.
Finally, today she had picked up the book with a determination to read it no matter how much it frightened her. If this was the only way she could connect with Lady, her fear was a small price to pay.
"The author would be remiss not to point out that skinchanging and shapeshifting are, indeed, not the same. While the skinchanger's mind inhabits the skin of an animal, his own human skin remains behind in a comatose state until his consciousness returns to his own body.
If a skinchanger's human body is killed while he is controlling the mind of an animal, part of his consciousness will survive inside the animal. It is not well understood if such an ability exists in opposite form. However, such a concept does not, to the author, seem impossible given the dual nature of the connection and the animal's ability to influence the skinchanger's actions in return. A skinchanger can experience many deaths while in another body. It is only when the person's human body dies that 'true death' occurs."
'So, if I die Lady is gone forever?'
"In fact, it is possible for a skinchanger to live a type of 'second life' inside the mind of an animal he controls. However, such a life is believed by some to be a half-life as the skinchanger's human memory slowly fades until nothing of the man is left and only the beast remains. It must also be cautioned that it is traumatic if an animal is killed whilst its mind is inhabited by a skinchanger. Accounts of such experiences are, understandably rare, but it is believed the experience of death can drive the skinchanger mad before death forces him from the body."
The text was incredibly old and written in such ancient calligraphy that it was difficult to make out the words and even more difficult to understand their meaning. Where had it even come from?
Steps in the corridor caused Sansa to freeze mid-paragraph and shut the book. She was on her feet in an instant and had shoved the book beneath her mattress, heart pounding in a telltale way. Sansa had never been good at fibbing.
"Let me go! Ow! It hurts!"
"Let me go! It hurts! Oh Please!"
The second voice was high and mocking, filled with contempt. And Sansa recognized it immediately. It haunted her nightmares far too often.
The second voice was small, tremulous, and choked with tears.
"Oh, does the ickle baby want his milk and nom-noms too?"
"Stop! You're going to ruin my breeches and then mother will be angry!"
"Oh my, my, we wouldn't want dear Mother to be angry with us, would we? Your breeches will only be ruined if you piss them, crybaby. It's just a little cut! They're barely torn! And Gods knows someone needs to show you how to be a man, little brother!"
"But it does hurt, Joff! Ouch! Please stop! Why do I have to fight with you anyway? You aren't Ser Fiore!"
Tommen's small voice was full of misery and pain.
"Ser Fiore — The Flower of Battle they call him! What a joke! Even his name sounds stupid. I can't decide if that or the Knight of Flowers is worse. Oh, or that stupid Syrio Forel oaf. Thank the Gods I put his head on a spike. Do you think the baby Stark cried when she found out? She said he was her dancing master. As if anyone would ever want to dance with her. She's got a face like a horse!"
Sansa's cheeks reddened in fury and embarrassment both. How many times had she and Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel called Arya 'Arya Horseface.' She wasn't proud of it. In hindsight, she thought it probably had hurt her sister's feelings far more than Sansa had intended, but it was even worse to hear Joffrey call Arya that. Arya had never asked for any of this. And the bile that rose in her throat when she thought about those heads…
"Please Joff! No! OW!"
There was the sound of a slap along with a little boy's cry of pain.
Sansa had sidled along the room until she could watch the two boys through the crack by the door hinge without being seen herself. Tommen's breeches were more than 'barely torn' — they were completely bloody at the knee and Tommen was twisting desperately in Joffrey's grasp as he tried to free himself, but Joffrey had him by the arm in an iron-looking grip. A blunted practice sword was in his free hand.
'If the Gods are good someone will come and help.' Sansa thought.
Yet, somehow, no one heard and no one came and the Gods probably didn't exist.
By this point, Sansa realized the empty flagon for drinking water was in her hand. She wasn't even sure how it had gotten there. She didn't remember going to pick it up but she must have. Her fingers tensed around it uncomfortably. What did she even think to do with it? Throw it at Joffrey? Even the mere thought of his retaliation was enough to make Sansa shudder. Yet, she did not let go of the flagon and her fingers dug deeper into the wood of the door as she watched Tommen struggle to free himself. There was a painful yelp again as fabric ripped further — Tommen's tunic sleeve because Joff was holding him so forcefully.
Maybe this time the Gods heard because there was a sound in the floor below — in the stairwell maybe — and Joffrey looked around and finally unhanded Tommen who went reeling to the floor and stayed there looking like he was going to be sick. His knee was still bleeding.
"You are such a baby! You'll never be fit for anything, Tommen." Joff hissed before he turned on his heel.
Sansa's heart didn't stop pounding until she could no longer hear Joffrey's boots on the stairs. But he was gone. She actually had to think about the effort of slowly leaning down and putting the flagon on the ground, had to think to get her hand to release it.
A small sob from the corridor let her know that Tommen was still there. The little boy was sitting against the wall with his swelling face trying to wipe away tears. He had his injured knee pulled up to his chin, cradling it.
Sansa went to him before she could quite think through the action or talk herself out of it. "Tommen?" Sansa asked softly.
The little boy flinched back in surprise and fear when he realized he was no longer alone. He paused, seeing that it was only Sansa and seemed to be trying to decide whether to run away from her or not. He looked between her and his knee with a fearful expression.
"Are you okay?" Sansa asked him softly, kneeling down beside him.
Tommen let out another sob and shook his head.
"May I look at it? I won't touch it, I promise. I just want to look at it," Her voice was soft and soothing.
Tommen hesitated and looked up at her for a long moment before he finally nodded and slowly extended his leg for her examination. Without touching it, Sansa could not see how deep the cut was, but the breeches were certainly finished. The huge hole across the knee would be good for nothing but fool's motley at best. Sansa could see both of her little brothers' faces in Tommen so much just then even though they bore no physical resemblance.
"Why don't you come with me and let me see if I can make it feel better?" Sansa offered. What was she doing? Cersei would find out or, worse, Joff would come back and catch her here.
Tommen sniffled and took a deep breath before he nodded at last. "It really hurts." He whispered.
"I'm not surprised. It looks like quite a cut." Sansa said, her voice gentle, just the way she'd have talked to Bran or Rickon.
Carefully, she helped Tommen to his feet and wrapped a hesitant arm around his waist to help him move the few steps back to her chambers since he was limping a lot on the hurt knee. Tommen was still crying a little when they entered her chambers, but the worst of the tears seemed to have abated at this point.
