A/N: Woohoo! Another new chapter. An 8k word monster of a chapter, at that.
Thanks to everyone reading and taking the time to review. I hope you like this development.
xx-Kitten.
Winter Storm
By Kittenshift17
Chapter 18: Lady Sansa Tyrell
When she returned to her chambers that night, secreting through the corridors with Gendry's arm curled around her shoulders and her arm snugly around his waist, Arya found that her body actually did ache a little more than she'd expected. The bleeding had stopped, she discovered when she stripped down to naked once more before contorting herself to examine her cunt for the cause of the ache, but a low, dull ache remained.
Sighing to herself, Arya shrugged her shoulders before dressing once more. She was hardly tired, and she almost wished she'd taken Gendry up on the suggestion that they raid the kitchen for something to snack on before retiring for the night. She wished she'd taken him up on the offer to join him in his chambers for a little while, too, and Arya bit her lip as she trailed her eyes over her own chambers knowing she ought to just put herself to bed and try to get some sleep.
"I can't sleep now, Nymeria," Arya told the direwolf sprawled on her bed and Nymeria wagged her tail, her eyes on her mistress.
Arya wondered if the wolf could smell what she'd been doing with Gendry. She wondered if this made her a woman, like so many of the ladies liked to claim. She wondered if she ought to go and brew herself a pot of moon tea to ensure that she wouldn't get pregnant. It was close enough to their wedding day that if she did fall pregnant, she'd hardly be accused on impropriety, but she was far too young for children, Arya thought to herself. Lady Mormont might not have been wrong that while her hips were certainly the wide, child-baring type, she still had some growing of her own to do before she ought to risk birthing Gendry's strapping sons into the world.
Not to mention that she had very little interest in children, Arya thought, shaking her head a little. She wasn't like Sansa and determined to be a cheerful, chatty chipmunk whose life revolved around her children to take her mind off her loneliness and her unhappiness with her husband. She was horrifically fond of Gendry, in fact, and she'd much rather spend a good deal of time enjoying him without the complication of a babe, thank you very much. Making up her mind, Arya stuffed her feet back into her boots, uncaring that she wore only one of Father's long night shirts and that her bare legs were on display from just above the kneed to mid-calf where her boots stopped.
Slipping back out of her chambers, Arya traversed the castle in the dark, Nymeria groaning from the bed before she got up and followed her mistress dutifully, her claws clicking on the stone floor. She'd spent so long in Storm's End already that she didn't need a torch to guide her way, though several had been left burning low in their cradles on the walls to better light the way for the many guests within the castle walls. Arya wondered if she might waken any of them with her midnight wandering.
Indeed, she was still wondering about it when she collided with someone from behind and Arya stumbled in surprised.
"Oh, dear," a low voice said, and a huff of air rushed from the man's lungs before he began to slide down the wall, unable to maintain his balance.
"Willas?" Arya asked, making a grab for her good-brother's hand when he flailed a little and she recognised him in the low light.
"Arya?" Willas blinked, looking shocked when she managed to pull him upright once more before he could fall to the cold floor.
"What are you doing out of bed at this hour, my Lord Willas?" Arya asked, a little smile pulling at the corners of her mouth when she'd righted him, much to his relief and embarrassment.
"Shhhh," he said, pressing his fingers to his lips before pointing toward something through the door just beyond him.
The kitchen, Arya knew, were through that door and she frowned before she stepped around his large frame to squint into the dimly lit kitchen. She felt a smile pull at the corners of her mouth when she spotted the sole occupant of the room.
Sansa Tyrell nee Stark was padding about the kitchen, barefoot, one hand on her ever-growing bulge, whilst with the other she devoured a lemon cake.
"She's been getting up more and more during the night, of late," Willas told her softly. "Likely the heat and the never-ceasing storms of this place. They make her restless. The baby keeps her busy at the privy, too, and she's been trying to keep from over-eating, but she never eats enough at meals and is hungry by midnight."
Arya giggled a little, watching her sister munch on the small lemon cakes the cook had left out for the arrival of the King and Queens tomorrow. She maintained her dignity and her regal poise as she devoured each one, but it was clear to Arya that her sister still loved the delicious cakes and that she was famished.
"And you've been spying on her?" Arya asked.
"Monitoring her," Willas corrected. "I breed hounds and horses with a passion, Lady Arya, and this kind of behaviour can lead to trouble in the later stages of pregnancy. If she over indulges too much, the babe might grow too big and she might struggle to deliver him. I could not bear losing her to a son or daughter, Arya. That, and this is an unfamiliar castle, filled with allies and former enemies, alike. It would be only too easy to spark a war with the Tyrells should something happen to my beautiful bride, and I'd rather avoid the embarrassment of needing to avenge my wife when I cannot ride off to war as I once might've."
