Sansa
(day 1)
The palace of Prince Doran Martell rose peacefully out of the light blue mist amidst flat lands and rather mildly curved hills in the surroundings of Vicenza. The front of an ancient Greek temple with slender Ionic columns burst forward in the middle of the façade. Noble and elegant, Sansa found. It was flanked by two elongated symmetrical wings, lying gently on the ground. They possessed a regular, calm whiteness as if they had grown naturally out of the bowels of the land. Above the columns, in the triangular field of the temple roof, there were no sculptures of pagan gods; there was only a simply designed coat of arms of the House Martell, a spear piercing a sun, all in white stone, missing the bright red and orange colours it should have had, from what Sansa had read in Mr Varys' electronic paperwork.
On top, on the square pedestals above the cornice, evenly spaced along the entire facade, there were statues of Dornish warriors, all of them men with spears, proudly standing. Only in the very middle, looming over the roof of the temple, there was a woman holding a stone sun high above her head. Next to her knelt a figure of a man holding a spear, carved gaze focused on the woman's sculpted face. The warrior Queen Nymeria and Lord Mors Martell, Sansa recited inwardly the names of Prince Doran's famous ancestors and founders of his dynasty.
The long length of the wings resting in the blue-green quiet vastness of the landscape at the end of summer betrayed the building for what it was; a newly built lavish dwelling of the rich, inspired by the ancient designs of villas and palaces in the region of Veneto, something a very wealthy man like Prince Doran Martell could afford. Had it been historical as it tried to look, the wings would have been way shorter and the building more compact and square. All four sides, and not only two, would be perfectly reflecting each other, or at least aiming to do so. And a really old villa most likely could not house fifty married couples Prince Doran invited every year.
The palace had three levels, marked by long lines of rather simple windows. The ones on the ground floor had bars. The ones on the first floor were rectangular, twice as big, and they had pale green shutters. The windows on top had nothing at all, being just a procession of solitary square openings, dark holes contrasting the gleam of diffused sunlight on immaculately white stone panels covering the walls. Had the palace been ancient, there would have been brick underneath. This way, Sansa suspected there was only concrete and steel.
She still admired the building and felt a girlish excitement about spending five days in it. Old or new, it was still a beautiful house. The photographs and plans Sansa had studied did not do it justice. Standing next to her, Mr Clegane gave a look of yearning to the black car, which was being taken away by the expedite and discreet staff of the Martells, only to be returned five days later when they would depart. Stairs led to the temple looking entrance on each side.
The same kind man who welcomed them in Venice instructed them how to find their rooms later on, on the first floor and on the very end of the right hand side of the palace. He wore a uniform of sorts, a black and white doublet, and red and orange tights ending in high brown boots. There was a long thin sword on his hip. Sansa wondered if the purpose of it was purely decoration. The man smiled at her and handed her a leaflet with the programme of the festivities. It contained the plan of the palace, way less detailed than what Mr Varys had provided.
Sansa already knew that the ground floor was occupied by kitchens and storage rooms and that the guests would be staying on the first floor, on both sides of the main living area behind the entrance where most of the party events would be held. The leaflet was kindly warning the guests not to venture to the second floor just yet because the collections of Prince Doran, of ancient weaponry and rare birds, were about to be moved in, and the exposition was not yet ready. It was to be opened on the third day.
They had no time to change before the welcoming reception, and Sansa was more than glad she did it in the car. Her hand luggage was mercifully dropped on the back seat by whoever collected it in Venice together with her computer. She wore a smart black cocktail dress, following the shape of her body until just under her knees, with tight short sleeves and an extremely small circular opening under her neck. It was so simple that it required no jewellery but she still opted for a simple silver chain, a gift from her father. One pair of new black shoes with high polished heels fitted it perfectly. She was suddenly glad for her almost swim in the canal. Unintentionally, it had washed some of the night's sweat away. She took care of the rest using a bottle of water she always carried and some of her cosmetics. She tied her hair with a simple blue ribbon after combing it, so that she wouldn't have to wear it fully down which might be inappropriate for the occasion. It was the best that could have been done on the move. Mr Clegane had turned silent after their odd conversation and she had been glad for it. She had no idea what to make of his offer to kill for her. It sounded like something her sister could find romantic, but it didn't have much appeal for Sansa.
When they arrived, her partner swiftly produced a new tie from the trunk, applied some deodorant on most critical places, tossed his hair over his scars by one huge hand and that was all.