She led Tommen across the room to where a small table sat by the window. The best light was there. Carefully, Sansa put her hands under his arms and lifted him onto the table. It was a heft. Tommen wasn't a big boy, but he was tall and Sansa had not fully regained her strength. Fortunately, she managed to settle him on the table in the light. He winced, but otherwise did not protest, seeming to have accepted her help whatever that might entail.
"Will it hurt?" He asked, biting his lip.
"No more than it already does." Sansa pointed out, though gently.
"What are you going to do with those? You aren't going to cut my leg off are you?" Tommen asked, alarmed as he realized Sansa had her sewing scissors in hand.
"No. I'm just going trim your breeches so I can take care of your knee."
Tommen shivered but nodded his consent and Sansa went to work, carefully sliding the scissors along the seam of the fabric until it fell away altogether and landed in the floor leaving Tommen's leg exposed to just above his knee. Then, with the better light from the window, Sansa examined the bloody gash, though she still did not touch it as it looked very painful indeed.
"How bad is it?" Tommen asked with all the grim determination of a soldier asking a field healer if he would lose his leg entirely.
His somber expression might have made her laugh if he didn't look so miserable.
"Not so bad. It doesn't need to be sewn up." Though Sansa had to admit it was quite a nasty cut.
Tommen smiled weakly.
"How did this happen?"
Tommen shied away from her and ducked his head, so Sansa backpedaled.
"It's okay, you don't have to tell me." She could, for the most part, put the clues together. More than likely, Joffrey had decided to take it upon himself to teach Tommen more skills while the Red Keep's Master at Arms was doing something else. Then, it hadn't gone well. Tommen had gotten hurt and had tried to escape, but Joffrey had chased him into Maegor's instead.
Sansa carefully placed the water basin on the table beside Tommen and poured some water into it. She retrieved a clean shift from her trunk. She gave it a starting snip with her scissors and then ripped it cleanly. Tommen's green eyes widened in surprise. "Whoa! How did you do that?" He asked.
Sansa couldn't resist a slight smile. "Just fond a seam and ripped with the grain of the fabric." Tommen looked confused and Sansa found herself unable to quite explain exactly how it worked to him. The idea of not knowing how to rip fabric accurately was probably as foreign to Sansa as knowing how to do it was to Tommen.
"You must be very strong."
Sansa's lips twitched even though she tried to keep them from it. "Not particularly. I'm just used to fabric." She continued ripping the shift until she had several long strips suitable to clean and bind up Tommen's cut knee.
She folded one of the strips into a square and then dipped it in the water and then began to dab it very gently against Tommen's knee. "If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you want to go?"
Tommen scrunched his face in thought. "Anywhere?"
"Mm hm."
"But.. What if I want to go lots of places?"
"Well, where is the first place you would go on your list of places?"
"Hmm… I would go to the Wall."
Sansa almost dropped the cloth she was cleaning Tommen's knee with she was so surprised. "The Wall?"
"Yes. I've never seen snow except in paintings or ice except the kind they keep in blocks in the ice house, but those are only small blocks. I hoped there would be snow at Winterfell when we visited, but there wasn't any. Besides, the wall is seven hundred feet high and a hundred leagues long. A dozen mounted knights can ride at the top — that's as wide as the Kingsroad! It has 19 whole castles to guard it, though only 3 are garrisoned. They say that the Wall can be all kinds of colors, blue like crystal in the sunlight. And on sunny days apparently the wall 'weeps' And there are supposedly tunnels through the wall some places that have murder holes in them!" Tommen was talking animatedly now and no longer seemed shy. "Do you think the murder holes and tunnels are true?"
Sansa chuckled slightly. Tommen was all boy. "I don't know. My brother Jon would." There was a kind of almost-warmth there when she thought of Jon now that had never existed before. Once again, guilt nagged at her for how she had been cold to him sometimes, just as it nagged at her for having been mean to Arya or impatient with her even though Sansa was older.
"You have another brother?"
"Technically a half brother. Jon Snow. He's a man of the Night's Watch at Castle Black."
Tommen looked at her as if she was a legend rather than the sister of a bastard. "Wow." The boy was quiet for a minute and then continued doggedly. It was clear that this had been a topic of interest to him for a while, but Sansa was willing to bet he simply hadn't found anyone in the South who wanted to listen to facts about the Wall.
"The myths say that there are old spells woven into the Wall to make it strong and keep magical creatures from being able to pass it. Mother says those are just stories, but what if they were real? How would you ever know if you don't see it for yourself?" Tommen paused before he went on. "What kinds of magical creatures can't pass the Wall?"
Sansa could have chuckled. Yes, Tommen was quite like Bran.
She lowered her voice into her best imitation of Old Nan — though it wasn't a very good one, it only served to make Tommen laugh — and began. "The Wall was built to defend the realms of the First Men. Back then, the First Men fought against the Children of the Forest. They fought until they were able to come up with a peace agreement they called the Pact. The Pact gave the deep woods to the Children of the Forest and made the First Men stop cutting down Weirwood trees. In exchange, the First Men got to lay claim to the rest of Westeros. After that, four thousand years of friendship and peace passed. The Age of Heroes. Eventually, the First Men began to worship the Children's Northron Gods and the children taught them how to use Ravens. Back then, though, the ravens could actually speak the words. But then the Long Night came. There was an entire generation of winter. And in the darkness something ominous, dark, and dangerous was forming."
"What was it?" Tommen whispered, green eyes shining with curiosity and delight at the storytelling.
"The Others." Sansa's voice was just as low and mysterious. For a moment she had forgotten where she was. She was back at Winterfell with her siblings listening to Old Nan tell this tale.
"What are 'the others'? I hear people swear that way 'May the Others take them.'"
"'Dead things,' Old Nan says. Demons of ice and snow. But according to the legends they're ethereal, even beautiful. They wield swords of crystal Some say they ride giant ice spiders. They supposedly leave no footprints. They hate every creature with hot blood in its veins — again according to Old Nan. The Others can re-animate the dead. Some think maybe they can even control them."
Tommen's eyes were wide as trenchers. "I think it's a good thing that the Others can't come across the Wall."
Sansa nodded, "Yes. Exactly."
She smiled at him and gestured to his knee. "All better."