"You worry someone would harm her here in Storm's End?" Arya asked him seriously, trying not to laugh when Sansa happened upon some fruit mince pies and began polishing those off, too. The poor Cook would be furious in the morning to find all her preparation wasted.
"Ordinarily, I would not," Willas admitted. "Most of the Baratheon staff and family is now related to the Tyrells, through Aunt Mina, but with the Lannisters on their way, the Martells already amongst us, them from the Eyrie, and the Reach, and the Barrowlands, too… You can never be too careful, Lady Arya."
"None would dare to harm my sister just days before my wedding, Willas," Arya said quietly. "They would not live to tell the tale of it, and they know it."
Willas's mouth stretched into a wide smile when he spotted the deadly gleam in Arya's eyes.
"You know, Lady Arya, Sansa has no idea that you would kill for her," Willas said quietly. "I'm sure she would object to the idea, as most Ladies of the Realm would, but I find strange comfort in knowing you care for her so. She had almost managed to convince me that you did not."
"Have you so quickly forgotten the threats I offered you before your own nuptials, Willas?" Arya asked, raising her eyebrows at him.
Willas laughed softly.
"How could I?" he wanted to know. "You had some incredibly creative suggestions for the things you would do to my person should I harm her or dishonour her in any way."
"Did you tell her what I said?" Arya asked, frowning at the man her sister had married.
"I doubt my manhood could've taken such a blow as to admit to my wife that of everyone out of her family, the one who terrified me most was her younger sister," Willas admitted begrudgingly. "No, Sansa has no idea that you threatened to relieve me of my crippled leg before beating me to death with the limb to find one final use for it before I expired should I be anything but the perfect husband she had dreamed of all her life."
Arya nodded, pleased to know he hadn't ratted her out to Sansa for her less than ladylike and extremely rude threat.
"But you should tell her," Willas went on. "Perhaps not about threatening me. That would earn you a sound scolding, I think."
He laughed.
"You think I should tell her I'd kill a man for her?" Arya asked. "Yes, that would go over well."
"Perhaps not that you would kill for her," Willas allowed. "But she's actually been very concerned that you don't like her, Arya. When she learned that you'd been brought to the Stormlands to court Gendry, she briefly grew very excited at the prospect of having family so close. It's but a day's hard ride from Storm's End to Highgarden. She's been very lonely without all her friends from Winterfell, you know? She tries to hide it, and she's very good at blending in and making friends with my sisters, Aunts, and cousins. But I know she sometimes aches with missing her family."
"How long before the hope of catching up wore off when she remembered what an urchin I am?" Arya asked, loathing that she sounded a little bitter as she asked.
"A few days," Willas admitted. "She got to thinking that you likely wouldn't stay and marry Gendry when you're so opposed to marriage, and that even if you did, you would be sour and angry over it. When she learned she was pregnant, she turned her mind to other things, but I think she would very much like to bridge the gap between the two of you that has existed since childhood. Soon enough you will be Aunt to a niece or nephew, and I'm sure Sansa would adore having so fierce a protector for the little one. Especially since I am… lacking in my ability to defend them myself."
Arya wondered how much of his pride the admission cost him and she turned to squint up at the man by the low light from the kitchen.
"You would need only utter a word and your hounds would rip the throats from any who threatened them, Willas," Arya reminded him.
"That may be, but here I am, sneaking after her in the night with delusions of protecting her, when in actuality being bumped into by accident would've left me useless on the floor while I was killed too, or while someone went on in there and murdered my wife while I watched, limp and useless to assist her," Willas said and the bitterness in his tone was so palpable that Arya could almost taste it.
"Where are your hounds now?" she asked, frowning. I thought you always had one with you? Of course, even if you didn't, Lady would protect Sansa."
"Lady is more a Lady than her mistress," Willas rolled his eyes.
"She's not, actually," Arya said. "When she was a pup I used to lure her away from Sansa while Sansa bathed, and I taught her to attack on command, like any hound."
Willas's eyes widened.
"Does Sansa know?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
Arya chuckled. "She knows," Arya nodded. "She annoyed me a little while back when she was arguing that Nymeria was a wild beast like me and Lady was a perfect princess who would never track mud in the house or attack anyone. I proved her wrong."
"You set your sister's wolf on your sister?" Willas asked, looking horrified.
"Don't be ridiculous," Arya rolled her eyes. "I set Lady on Theon when he was drunk and tried to feel Sansa up. She was none too happy about Lady getting blood on her fur, and she yelled at me for a good hour for daring to teach her perfectly mannered pet to bite people, but she'll likely have use of it one day. I knew that eventually she would be shipped off to marry someone, and I needed to know she would be protected, even whilst so far from home."