Hand in hand, they stepped in the large luminous loggia behind the entrance, facing the famous Water Gardens behind the palace. Two shorter and lower wings continued the palace on the back side. Opposite the main building there was a wall serving to enclose the complex to the outside world. The left wing in the back contained the apartments of the Martells. It was a modern structure, windowless on the outside and completely built of glass on the inside so that Prince Doran could feel immersed in the watery splendour of his back yard even behind locked doors. In straight line from the loggia, there were three large circular fountains. All around them, there were a dozen lesser pools, a square, a star, a flower and many more, mostly with mythical creatures spurting water in their middle. Flowers and grass filled the empty spaces in-between in regular intervals. The second wing in the back contained a parking lot which should have been stables in the old times. It's roof was overgrown with clematis and ivy, to mask the functionality of what it was. On its wall toward the garden there was a series of small semi-enclosed spaces around various fountains. The walls of those mini-chambers in the open air were divided and adorned by pilasters where imaginary monsters stretched their heads, limbs and tails. A chimaera, a centaur, a griffin, a serpent, a seven headed dragon and many more, all made out of ceramic tiles, blue figures on stark white background.
Sansa longed to take a walk in the garden, which she had found particularly beautiful in pictures. Instead, they ended having a drink with Prince Doran Martell in person. Half of the guests have already arrived and Sansa thought that considering the dislike he has shown for Mr Clegane, his presence in their company was most unusual.
"My, my," the prince rose from a wheelchair with difficulty, and approached them leaning on a walking stick. "Mr and Mrs Clegane. I can imagine no better shield from boring company." He glanced at Mr and Mrs Stokeworth he had just left behind. Lollys Stokeworth waved a pudgy hand toward the prince. A silly female smile accompanied the gesture. Bronn Stokeworth hugged his wife and shrugged as if he were trying to apologise for any annoyance she may have caused. "The truth be told, the presence of my dear brother and his mistress would shield me even better. Most unfortunately, he missed his flight," the prince explained himself further while all three of them picked a glass of white wine from a tray being walked around by a waiter. They are all very short, Sansa observed about the staff. Why? Prince Doran and Lady Nymeria were of average height so it wasn't like all the Dornish had a stature of a child.
"Your brother?" Mr Clegane asked flatly, but Sansa sensed an almost imperceptible trepidation, a stiffening, of sorts, in the hand she had been holding.
"And Elia's," Prince Doran threatened sweetly. "You remember Elia, don't you, Mr Clegane. My dear brother Oberyn should be arriving later tonight, and he's eager to make your acquaintance."
"A shield, you said?" Sansa asked, trying to diffuse the situation. "What an interesting metaphor for good society."
"Is it?" Prince Doran asked back, appreciating her for the first time from tip to toe, as if she were a person and not merely Mr Clegane's escort. "Nowadays, some would say shielding is more important than anything," he commented as a man gone slightly demented all of a sudden, talking to himself. Mr Clegane looked at him with interest. "I have seen strange things under the sun..." the prince concluded. Her partner's interest wavered after that phrase.
Prince Doran must have found them boring after all because he abandoned them soon enough after turning so forgetful and strange, to welcome a stunning blond lady in a red dress, accompanied by a black haired, fat, and seemingly already drunk husband. The woman stared at Sansa, and Sansa found herself staring back until Mr Clegane gently tugged her sleeve.
"Joffrey Baratheon's parents," he said, his voice a pond of acid.
When she heard that, Sansa did her best to ignore them. She didn't want to give an impression she was after their son. And she was a married woman now, wasn't she? She moved to a shady corner of the loggia and her partner followed. His size and silence giving her the sense of security. Those who are after me, are they here?She shivered. The palace had a state of the art security surveillance system on the outside, displayed with labels for all to
notice its existence. It was unlikely anyone unauthorised would go either in or out once the festivities started. And the luggage of the guests would most likely be thoroughly scanned before it would be brought to their rooms. So even if those who wish to harm me are among the guests, they should not be able to have any weapons...
Pale light of the early afternoon illuminated the fountains and the flower patches and its glimmer on the watery surfaces filled Sansa's mind with unique pleasure. Beauty always did.
Mr Clegane's voice startled her. "They don't want us to nose around the second floor," he said. "Might be I'll do it when all the morons here go to their rooms."
"And if you are found?" she asked. Why am I worried about him? she wondered. Sansa, he's a murderer! she tried to correct herself, but the concern wouldn't go away. He has already killed for me, she realised, very belatedly. The guys in the truck on the road to Padua had nothing to do with their spying task.
"I'm an old drunk," he informed her, staggering on his feet when au unknown couple passed them. "The Martells know this."
"Oh," she said. "I see." Were there more unpleasant things to discover about her partner? Sansa hated drunks.