Sure enough, Tommen realized his knee was clean and neatly bandaged and didn't even hurt any longer. "How did you do that? I didn't even feel it!"
"It's a harder life up North — rougher. We all have to learn some things about how to survive. I suppose the skills come in handy to patch up errant princes."
Tommen giggled. "I like you Lady Sansa."
Sansa felt flustered and confused. She didn't know how she was 'supposed' to respond anymore. She managed rather weakly, "I like you too." And found that it was true. She helped Tommen hop down from the table.
"Why haven't I ever heard any of these stories?"
Sansa smiled a bit. "They're Northron stories. Silly and antiquated by Southron thinking — just scary nursery tales. Even in the North, I don't know that anyone has ever seen such a thing as an 'Other' outside of the old stories. If they ever did, they're not alive now or for thousands of years. Mainly now the Wall is just to protect Westeros from the Wildlings."
"Well, I like Northron stories." Tommen finally decided. "Can you tell me more of them?"
"Sometime perhaps." Sansa said, noncommittally. She had likely said far too much already. If Tommen went back to his mother repeating stories of The Wall, Others, and the Long Night, Sansa was sure to be in trouble.
"You should go now, before you're missed too much."
"Probably. Do you think Joff's gone now?"
"Likely. We've been here a good long time."
Tommen paused at the door. Sansa noted with satisfaction that he was barely limping on the sore leg.
"Do you think it's true?"
"Is what true?"
"The magic spells in the wall."
"Hm.." Sansa would have said unequivocally no even six months before. That was before Lady had saved her father. Now, she wasn't sure. If one kind of magic existed, who was to say all kinds of magic didn't also exist? "Perhaps." She finally allowed. "But magic is only magical when you can't truly understand it."
"Do you think your brother Jon Snow would tell me more about the Wall? If I wrote to him? My writing is quite good now."
"I… I'm not sure." Sansa said. "I haven't talked to him in a long time. Not since we came to King's Landing." Hopefully Tommen would forget about the idea. Sansa could only begin to imagine all the ways this could go painfully wrong. As sweet as Tommen was, her actions had perhaps been to her detriment.
Tommen just smiled, not seeming to mind her uncertainty. "I should go now. Thanks for fixing my knee."
Tommen found that once he had considered it, he very much liked the idea of writing to Lady Sansa's brother Jon Snow who was a man of the Night's Watch. In fact, he decided he would do just that.
Tommen had first discovered his interest in the Wall during lessons when he had read Wonders Made by Man and its companion piece Wonders of Nature by the famous traveler Lomas Longstrider. Tommen was a voracious reader, but just as any boy his age, things like adventure appealed to him. This was particularly true because there were little and less chances to have proper adventures within the Red Keep. The journey to Winterfell last year had given Tommen a taste of what it might be like to have a proper adventure, and he had decided he would have one. Somehow.
He also thought that the men of the Night's Watch must be both brave and skilled — like Uncle Jaime, Ser Barristan, and the rest of the Kingsguard — except that they wore black instead of white. And no matter what Joffrey said, Tommen thought one day he would very much like to be a knight. He would need to improve, though. Bran Stark had beaten him when they sparred. Since, he had become more dedicated in his practice with Ser Fiore. Simply put, Tommen had never before been outside the protective confines of King's Landing, and his first experience gave him a taste for more.
However, no one was particularly interested in talking to him about any of the Nine Wonders. Usually, Mother would talk to him about anything he wanted, but she had been very busy as of late, and he felt guilty bothering her, for she had very important duties now that she was Queen Regent. Then, he might have gone to Uncle Tyrion or Uncle Jaime, but both of them were gone. Uncle Tyrion was a prisoner of the Starks. At first, that had made him quite afraid of Lady Sansa, but she had been kind to him to fix his knee and talk to him about The Wall. No one else did things like that except Mother. Uncle Jaime was away fighting the War, so Tommen could not talk to him. Plus, everyone else seemed to find the Wall (and all the other Nine Wonders) very dull indeed. Tommen could not understand that. How could they think such wondrous things to be dull?
Tommen also felt very lonely indeed these days. But he knew that his loneliness was not nearly so important as things like the War, and so he must act like a man grown. After all, he was about to have seen eight name days. Even Myrcella, with whom he usually spent so much time, seemed busy more often now with her Septa and her own lessons. So, there was no one for Tommen to play with any longer. Often enough, he spent his time holed up in the library with books. Uncle Tyrion had inspired a love of books in him when he was a small boy, giving him all sorts of interesting volumes. But even books could only be a companion for so long, and Tommen was afraid to have another cat.
Every pet he had had, Joffrey had done something horrible to. Tommen did not understand why Joffrey must be so beastly. People would like him more if he was nicer and not a bully. But he did not seem to care. Tommen had told him that once when they were having a dreadful row. Joffrey had told him imperiously that he was a King now and that it was better to be feared than loved. But Tommen wasn't sure why Joffrey needed to be mean to him. Lately, Tommen and Myrcella had talked of it and both admitted they had actually started to be quite fearful of Joffrey indeed. Today only added another layer of reasons for Tommen to want to avoid his older brother at all costs.
Tommen's footsteps guided him to the Red Keep's ravenry. It was becoming a place he went often. Tommen liked animals, and without a suitable pet of his own, the ravens had been an acceptable enough substitute. They had come to like Tommen because he fed them corn when he went and talked to them in quiet voices and never ruffled their feathers or tried to grab at them. Not to mention, they were at least one animal Joffrey was not able to be beastly to — if only because he never came to the ravenry. That meant Tommen did not have to worry that they would wind up with broken necks like all of his cats had done.
He had been especially fascinated by the White Raven that had come from the Citadel to mark the coming of Autumn. Maester Pycelle had let him see and feed the raven before he placed it safely on board ship for return home. That was how most ravens worked. Smart as they were, most ravens were not able to travel back and forth between two castles. They knew how to fly to a single place and then needed to be transported back by ship or land. As a result, sometimes Tommen did not see some of his favorite ravens for some time after they had been dispatched. However, some, particularly clever ravens were more talented and could return on their own.
The moment Tommen entered the ravenry, a mass of black feathers flew at him, surprising him and making him shout in surprise before it landed on his shoulder and demanded, "Corn!"