"And yet you refuse to tell her that you care about her," Willas shook his head. "What animosity is it between the two of you that can inspire such foolishness? You could be the very closest of friends, but you're both too stubborn."
"We couldn't be," Arya shook her head. "She thinks me wild, rude, wilful and spiteful, in addition to ugly and annoying. In return, I think her simpering and pompous and air-headed and foolish, most of the time. We are simply different types of women, Willas. She likes gossip, and sewing, and dancing, and singing. I like fighting and cussing and horse-riding and a good many other things that Sansa has always and will always turn her nose up at. When we were children, the boys and I tried to lure her into being a bit less high-strung, but she always refused to play with us if it meant she might get dirty. She'd rather sit and sew something that play chase or ride with us."
She shrugged her shoulder before eyeing her sister in the kitchen when Sansa emitted a soft moan as she bit into another lemon cake.
"Just the same," Willas said. "I imagine that in not too long a time you might be in the same condition as her, Arya. Married. Pregnant. Far from Winterfell and missing your family. I think that Sansa would like it very much if she could confide in you and write to you about things she doesn't feel comfortable sharing with her ladies-maids or my kin."
Arya sighed, knowing it might very well be true, and having found since Sansa's arrival that her sister wasn't actually an incarnation of the stupidest person to ever live.
"I'll consider it, Willas," Arya offered. "If she and I can manage a few more civil conversations during your stay, I will consider reaching out to her more often than I have done up until now."
"Thank you," Willas smiled at her. "And now, to give you both privacy that sisters must surely need, and knowing she is safe in your capable hands, Lady Arya, I will bid you goodnight and return to my bedchamber."
He offered her an incline of his head since he could hardly bow into anything more formal.
"Do you need help getting there?" Arya offered. "I know you hurt yourself when I bumped into you."
"I can manage," Willas said. "Though you are kind to offer without seeming entirely condescending, Arya."
Arya smiled.
"Wait…" she said before he could go too far.
Willas turned back a little, looking slightly pained by the movement, but valiantly doing so just the same.
"You said she has been lonely…?" Arya said, jerking her thumb toward Sansa in the kitchen where she was still eating lemon cakes, unaware of their presence.
"She cries sometimes, late at night when she thinks I've fallen asleep," Willas said, and he sounded sad. "Not too often, of course, but there are times when she aches with missing Winterfell, missing her friends and your mother, and all of you. Once, when I asked her about it, I managed to pry the truth out of her that sometimes it was only the baby and for the sake of propriety that she didn't run to the stables, saddle a horse, and ride hard for Winterfell. She said that sometimes she would give her left leg to see another Stark, even if it was you or Jon, whom she has always liked least."
"What did you say when she said so?" Arya asked, frowning at the news.
"That we would arrange the wheelhouse and ride for Winterfell whenever she liked," Willas smiled sadly. "I am no brute and I take no pleasure in seeing my wife so sad, Lady Arya. And I've hardly more pressing things to do that bump along in a wheelhouse holding her, if that is what she desires."
"What of Highgarden and your hounds?" Arya asked.
"All would wait if a journey to Winterfell would return Sansa's bright smile to her face."
Arya's brow furrowed. "But you didn't go," she said.
"We planned to when we received the raven that you had all come to the Stormlands," Willas confessed. "When Sansa heard that, she hoped that you might all stop in at Highgarden on your way home, even though it is out of the way."
Arya nodded slowly, supposing that her mother and father might very well still do that. She was so lost in thought that she didn't hear Willas bid her goodnight a second time before he limped away, making use of the wall to support himself thanks to the pain in his leg. Turning her attention to the dimly lit kitchen where her sister was scarfing down lemon cakes, Arya carefully crossed the distance and slipped inside alongside the other young woman, an evil grin spreading across her face as she did so.
"And just what do you think you're doing?" Arya demanded in her best imitation of Mother's voice.
Sansa uttered a soft shriek of surprise, dropping the lemon cake that she'd been in the process of lifting to her mouth and spinning toward her, eyes wide with terror. Arya began to giggle just a little bit when Sansa clutched her chest like she'd had a horrid fright, her breath uneven and her expression one of terror before she recognised Arya.
"Oh, Arya!" Sansa shouted, swatting her in annoyance. "You scared me half to death!"
Arya laughed all the more.
"That was the point, Sansa," Arya said. "Cook will be terribly cross with you when she wakes to find you've eaten all her lemon cakes before Aunt Lyanna can arrive."