"You're back!" Tommen said delightedly as he recognized the bird from the tiny colored bands around his leg — but also just by its friendly actions. Darkwing, was the name he had given this bird, who was his favorite. Maester Pycelle had just looked at him in wry amusement when Tommen started naming his ravens, but didn't seem to mind much. He had even taught Tommen about caring for them.
Darkwing, Maester Pycelle said, was a raven as only came once in a century. He knew how to fly to five castles and knew many words besides. Moreover, Maester Pycelle was training him to fly to a sixth castle now as well. Tommen had told Maester Pycelle they ought to try to teach him to fly to Seven for the Seven faces of God. Maester Pycelle said that happened even less than once a century, but they might try it if Tommen was so determined. And when Tommen set his mind to something, he could be very determined indeed — even stubborn.
"Corn!" Darkwing said more insistently and gave Tommen an irritated peck with his beak.
"Ouch! All right, fine. But only if you be nice."
"Nice," the raven croaked back at him. And then in something that was probably delight (for a bird) "Corn!" when Tommen fetched a handful of corn kernels from the supply room for Darkwing to eat from his hand. He sat on Tommen's shoulder very contentedly and ate his corn.
Darkwing, Maester Pycelle said, was eight — just like Tommen nearly was! Ravens could live to be some thirty years old, and Tommen was glad of that. Maester Pycelle kept small bands on the Ravens' legs that told him which castles they were able to fly to. The band was generally the color of the banner of the house whose castle it was — though sometimes the bands were not updated that regularly. If the house had more than one castle, extra color was added.
Most of Darkwing's known castles were on the Eastern-to-Central portion of Westeros. Darkwing's first band was golden and black for house Baratheon with a thin line of red around the top to show that that band belonged to the Red Keep. That was to differentiate from his second band also in Baratheon colors with a thin band of white to show he knew how to fly to Storm's End, too.
His next band was Red and Black for Dragonstone — an example of a band that Maester Pycelle had not changed over, though maybe he would eventually.
Either way, nowadays Darkwing did not fly to either Dragonstone or Storm's End since they were the seats of Stannis and Renly who were fighting against them in the war. That was hard for Tommen. He loved his Uncles. He did not like that his family was fighting, but no one asked his opinion.
Then, Darkwing had a band of orange and red for Sunspear. The next was solid black for … Castle Black! Tommen realized with an excited grin. "You could take my letter to Jon Snow, couldn't you?" The raven cocked its head at him, beady eyes watching as always.
"Corn!" He demanded, almost as if he was working out a 'fee' for such a long trip and back.
Tommen giggled and indulged the bird with another handful of corn.
Darkwing's last, and most recent, band was white and grey for Winterfell. That was the one Maester Pycelle was still training him with. He had started to work on it during their trip North. The training had sort of stopped recently because of the War and Robb Stark, but when Tommen asked Maester Pycelle if he thought Darkwing could find Winterfell the Maester had tugged at his beard and said "Yes. I think. I might be hesitant to try it, but I think." And so he had gotten his sixth band, but Pycelle had been quite firm in telling Tommen not to send Darkwing to Winterfell until he had approved. Tommen had no reason to write to Winterfell anyway. Now they were enemies. So many enemies made him sad. Why could they not just bend the knee and be done with it?
Tommen moved across to the supply room again and came back with paper, quill, and ink all the while with Darkwing still content to ride on his shoulder. Tommen sat at the table in the center of the large, round room. Normally, he probably would have asked Maester Pycelle for help with any sort of letter — or maybe they would have worked on it in lessons — but the Maester was busy meeting with the Small Council and had been for hours. Mother was shut up in there too, which was how the whole fiasco with Joff had been allowed to get so far in the first place. Tommen looked down at his sore knee and cut breeches and hoped Mother would not be too angry about them. Probably, she would not, but still…
He sat down at the table and began his letter with his very neatest penmanship.
To Jon Snow,
Your sister, Sansa, said that you are a man of the Night's Watch. It must be very exciting to help protect Westeros. I have read some about the Wall, and it really interests me. Have you read Wonders Made By Man authored by Lomas Longstrider? It talks some about the Wall. I would like to know more about it. If you have time, for I knew you must be very busy with your duties, it would please me much if would you write to me about the Wall. What is life like there? What jobs do you do? Also, are there truly ice tunnels with murder holes in them? What is Castle Black like? How would the wall ever defend us if there were an invasion of Wildlings? Do Others really exist? Are there truly spells in the wall so Others cannot cross it?
Respectfully
Tommen Baratheon
P.S. from Darkwing - You can return me with your letter after I have rested. I know how to find my way home.
Mother had finished with the small council meeting by the time Tommen came back from the ravenry. When he went to her solar, she was there writing something. He did not want to interrupt her from her work, so he stood quietly in the doorway for a time just watching his mother. He loved her and she was the most beautiful, smartest woman in the entire world as far as Tommen was concerned. He loved both his mother and his sister quite strongly. He also loved his uncles and his grandfather, even though Lord Tywin intimidated him a good deal.
Tommen was interrupted from his thoughts when his mother noticed him and immediately put down her quill. "Hello my sweet." She said, green eyes glowing in true delight. Few things made Cersei as happy as her children.
"Mama!" Tommen said, running across the room with his sore knee forgotten as he wrapped his arms around Cersei and leaned against her chest. Though his eighth nameday was approaching, his mother's arms and her hugs were still a place he so liked to be. Cersei made much over him, hugging him in return and pressing a gentle kiss to his golden hair.
"Would you like to have dinner with me? Myrcella is busy with her septa." And Cersei was not sure where Joff was. It was a bit worrisome to her that she did not have the energy to care. She knew that with the Hound at his heels on a near-constant basis, he could not be in any particular danger.
Tommen nodded excitedly. He did not always have time to spend all alone with his mother — especially lately now that she had become so busy.
It was when Cersei finally pulled away that she noticed her son's cut breeches and bandaged knee. "Oh my sweet! What happened?" Cersei asked, immediately sinking to the floor with her skirts spread around her, always graceful, to look at her youngest's wound. Carefully she unwrapped it with very gentle fingers. He had a long puffy red cut on his knee — though it had been expertly cleaned and there was no sign of infection, only irritation. Moreover, it had been bandaged perfectly.
Tommen looked at the floor and shifted uncomfortable under his mother's gaze. Often enough, if he admitted Joffrey had done something beastly, Joffrey would somehow find out about it and become so angry with Tommen. It was always worse then.