"I got hungry," Sansa admitting, blushing prettily and lowering her head in shame, her hands cradling her pregnant belly.
"I can tell," Arya chuckled. "Well, don't let me stop you, sweet sister. Cook will get over it and I'm sure Aunt Lyanna won't mind missing out on lemon cakes so that her pregnant niece doesn't go hungry."
"She will so," Sansa laughed. "She's pregnant, too. She'll wallop me for eating them all and not leaving a single one for her. How she can stand the thought of another babe at her age is beyond me. She's already got five children, and she's more than twice our age. By the Seven, her back must be killing her. I know mine is paining me something terrible after the journey here."
Arya frowned at little at how chatty Sansa seemed, never having been one to admit to aches or pains in Arya's hearing before, lest she be poked and prodded all the more.
"It's been paining you?" Arya asked, reaching for a lemon cake herself and gobbling it up with delight.
"Yes," Sansa admitted. "The wheelhouse was hardly comfortable, you know, and the road was a little bumpy, what with all the rain recently. Lots of potholes made for a rather unpleasant trip. And we were travelling so slow that I had to sit in the wretched thing for hours and hours on end listening to Margery clucking about seeing Aegon for the wedding and continuing on to King's Landing with him when you and Lord Gendry have tied the knot. You think I'm bad for simpering, but by the end of that trip, I was nearly ready to throttle her, myself. I swear, Arya, if that was how you felt listening to me all those times, I apologize profusely."
Arya began to laugh.
"By the Gods, who are you and what have you done with my perfectly poised sister?" Arya asked, positively shocked.
"Sorry," Sansa apologised. "I suppose that sound a little ruder and bitterer than I intended, but I really was just so tired of the chatter, Arya. I've never wished so hard for the times I was stuck in a wheelhouse with you, instead."
"And you swore you'd never miss travelling with me," Arya teased gently, offering Sansa another fruit pie when she reached toward one but couldn't quite get it without leaving the stool she'd pulled up for herself.
"I did," Sansa chuckled. "More fool, I."
Arya watched her gobble up the fruit pie she'd been given before she cast her eyes around for something else to eat, spotting a large pot of something over on the stove that had been left to simmer all through the night on a very low heat, by the looks of it.
"Ooooh, venison stew!" Sansa exclaimed looking excited. "Would you like some, Arya? Oh, where are the bowls? I'm starving."
"You really don't have to starve yourself during meals if you're hungry, Sansa. You're growing the next heir to Highgarden. I'm sure no one will think less of you for eating your fill."
"Oh, I don't want to seem a pig, and I don't want to put on too much weight with the baby. Lady Olena told me that all of the highborns ladies tended to have terrible trouble shifting the weight again after the baby comes. I don't want to sacrifice my figure any more than I have to."
Arya rolled her eyes.
"Yes, Gods forbid your body look as though you've borne children when you're a mother," she teased.
"Oh, you know what I mean. It's so unbecoming to see the ladies who just pile on the flab and they have to have a whole new wardrobe made to accommodate the bigger size of themselves. I worked far too hard stitching my dresses to lose them over one babe."
"I don't think it works if you starve yourself at dinner but stuff yourself later when no one can see, Sansa," Arya said.
"I know," Sansa sighed, filling two bowls with stew before ferreting some bread from the baking tray and carrying it over for the two of them to enjoy.
Though she wasn't overly hungry, Arya accepted the food, curious about this change in Sansa's demeanour and worried after Willas's confessions.
"So," Sansa said when she began dipping her bread in the stew and eating it with her fingers as Arya was sure she'd never seen her sister do. "Tell me about Gendry. How can it be that the girl who so vehemently scorned marriage is so willingly going to wed Lord Gendry Baratheon? They haven't threatened you or something terrible, have they, Arya?"
Arya raised her eyebrows.
"Not unless you count it a threat to be warned that if not Gendry, I would have to marry some other Lord instead. One who might be less accommodating of my bad habits."
"He does seem alarmingly tolerant of all your unladylike behaviours," Sansa nodded. "Lady Olena suggested that it was either a lack of character on his part, or an abundance of self-confidence and maturity, if he is so willing to tolerate the gossip and the snide comments about his manhood to have so wild and uncontrolled a woman for his wife."
Arya's lips twitched a little.
"Lady Olena ought to learn to keep her nose out of other people's affairs," Arya sniffed with all the condescension of a proper highborn princess. "However, I can comfortably denote any rumours about Gendry lack of character and assure you that he is simply above being threatened by the likes of a woman who doesn't cow-tow to him, just so. He might endure the gossip of the Realm and hear whispers that he must be less a man to have so little control of me, but I think it's safe to say that is not the case in the slightest. He doesn't seem to mind my habits, and he specifically requested someone like me who would do more than bear his sons and shine his cock."