However, Cersei had started to recognize the pattern and was at a loss as to what to do to change it. It seemed like every time she raised the matter with Joffrey, he would find some convincing way to avoid the accusation. Joffrey's unkindnesses toward Myrcella and Tommen bothered Cersei more than she could explain, but each time she tried to curb the behaviors, they would just crop up again. It made her feel, as she had admitted to Jaime, a failure as a parent. Jaime insisted the failure had not been hers, but Cersei had her doubts. Surely, surely, she had done something wrong with Joffrey. She had coddled and spoiled him, but she coddled and spoiled Myrcella and Tommen as well and they were lovely children. But she couldn't think about that now. She needed to think of her youngest who was right in front of her.
"Does it still hurt? Perhaps we should have Grand Maester Pycelle look at it."
Tommen shook his head. "It's sore, but it feels much better." Tommen had always been a rather brave lad about injuries.
"Who fixed up the bandages for you?" Cersei asked, curiously. If it had not been Maester Pycelle, who amongst the keep had seen to her son's needs? However, the answer she got was perhaps the last she would have expected.
"Lady Sansa." Tommen said, seemingly unconcerned.
Cersei froze as all manner of thoughts ran through her head. When had Sansa Stark had access to her son? How had that been allowed to happen? Had the Stark girl found some way to hurt Tommen? Though that did not entirely make sense given his knee looked in excellent condition. Well, in as excellent condition as a split open knee can look, she supposed. It made Cersei's blood cold that the girl had been allowed to be around her son. However, she did her best to stay calm so that Tommen would not see her fear.
"My sweet, was she good to you? She didn't hurt you?"
"Oh no! She did not hurt me at all!" Tommen said, firmly. "She was very kind and did not even hurt the least little bit while she was fixing my knee, and we had such an interesting conversation as she did."
Like a hound on the scent in a hunt, Cersei continued. "What did you talk about with her, my Love?" She guided Tommen over to the divan across the room by the tea table and in the waning light of the sunset so she could have a better look at the knee.
"Mostly about the North."
Cersei seized on it. So the girl thought to use her son as a pawn in this Game. That, Cersei would never allow. Myrcella and Tommen would not be brought into this mess even if it cost every bone in her body to assure it. "Can you remember more?"
Tommen shrugged slightly, unsure why his mother was so interested in the topic. Nonetheless, he did his best to remember the specifics of the conversation. "Mm. She took me back to her room because we were in the hall outside."
"Wait. What were you even doing in that part of Maegor's?" Cersei asked, confused and bothered.
"Trying to get away from Joffrey." Tommen mumbled almost below her hearing distance, but Cersei did hear and her frustration grew, though she didn't let her youngest see it. She was going to have to speak with Joffrey very firmly, and soon.
"All right, and then what happened."
Tommen shrugged. "She just took me back to her room and cleaned off the cut and bandaged it all up. "Are you horribly upset about the breeches?"
"No, I'm not bothered about the breeches at all. I'm just glad you are well."
"When she bandaged it, she ripped a piece of fabric right in two, and it was perfectly straight!"
Cersei laughed slightly. "That isn't so difficult, though I'm glad it amused you. But, Tommen, can you remember more about the specific conversation?" Sansa, Cersei realized, would be a fool to outright hurt her son, but that didn't mean she might not have, or be intending to, use him in some other way. Cersei would be paying the girl a visit before the night was out, she decided. House Lannister's sigil was a lion and Cersei was just as protective of her 'cubs' as any lioness.
"She asked me if I could go anywhere in the world where I would want to travel."
For a second, Cersei froze again. Did Sansa intend to try to take her son and run away somewhere? Run away to the North and hold Tommen hostage with her family? Cersei had to force herself to remain calm and hear the rest of Tommen's story rather than go storming off to demand answers.
"And, of course, I told her I would want to go to the Wall."
Well, that wasn't something new. Her son had been interested in the Wall ever since he read about the Nine Wonders in his lessons. He had also been incredibly disappointed when there was not snow on their visit North. It worried her still. His interest would only make it easier for Sansa to use him in some way. Cersei was struggling to disabuse herself of the notion that the conversation had been entirely innocuous. Nonetheless, Cersei bade him continue.
Tommen dutifully repeated the conversation as best he could remember it. "I told her that I want to see snow and ice and how tall the Wall is and everything that I read about it that interested me. And she told me her natural born brother Jon Snow was a man of the Night's Watch."
Ah there it was. Sansa would use Tommen to get to Jon Snow somehow. The idea that she would try to run away with Tommen to the Wall, mad as it might seem, seriously concerned Cersei. "What did she tell you about Jon Snow?"
Tommen shrugged. "Nothing really. I asked some questions about what the wall was like and if she knew the answers, but she said she didn't but that her brother would."
He wasn't sure why his mother was so interested in the details of his conversation with Lady Sansa. She clearly had not wanted to harm him and had not been mean like he had expected. She was much kinder than Joff. Her gentle grace even reminded Tommen of his own mother in some ways, he now realized.
"I see."
Tommen continued. "I told her that I read that there are old spells woven into the wall so magical creatures can't pass and that you said those are just stories. I pointed out that you can't know if you don't see it for yourself."
Cersei shivered slightly. "Yes. Tommen. You must never leave the Red Keep with Lady Sansa."
Tommen looked at his mother strangely. "All right. But she didn't ask me to."
"That's good. Please, just remember that Tommen. It is very important."
Tommen nodded. "All right, Mother. I will remember."
"Good. What else did the two of you say?"
"I asked her what sort of magical creatures can't pass the Wall. And she told me a story that someone called Old Nan told her. She tried to imitate her, but did not do a very good job. I think she must be an old woman, though. Anyway, she told me about the First Men and the Children of the Forest and how they made a Pact that led to the Age of Heroes. She said eventually the First Men began to worship the Gods the Children did. Mother, are those the weird, creepy Gods from the trees with bloody faces?"
"Yes, love. Their faces aren't actually bloody. It's just the color of the sap. They're called the Old Gods."
Tommen shuddered slightly. He thought he would prefer to visit the sept in the Red Keep much more, but did not say so, for that would be rude indeed. "She said, then, there was a winter that lasted an entire generation, and that in the winter something dark and dangerous was coming."