"Arya!" Sansa admonished, though she put very little effort into it and seemed only to bother out of habit over her language, rather than offense and she'd have done in the past.
"Well, it's true," Arya shrugged her shoulders. "He demanded that Robert find him a bride who wouldn't bat her eyes or flash her cunt at him for the title of Lady Baratheon and the glory of parading before all her friends to be High Lady of this castle, one day."
"Which you most certainly will not do," Sansa chuckled. "How fortunate that you despise everything traditional and he is looking for just that."
Arya frowned a little at her tone.
"You think it an act?" Arya asked, raising her eyebrows at her sister.
"No," Sansa admitted. "I've seen the way he looks at you. Whenever you're in the room, that man's eyes follow you like he's a hungry hound and you're a tasty morsel he can't wait to devour. I only meant to note my happiness for you, Arya. It is highly unusual, to be sure, but I can think of no other man who would laugh if you whacked him in the face on the day a host of lords and ladies arrived, leaving him swollen and bruised. He even confessed that you had been the one to hit him, suggesting that your skill with weapons matches or outshines his own, and I cannot think of any man who would ever willingly admit such a thing about a woman – least of all a woman he was courting. You're very lucky to have found some common ground with Gendry."
Arya nodded, knowing it was true.
"Not to mention that he is incredibly handsome. One day the two of you will have adorable and handsome children, I'm certain," Sansa went on, smoothing her hand over her baby-bump once more.
"Even with my horseface?" Arya asked.
Sansa laughed.
"You've outgrown your horseface, Arya, just like you've outgrown your brattiness over your title. You are maturing into a mature and beautiful young woman, and you will make a stunning bride when you and Gendry tie the knot."
"Are you quite sure you're my sister and not some imposter?" Arya teased, shaking her head at the compliments.
"I'm quite sure I missed you far more than I care to admit," Sansa said softly, tracing her Tully blue eyes over Arya's face like she was drinking in the sight she made.
"I missed you too, Sansa," Arya admitted. "Especially after coming here. With so few familiar faces, it was hard not to miss even those people who irked me in Winterfell."
"We did have a knack for annoying the stuffing out of each other as girls, didn't we?" Sansa chuckled, looking almost fond of the people they'd once been.
"Look at you, imaging that I can't still annoy the stuffing out of you," Arya laughed.
She almost choked on her bite of stew-soaked bread when Sansa poked her tongue out at her.
"Is it really so bad at Highgarden?" Arya asked softly after a strangely comfortable silence fell between them as they nibbled their midnight snack quietly.
Sansa blinked. "Oh, no. Highgarden is lovely," she said. "You've been there. You've seen how beautiful it is."
Arya smiled sadly.
"Nothing in all the world is as beautiful as Winterfell and the Godswood," Arya told her. "You are unhappy there, aren't you?"
Sansa frowned a little and opened her mouth like she meant to say that such an idea was preposterous, but before she could, Arya cut her off.
"I know you've been crying yourself to sleep some nights, sweet sister. Willas told me he hears you late at night when you think he's asleep."
Sansa's lower lip trembled like she might cry, and she pulled it between her teeth as though to hide the evidence.
"I've been so lonely," she whispered after what felt like a lifetime. "The Tyrells are lovely, of course. They've all been so kind and so polite, but by the Gods, Arya, I've missed home. I've missed Mother and Father. Robb and Bran and Rickon and Jon. You. I've missed Jeyne and my ladies-maids, and everyone form Winterfell. It's been horrible, surrounded by people I'm not certain I can trust with all of my secrets, always having to smile politely, never allowed to whisper behind my hand in annoyance about someone's behaviour. Never allowed to say a bad word about Willas, lest someone think poorly of me. It's been horrible. I've wanted to go home so badly, I almost stole a horse from the stable a few moons ago, before I found out I was pregnant."
Arya set aside her food and rose to her feet when Sansa began to cry, pressing her hands over her eyes like she couldn't stand it another minute. She didn't know which one of them was more surprised when she pulled her sister into her arms and let her cry softly.
"Oh, and you must think me such a fool," Sansa said thickly, her voice hoarse with the tears she'd cried against Arya's shoulder. "You told me I was a fool to be so excited about the prospect of marriage and I didn't listen. I bleated at you about duty and honour and all that rubbish, but I didn't know, Arya. It never crossed my mind that being married and sent off to live in my husband's castle would mean being so far from home and all my friends. I thought my ladies-maids from home would come with me, but they didn't and now I have new maids, but it's not the same and I feel like I can't ever relax around any of them because what if I say the wrong thing, or do the wrong thing and offend someone? Mother's not there to smooth things over for me if I blunder, and Lady Olena is so judgemental, always on the lookout for anything less that perfection…"
Arya shook her head.
"When will you learn to tell them all to go jump off the Wall, sweet sister?" Arya asked her softly. "There is no shame in telling rude people that they are being rude. There is no shame in admitting that sometimes your husband's disability drives you made and that sometimes you want nothing more than to walk around barefoot eating lemon cakes without anyone judging you for it. You are baring the Tyrell air, Sansa. You have had the wedding and the bedding ceremony. You are Lady Tyrell of Highgarden and nothing you do will change that, you know? If you want to tell Lady Olean that she's a judgmental old hag, you are free to do so. She is only your good-grandmother; nothing more than a judgemental old crone whose time will soon come and who's bitter judgements are passed off as wisdom thanks only to her age."
Sansa snorted, pulling back a little and peering into Arya's face.
"You're saying you would tell Gendry's grandmother to go jump off the wall?" Sansa asked.
"I'll tell his mother, his grandmother and a good few of his sisters, too," Arya shrugged. "How I conduct myself is none of their business."
"It is when you're representing their family as it's Lady, Arya," Sansa sighed.
"When in public court, or some such get together as a wedding like this one, yes, how I conduct myself is important. But in other times when there is nothing to do but lounge about for a lazy afternoon eating lemon cakes? No. Not then. If you find that you cannot have a moment's peace in your own house, you will go mad."
"And how would I get a moment's peace?" Sansa wanted to know.
"Ask for one," Arya shrugged her shoulders. "You've your own solar, I expect?"
Sansa nodded.
"So, dismiss your ladies-maids for an afternoon, bar the door, and just relax. Sew yourself something nice – maybe a tapestry that will keep you occupied for hours. Teach yourself a new song or play one of those fine instruments you learned to play over the years. It's your solar, you are permitted to say who is allowed inside it, and when."
"You imagine Margery or Lady Olena would vacate it if I asked them too?" Sansa raised her eyebrows.
"I imagine you're capable of asking them politely to leave if they don't. Tell them you're feeling under the weather thanks to the pregnancy and that you'd prefer to revisit your breakfast away from their prying eyes. Tell them you want to take a nap. Read a book. Do whatever you like, Sansa. They are hardly going to throw you out when you've their heir in your belly and their Lord in your bed."
"As though Willas wouldn't kick me out of his bed for such misbehaviour?" Sansa rolled her eyes.
"Willas Tyrell would sooner endure endless suffering than see you in pain, Sansa," Arya said. "It was he who told me you'd been crying at night. It was he who followed you down here to stand guard while you snacked, lest someone get it into their heads to attack you."
"As though he'd be of any use?" Sansa asked bitterly. "Without his hounds to set on them, any assailant need only give him a light shove and they could do whatever they liked to me."
"I believe he knows that, and just the same he risks the shame of failing to protect you by valiantly hoping that having him stand guard might be enough," Arya told her. "Do not discredit his intentions because his execution might be lacking, sweet sister. He endured a good deal of pain tonight when I bumped into him in the corridor, standing on his bad leg in the hall with me to tell me all his concerns about your safety and wellbeing. I don't doubt that you've many a grievance with him, but he means well, at the very least."
Sansa's lower lips trembled all over again, and she wiped frustratedly at her eyes when tears spilled over to slip down her cheeks.
"That's part of the problem," Sansa said. "Willas is a wonderful man, and he tries so hard to make me feel like he is whole and like I have not been wasted as a young woman by being wed to a cripple. He is kind, and decent, and he's so skilled at training hounds. He dotes on me like I'm sure only those brave men in my silly songs must do…"
"But he still is not whole, and he cannot protect you, and his condition makes you uncomfortable," Arya finished for her.
"Yes," Sansa admitted in a whisper, looking over Arya's shoulder toward the door as though fearful they might be overheard.
Arya sensed that Sansa would very much like someone to pour all her troubles out to, and she realised with a sudden jolt that even Mother would not be fit for this task, because Mother would worry, and Mother would remind her to do her duty to her husband.
"Let's go to my chambers," Arya suggested to her sister, patting her hand before tucking it through her elbow and turning toward the door. "Grab some more lemon cakes, if you want them. We'll have a nice cup of Dornish wine and you can tell me all the horrors of married life away from any prying ears."
"You would… invite me into your room?" Sansa asked, frowning at her like she didn't recognise this kind and polite version of Arya Stark one little bit.
"Of course I would, Sansa," Arya said, smiling gently. "You're my sister.