Cersei saw where this was going, and she was not sure she liked it but waited for her son to continue. If he had nightmares…
Tommen lowered his void and his eyes were all shiny with interest just as they had been when Sansa was telling the story. He was forgetting all about the awkwardness of repeating the conversation to his mother and was just enjoying the tale. "She called them The Others. I asked what they were. People swear 'May the Others take them.' All the time."
"Just don't you say that." Cersei admonished with a look. She did not think it appropriate for her young children to swear anything.
"Yes, Mother. I won't. Anyway, Sansa said that this Old Nan told her that the Others were 'dead things.' She said they're demons of ice and snow but they are supposed to be beautiful. I am not sure how a dead thing can be beautiful." Tommen imagined the rotting corpses of animals he had, upon rare occasions, seen in the Red Keep before someone found them and removed them. "She said that some say they have swords of crystal, ride giant ice spiders, leave no footprints, and hate everything living." He lowered his voice naturally. "Some people also say that The Others can re-animate the dead and maybe even control them. I told Lady Sansa it is a good thing that Others cannot come across the wall."
"It.. It a good thing. But Others don't actually exist. You know that right, Tommen? It is just a scary nursery story. Old Nan was likely Lady Sansa's wet nurse."
Tommen nodded, but somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered. Maybe the Others were real. "She did say that, even in the North, no one has seen an Other for thousands of years and that the Wall just protects Westeros from the Wildlings."
"Yes, that much is true." Cersei allowed.
"Then she was finished with my knee, and I asked her if she thought the magic spells in the Wall were true even if The Others might not be. She said she didn't know, but magic is only truly magical when you can't understand it."
Cersei opened her mouth to respond that 'magic' wasn't real, but then remembered the shape of a great, shining shade of a direwolf leaping over the body of Eddard Stark. She shut her mouth again, and Tommen was speaking once more, not having noticed.
"I asked her if I wrote to Jon Snow if he would tell me more about the Wall. She said she didn't know, and she hasn't talked to him since she came to King's Landing. Then I told her that I should go and thanked her for fixing my knee."
There it was again, the bastard brother. "Tommen, did Sansa ask you anything about writing to Jon Snow? Did she ask you to write to him or…?"
"No. But I did write him a letter and even sent it!"
"You sent a raven by yourself?" Cersei asked in surprise. "You didn't ask Grand Maester Pycelle for help?"
Tommen shook his head, "You were all still in Small Council. Besides, I go to the ravenry with him often. I know how to do it."
Cersei allowed that was true. Tommen had always loved animals. Unfortunately and to Cersei's worry, Joffrey loved killing animals as much as Tommen loved having pets. And, more unfortunate still, the ones he usually loved killing the most were Tommen's pets. The thought made her a little ill. She hadn't told Jaime about that. When Joffrey had been just a small child, smaller even than Tommen now, he had cut open a pregnant cat to see the kittens inside and taken them to show Robert, who had backhanded him so hard he'd knocked out Joff's front two baby teeth. Cersei had raged. Oh how she had raged. They had fought all night long, and Cersei had told Robert if he ever laid a hand on her son again, she would see him dead. And she had meant it. After that, Robert had never tried disciplining Joffrey again.
These days, she looked back on that happening and fight with a sense of not being sure. Absolutely, Robert could not be allowed to hurt the children, but had she been wrong to focus so much attention on the knocking out of the teeth rather than the sickening event that had wrought the punishment? At the time, she had thought Joffrey was just legitimately curious and did not know better. After all, he had barely been six name days old. However, as more animals turned up dead in the Red Keep and, lately, when Joffrey had begun to torment his siblings to the point they were frightened of him, Cersei had begun to doubt herself and her ignorance of Joffrey's behaviors.
Cersei shook herself from her thoughts when she realized Tommen was speaking once again. "I know how to send a letter. You write it, then you seal it and put it in the little container and fasten it to the leg of the raven you want to use. And you choose which raven to send based on the bands on the leg. Grand Maester Pycelle has a chart on the wall for the colors, but I've memorized the whole thing. Do you want to know some of them?"
Tommen sounded so proud, and so Cersei said, "Of course, my love. Do you know all of the Westerlands?"
"Yes!" Said Tommen Proudly. "They're almost always just the colors of the houses unless the houses share similar colors. Going from North to South of the major houses in the Westerlands: house Estren is red, green, and white. Banefort is grey and orange. Marbrand is yellow and grey. Westerling is tan and white, Lefford is gold and navy, Farman is Blue, Red, and Yellow which is has to be to differentiate between House Bracken's yellow and red and Coldwater's blue and red. Sarsfield is Green and White. Brax is purple and grey. Kenning of Kace is Orange and Black with four suns to differentiate from some of the Dornish houses, Prester is grey and red on white background — to differentiate from Glover, which is only grey and red. Casterly Rock is of course red and gold. Lyden is green with black and white which helps tell it apart from Roote and Tallhart. Sarwyck is red with silver and small black trim. Serret is pale yellow, blue, and green because some other houses have blue and green like Vance of Atranta, Clegane is gold and black with a small dog to show difference from Baratheon. Greenfield is dark green alone. Swyft is pale yellow and black. Last of all, Crakehall is brown and tan and that is where Uncle Jaime was a squire."
He seemed to do it all in one breath and boggled Cersei's mind. At one point, Jaime had had to learn all of these castles, the specifics of their banners and sigils — not just colors, and their castle seat, and she had helped him memorize them, but that had been when they were no older than Tommen. "Well done. You have memorized the whole chart haven't you?"
Tommen nodded with extreme pride. "Yes! And I know most of the Ravens and what bands they have. I started naming them. Maester Pycelle called it 'ridiculous' but I don't think he actually cares. He said to remember that the Ravens aren't pets. But I remember. I know what he means. Ravens travel long distances and, though they're better at defending themselves than some birds, they can be attacked or shot down."
"That's true," Cersei agreed.
"But it doesn't happen often unless they are sent into a war zone. Jon Snow is at Castle Black, so I sent Darkwing."
"What did you write in your letter, love? You said Lady Sansa doesn't know about it?"
Tommen shook his head, "No. I sent the letter after I left. Do you think I should tell her?"
"No," Cersei said firmly. "At least not right now. What did you say in your letter?" Cersei could only hope and pray that the letter contained nothing that would inflame anyone and be eternally grateful that the Wall took no part in conflicts of the realm.
"That I thought it must be exciting to help protect Westeros. Um. I asked if he read Wonders Made By Man. I asked what life is like there and what duties he has. I asked if there are really ice tunnels with murder holes. I asked what the Keep is like. I asked how the Wall would defend us if the Wildlings did invade. I asked if Others existed and if there are truly spells in the wall. Oh. And I told him Darkwing knows how to come home on his own so he is not stuck up at the Wall," Tommen recounted.
Cersei had to admit that her son had done a good job if he was going to write a letter. She just wished it had not been to Jon Snow of all people. Though, she supposed it could be worse. "Tommen, promise me if you get a response that you will let me know right away." She would be telling Maester Pycelle about this as well.
"All right, Mother." He said, smiling. And then his stomach rumbled loudly and Cersei could not help but chuckle.
"I suppose that means we have talked enough about the North for one day." Enough for a lifetime. "Shall I ask for some supper to be brought up to us? Perhaps cream cakes for dessert?"
Tommen nodded quickly realizing that he was very hungry indeed after his afternoon adventures.
"Very well. Go and change your breeches and by the time you return, there will be something delicious waiting for you." Tommen did not need to be told twice as he went scurrying from his mother's solar.
Cersei had tucked Tommen into bed herself that night and read to him until he was asleep. Lately, she did not always have the luxury of time to do so, but that night she felt strongly that she needed the time with her youngest.
However, once Tommen was asleep, Cersei strode from his bedchamber with a purposeful step. She was going to speak to Sansa Stark and make sure the girl would not dare to harm her son. Some part of her recognized that it was possible she might be taking some of her frustration at Joffrey out on Sansa, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Sansa was a problem she knew how to deal with, Joffrey was not. Cersei had tried talking with Joff a hundred different ways in the last year or so as things between he and his siblings worsened, and it never helped. Sometimes, it seemed only to serve to make things worse. But Cersei could deal with Sansa Stark.
That was another slight problem Cersei did not like. However, it was politically smart to tie her son to the Key to the North. When Robb Stark died, Sansa could well be the Key to the North. Yes, her brothers would be in the way, but they could be dealt with easily enough. Cersei wished for the hundredth time that Bran Stark had had the decency to die falling out of the tower window. Then again… she had wanted that because she had not wanted him to say something. He swore, apparently, that he remembered nothing and, nonetheless, godsdamn Eddard Stark knew the secret Jaime had tried to murder Bran to protect anyway. That had not worked out so well, had it?
As usual, a yearning sadness crossed Cersei's heart for a second when she thought about Jaime and the time since she had seen him. They had not had to be apart like this in so long. She had gotten used to having him at her side in King's Landing. Gods knew he was one of the few things that made her happy here. Yes, Cersei had wanted to be Queen. She had been drunk on the power of it, especially at the beginning. However, she had quickly learned that came with other things she did not enjoy — Robert's abuses, for one. She had thought it would be easier if he died, but had learned it did not seem to be any easier now that he had. More problems had just arisen to take Robert's place.
Before long, her feet had carried her to Sansa's chamber.
She did not bother to have the Red Cloak at the door knock before she swept into the room. Sansa was stronger now and had been moved out of the chambers near Pycelle's and into something more suitable given that she was still to marry Cersei's son.
The girl was in a nightshift sitting in the window looking out when Cersei interrupted whatever traitorous thoughts she was likely thinking on. Cersei was pleased to see Sansa jump in alarm; not because she particularly liked torturing people but because it meant the girl was nervous, and that gave Cersei the upper hand in their conversation. All conversations were part of playing the Game of Thrones. If Sansa Stark did not know this, she would soon enough. Contradictory to what others might believe, Cersei did not think Sansa to be as foolish as her son seemed to believe she was. She worried enough about her to believe Sansa might be a threat at least.
"What did you mean with your actions toward my son today?" Cersei demanded, moving to tower over the girl on the window. Sansa suddenly looked much smaller and more frightened than she had from across the room, but Cersei was not of a mind to care. Sansa could potentially have ill-designs on Tommen.
Sansa's blue eyes were wide, but Cersei did not believe in innocence. She had lived in King's Landing too long for that. "Speak!" She demanded.
"I.. I did not mean…I did not… No My L.. I mean.. Your Grace."
"Stop stammering over yourself like a fool and answer me directly." Cersei was losing her patience as she came nearer and nearer to encountering potential answers to the fears that had kept her taut as a bowstring all evening.
Cersei could see that tears were gathering at the corners of Sansa's eyes, though the girl was seemingly doing her best not to let them spill over. That was something Cersei could at least respect to some degree. Tears had never held weight with her, just as they had never held weight with her father. But she could respect doing one's best not to let them come.
Sansa took a deep breath. She had suspected this conversation would come, so she wasn't sure why she had been taken so off guard now that the Queen was in her bedchamber, staring down at her like something she wanted to crush. "I.. Don't have.. Any intentions with your son." Then, she tacked on quickly as she remembered her courtesies "Your Grace."
"I find that difficult to believe considering he spent all afternoon in your company and now has written a letter to your bastard brother."
Sansa cringed when she hard Jon called a bastard (another of those new developments grown with her fealty to Jon since the wolf dream). Perhaps it might be true, but she realized now how much it must hurt. Then, Sansa's mind picked up the last part of Cersei's demanded responses. "I never… what? He actually … I never asked him to write to Jon Snow, Your Grace. It was his idea."
"But you knew about it." Cersei demanded, frustration flooding her.
Sansa quickly shook her head. "No, Your Grace. He suggested he might write to Jon. He asked me if Jon would tell him more about the Wall if he wrote. I… said I didn't know because I haven't spoken to Jon since we left Winterfell. Please believe me, Your Grace!"
Cersei stared at Sansa for a long moment, watching her eyes, watching the lines in her face, the pull of her mouth, the anxious flush on her cheeks. It seemed to Cersei that the girl might be telling the truth. Often, Cersei could tell if someone was lying to her. Living in this place had done that well enough. Still, she was far from absolved of the fears that Sansa Stark might have ill intentions toward Tommen. After all, it was not as if they were playing at diplomacy with Sansa's family.
"Why did you suggest there was even a possibility of this bastard brother of yours returning a letter? You should have dissuaded Tommen from doing such a thing. My children do not need to have any contact with the likes of the men who guard the Wall. I have not yet brought myself to ruin his fantasy that the Wall is filled with dashing knights as it once was. Nonetheless, Tommen does not need to have contact with that lot of rabble — reavers and rapers and thieves.