More tears spilled from Sansa's eyes to run down her cheeks, and Arya led the other girl away through the dimly lit corridors, Lady and Nymeria in tow, until they reached her bedchamber. They both slipped inside, and Arya bolted the door behind them, leading her sister over to the bed.
"Come on," she encouraged when Sansa hesitated as Arya opened the covers.
She couldn't recall a time, even when they'd been girls, that they'd ever shared a bed, excepting the occasional instance whilst travelling somewhere when they'd shared a tent and a cot inside it for a night or two.
"I should return to my own bed," Sansa said. "Willas… he'll be worried if I don't."
"I'm sure he'll survive without you for one night, Sansa," Arya told her. "And besides, he entrusted you to my care for the evening before returning to bed to stew in his shame over almost collapsing just because I bumped into him by accident."
"We haven't shared a bed in…." Sansa shook her head, stripping out of her night-dress until she wore only her under-things before she climbed in under the covers.
Arya smiled before rounding the bed, toeing her boots off her feet, and crawling in beside Sansa.
"Now," she said when they were both settled under the furs despite the lingering heat of the castle. "Tell me about Willas. Is bedding him as awkward as I imagine it must be?"
Sansa giggled a little bit.
"Yes," she confessed. "His leg is… strange. It's not as strong as the other one, though he has some mobility in it. He's actually strong enough on it to usually get by alright. He walks with a limp, and it's a little less toned than the other, but it's only at the end of the day that it truly can't hold his weight. He could still sit a horse – and he does, though it causes him terrible pain when he dismounts. It's not ugly, per se. The damage is in the hip joint, mostly, and it affects his balance and sends pain shooting through his back and down his leg quite often. He lives with the pain, and sometimes it makes him grumpy, especially if he cannot do as other men do."
"And can he do as other men do when he beds you?" Arya asked.
"What would you know of bedding, Arya?" Sansa laughed. "Actually, don't answer that. I don't imagine I want to know if you've dishonoured yourself and the Stark name by lying with a man not your husband before your wedding."
Arya scowled but said nothing.
"Sorry. That was rude of me. I… don't like to think about the bedding…" Sansa confessed.
"Is it bad?"
"Not bad, per se," Sansa sighed. "It's just… I never know what to do. I'm sure he wants to ask me to do things to make it easier on him, but he bites his tongue, lest I think less of him."
"He has trouble supporting his weight over you?" Arya guessed, thinking of how Gendry had taken her in the forge and supposing that with a bum-leg, doing so would be hard.
"Yes," Sansa admitted. "He cannot support much of his weight on that leg, and though he makes up for the strength with his arms, he tends to lean more to one side than the other, which makes it a bit uncomfortable."
"Have you tried straddling him so that he doesn't have to hold himself up?" Arya asked quietly.
"Arya!" Sansa gasped.
"What?" Arya said. "It's a valid question, and I think we both witnessed Theo with enough girls in that position to know its usefulness."
"But I'd be… he'd see…"
Arya turned her head on her feather pillow, frowning at her.
"You're still worried that he'll see what you look like naked. By the Gods, Sansa, you're a married woman! Do you sleep in your clothes with him, too?"
"Yes, I do," Sansa admitted. "I don't like to let him see me because when he sees me he becomes aroused, and then I have to lie there while he ruts into me and looks at me with such frustration and confusion like he knows something is wrong but doesn't know how to fix it."
"You don't like fucking him, then?"
"Well… not really," Sansa confessed. "He… I mean, he's very gentle and thoughtful, and he does his best to make sure I enjoy myself, but… it's just so awkward, Arya. I lie there thinking about how it must be hurting him, and how I wish he wouldn't lean so much to one side, and how I just want to go home."
"You don't let yourself enjoy it in the moment, then," Arya surmised. "Oh, Sansa, don't you know that if you'd stop thinking so much and show a bit more initiative and bravery in the bedchamber with him, you might both enjoy it more? If it causes him pain in that position, try another. Straddle him like he's horse, or get on your hands and knees like the wolf you are and let him rut you, sweet sister."
"But he'll see…." Sansa protested.
"If he's fucking you, he's already aroused, Sansa. What harm is there in him seeing? He is your husband, after all, and it's not as though you've a figure to be ashamed of. Look at you. Your belly is growing round with the babe he has already fucked into you, and you are as slender as you will ever be for the rest of your days once the babe comes. Why hide from him in those moments when you could instead be enjoying each other."
"He makes me nervous," Sansa confessed.
"In what way?" Arya wanted to know.
"I don't know, Arya. He gives me jitters and I feel like I have to be a proper lady and hide my breasts from his gaze, and I want him to enjoy it, but I want him to take me like he can't stand not to…. But he just doesn't."