For just a second, Sansa's anger flared. "Jon is none of those things!"
"No, he's only a bastard. Traitorous and dangerous by nature."
Sansa had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from responding harshly. Maybe most bastards were traitorous and dangerous by nature, but Sansa knew that wasn't true of Jon Snow.
Sansa's blue eyes had become as hard as frozen ice as she stared up at Cersei Lannister. She might be able to curb her angry words, but her eyes were as filled with anger as her words were hollow when she spouted her pretty little lies about caring only for Joffrey — Cersei could see that at once, though she had to admit the girl could say nothing else, could she?
Then, unbidden and incredibly unwelcome, her own children's faces and the conversation she had had with Eddard Stark flooded back to her. Born into any other family and with less secrecy, her own children would bear the disgusting surname "Hill" like all the other Westerlands bastards. Lannisters were above such things just as the Targaryens had been above the laws of incest in marriage, at least her own children, at least according to Cersei. Tommen and Myrcella were sweet and kind and good. They did not have a traitorous bone in their bodies. And Joffrey. Cersei refused to believe that his ill-nature had anything to do with his parentage, elsewise it would have affected Myrcella and Tommen also. Perhaps it had had something to do with how she had raised him, that Cersei could believe. Had she not been fixated on worries of it for near a year now? Nonetheless, the thought stayed her anger if only slightly.
"Did you tell Tommen to write to anyone else? Was it on your behalf?" She felt the need to ask the question multiple ways, to be certain.
"No, Your Grace. I did not believe he would actually write to Jon! Boys of his age…" Sansa stopped, unsure whether to continue. She thought of Bran and his climbing and his belief that he could never fall. "Boys his age come up with lots of notions but it does not mean they follow through with them. I had thought…"
"Thought what?"
"That if I gave him an indirect answer about whether Jon would respond, that he would put the idea out of his head." Sansa wanted to yell at Cersei and ask her if she believed Sansa to be a complete fool. Why on earth would Sansa encourage Tommen to do something that was likely to get her, Arya, and their father killed? To what end? To write to a brother who could do absolutely nothing to save them? At least there was that grace and she grasped it like a drowning person grasps a log. "Your Grace, Jon is a sworn brother of the Night's Watch."
"Who takes no part in the wars of men. Yes. How fortunate for you." Cersei responded drily. It was fortunate. Had Tommen taken it into his mind to write to Robb Stark for instance, the consequences might not have been solely on Sansa Stark's head. Thank the Gods he had not done that.
Sansa did not break her gaze away from Cersei even though she desperately wanted to.
"And he wrote to no one else?"
"Your Grace, if he wrote letters to anyone else, he did not tell me about them." Sansa insisted. Her eyes still looked truthful, so Cersei continued.
"And his knee? How did my son happen to be in this part of Maegor's? Why did you fix his knee? And why did you not tell someone else?"
Sansa took a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure and not let herself cringe away from Cersei's angry tone. "I… he was running from the King, Your Grace. They were… disagreeing." Sansa could not think how else to put it. She could not call Joffrey a bully or cruel even though he was.
That much Cersei could absolutely believe. "And why here?"
Sansa shook her head, "I don't know, your Grace. I only heard them in the hallway and watched until Joffrey went away. I thought someone would come to help Tommen, and when they didn't I thought…."
"You thought you would take the opportunity to harm him while he was alone?"
"No! Truly your Grace. Tommen is a little boy. He reminded me of my little brothers and all the times I.. Have patched up their cuts and bruises. When no one came, I did not want to leave him there crying, so I asked if I could look at his knee. It wasn't a bad cut and only needed bandaging." Why hadn't Sansa gone for someone else? She didn't know. It probably would have made far more sense than what she had done, which was now clearly only putting her and possibly Arya and her father at greater risk than ever.
Cersei stared at Sansa for a long moment, waiting for any flicker of deceit or dishonesty to cross the girl's features, but none did. "Perhaps you had no ill intentions. Why were you discussing anything with him — particularly the North?" Somehow, Cersei's voice was becoming slightly less threatening, slightly less angry, though certainly still holding a good deal of suspicion.
"Your Grace, I only thought to try to distract him while I cleaned and bandaged his knee so it wouldn't hurt. I asked him if he could travel, where he might want to go. I never thought he would want to go North. And then he kept talking and it was keeping him distracted. I truly did not want to hurt him."
Cersei had to admit she had used the same tactic plenty of times when she had dealt with her own children's smaller injuries that far from required a maester's intervention. And her Aunt Genna had done the same to her as a child. "And the stories about ridiculous Others sure to give him nightmares?"
Sansa's face flushed. It would come back to that of course. "I… they're just.. stories Your Grace. Cradle stories," she paused, then continued. "Tommen asked what sort of creatures could not cross the Wall. He also brought up the magic spells to keep them from crossing and I…"
"Filled in the blanks," Cersei said. Slowly, the fury seemed to be going out of her bit by bit as she tried to even begin to wrap her mind around the idea that Sansa Stark had truly only meant to be kind to Tommen despite Cersei's other son treating her horribly. It made no sense. It was too good. People were not that good. Even Jaime and Cersei themselves were, arguably, not that 'good.' She did not fool herself on that count, nor was she sure she desired to change it. Being 'good' was the kind of thing that got you eaten alive in the Game of Thrones. You win or you die. And Cersei had four very important reasons to live.
"Yes, Your Grace."
"So, I am to believe that you found my son being tormented by my other son, brought him here, mended his knee with no ulterior motive, told him a harmless story, and sent him on his way? You swear that this is the complete truth of it? You have not left out anything? If you have I will find out, and it will go badly for you."
"Yes, Your Grace. That is all. I have not been dishonest with you. Tommen is only a child, and he is a good boy."
Cersei stared at the Stark girl for a long minute. "On that much, we can agree." Cersei's mouth pursed thoughtfully for a moment before she managed to say what she knew she should.
"You have my thanks." It was stiff, not a phrase Cersei Lannister was used to saying, clearly. Then, she turned on her heel and left without another word.
Jon's comment on this chapter: "Seven Hells! What am I supposed to do with this?"
Coming Next: Tommen tries to help; Stannis's rumors have far reaching, painful consequences.