"You do realise that letting him see you naked would likely accomplish that, don't you?" Arya asked, amused.
"Well… yes, but what if he thinks me some strumpet?" Sansa asked, frowning at her worriedly.
Arya couldn't help but laugh.
"Oh, Sansa," she laughed, shaking her head. "Willas Tyrell adores you. The only way he'd think you a strumpet would be if you started shagging his brothers and his under-lords, which I hardly think you're going to do, are you? I could have sworn that Mother, or perhaps it was Meera, told us both that the best thing about having a husband was the ability to be completely unladylike and naked and unrefined in his presence and he would be pleased because it is a sign that you trust him to love you, even at your ugliest."
Sansa stared at her like she'd grown a second head.
"You're saying you one day plan to… what? Strip off in front of Gendry at every opportunity, or let him see you using the privy, or something?"
"I'd gladly strip off in front of Gendry any day, Sansa," Arya confessed though her cheeks warmed a little even as she thought of the activities they'd engaged in out in the forge that very evening.
Sansa's eyes widened in surprise at her words and Arya hoped she hadn't given away too much, too soon. The last thing she needed was for this to turn into a fight, should Sansa figure out she'd already bedded Gendry, and scold her for the lack of propriety and restraint.
"You would?" she asked.
"Of course, I would. He's to be my husband, isn't he? And I like being naked. You know I've always hated the need for wearing clothing at all hours. Sometimes I simply want to lie around naked, and I don't see why Gendry wouldn't appreciate the view. I imagine that Willas would very much appreciate the view of you lying around naked in his bed too, Sansa. You're his wife, after all. He's vowed not to take another woman, and you are so very beautiful. I imagine the poor man feared that he might someday end up wedded to some less than desirable beast of a woman, even despite his being a Highborn Lord. His leg injury has crippled his body, his self-esteem, and his chances for greatness and glory, Sansa. Do you imagine he isn't besotted with you and utterly thrilled that so beautiful a woman is his wife?"
Sansa's lip trembled again.
"I imagine that him thinking such a thing means that my deviation form being a proper highborn princess would be something of a disappointment for him," she confessed quietly. "I want so badly to be a good wife, Arya. But I'm struggling. Some days I look at him and I just have this urge to shove him as hard as I can to watch him fall over."
Arya raised her eyebrows.
"Why?" she asked. "Is it when he's doing something specific?"
Sansa shook her head. "Sometimes I just… By the Seven, you must think me a horrid woman. Sometimes watching him struggle so much to do such simple tasks just makes me want to…"
She squeezed her hands together like she was imagining hurting her husband.
"But then, other days, I want to help him however I can. I want to offer to massage his back to make it hurt less, and to help him walk when his leg seizes up, and to do anything I can to make things easier for him, but I'm too scared that he'll think I'm insulting his manhood or being condescending, so I don't do anything but stand there and smile like some painted fool."
"That's true for anyone, Sansa," Arya said quietly. "Gendry and I aren't even married yet, but there are days I want to shove him from the castle walls or trip him on the stairs when he's being a grump sod. Of course, I'm not worried about insulting him…"
"Yes, but Gendry's not a cripple," Sansa sighed. "People think less of you if you get angry with a cripple."
"People can go jump off the cliffs into Shipbreaker Bay," Arya rolled her eyes. "You really need to tell the Tyrell women to take a hike, Sansa."
"And have them think me rude?" Sansa raised her eyebrows. "I'm without allies or friends amongst them, Arya. If I upset the wrong person, I might find myself trying to handle this pregnancy and the birth all alone."
"As though I won't be a day's ride away and won't maim whomever gives your grief?" Arya challenged quietly, realising that perhaps Willas was right about her needing to tell her sister that no matter their differences, they would always be sisters; always be Starks.
"You would… ride to my aid?" Sansa asked, her mouth opening in surprise like she didn't believe her ears.
Arya smiled tightly.
"Of course I would, Sansa," Arya said softly. "You're my sister. If you ever need my help, you won't even need to ask. I will be there."
"Will you be there when the baby comes?" Sansa asked, her eyes wide, her expression hopeful.
"Would you like me to be?" Arya asked, raising her eyebrows.
Sansa nodded her head.
"I would like that very much. You might have one of your own on the way, by then, but if you're able to travel, I would very much like it if you and Mother would both be there when the time comes. Just in case," Sansa whispered.
"Then we will be there," Arya promised solemnly, and Sansa closed her eyes against more tears even as she reached for Arya's hand and gave it a grateful squeeze.
For the first time in their lives, the two sisters fell asleep side by side without trading a single insult and Arya Stark drifted off thinking how nice that was.