She looked at his glass then. It was still full. No matter how he appeared, he was totally sober. She wanted to ask him if he stopped drinking, but the moment was not good as more and more people gathered in the loggia to admire the view. Some of them, like Joffrey's mother, she noticed, manifestly tipsy, laughing.
The end of the reception couldn't come soon enough for Sansa. When it did, it made Mr Clegane happy as well. He practically raced her through the palace only to sag on the bed as soon as they got into their room.
There wasn't really any other place to sit down. Apart from the bed, there was a spacious in-built wardrobe on the left wall. A large rectangular window faced the entrance, and a door leading to the bathroom was to Sansa's right.
"What is there to see under the sun, I wonder," he told her in a weird voice and stared at her with attentive grey eyes, just like in the false church before he'd kissed her. "Not much, in the end," he decided, and stopped looking.
The bed was in front of her. The room suddenly seemed too small to contain the two of them and their belongings, occupying the rest of the empty space. Sansa looked at three large black suitcases which were not hers. And here I thought men didn't pack a lot of things, she thought. At least her father and brothers did not, and her mother had to do it all over again after them. Sansa had only one large bright purple suitcase, easy to spot on a belt when you travelled by plane, a rather small brown bag
she used for hand luggage, and six boxes of shoes. Moderate, for a woman, she thought.
Time to unpack, she decided and looked around for possibilities, sparing a moment to admire the beautiful geometric proportions and the overall simplicity of the tiny room they were given. The height of the window must have been in the golden ratio to the part of the wall under it, to better reflect the assumptions of the ancient architecture that at least some parts of the palace sought to imitate. It would be cozy if the couple in it were a real couple to start with. The door of the wardrobe moved, slightly, but Sansa's methodical look reflecting on the surroundings noticed it.
A cat, Sansa thought.
But it looked too large to be one.
A person, Sansa realized. A short one, like those waiters.
Mr Clegane sighed on the edge of the bed. His suit jacket was gone and he was about to take off his trousers. Sansa turned her back on him to give him some privacy and walked to the window, overlooking the back wing with ceramic monsters dancing on flat columns.
A click came from the wardrobe.
The person was taking pictures. As far as she could notice there have been no cameras within the palace, except at the entrance, in the main corridors and in the main living area, and probably around the perimeter walls. So they put a spy to spy on spies... The thought made her giggle nervously, and Mr Clegane gave her an equally upset glare, stopping the movement of undressing, believing that to be the cause of her unease. One giant leg was already out of trousers, a monument of hair, bones and muscle.
A horrible thought came all over her. Are they checking out if we are married for real?
She swallowed her tremor and crossed the four and a half steps separating the suitcases, the window, and the bed. She sank next to him and placed her hand on his bare knee.
"Honey," she said, "why don't we shower first?"
The look of bewilderment in his eyes increased. Somehow, it made her day. Or evening.
"If you say so, love," he muttered, mood swinging from uncertainty to amusement. Her happiness dwindling into wordless apprehension and horror. He shoved her toward the bathroom, one leg bare, one dressed, limping from the effort, she assumed. He grabbed her waist with one of his hands and used the other to open the bathroom door and slam it behind them. There, he pressed her back to the cold white tiles from which a blue three headed Cerberus laughed at them, she noticed when entering. Neither the dog's blue colour nor its rather friendly snarl fitted the scary mythical character of the guardian of the Greek hell. It should be black, Sansa thought. And opened her mouth in shock when Mr Clegane buried his jaw in her neck, somewhere between the black border of her non revealing dress and the beginning of skin under her ear.
Sansa gasped and continued uttering small sounds of disbelief. It was getting uncomfortably warm.
She was released after a while, and the amused expression on his face was replaced by that of an... office routine. He seemed terribly pleased about himself. Like a dog who brought a stick to his master, the thought came unbidden. She was no stick. It made her want to hit him. She had never wanted to hit any other person but Arya.
He let the water run in the shower cabin.
"I'm not blind," he said.
"I didn't think you were," she told him, indignant.
The bathroom had no windows and the only way someone was spying on them was within solid walls, two of which happened to be the outer walls of the palace, one led to their room, and Mr Clegane busied himself checking the fourth one, connecting to the inner corridor.
When he was more or less certain that no danger was lurking, he turned to her again.
"I was right," he said with a tone of a man used to being right. She felt the need to contradict him just for the sake of doing it, without any logical necessity. "This is about weapons," he stated. "What do you know about anti-missile shields?"
"I guess they protect you against missiles," she said frivolously because his question caught her by surprise. He laughed.
"Theoretically," he said, "if such a shield existed and if it were operational all over Europe, and if it were brought down by an unauthorised action, it could mean that somebody is doing this on purpose, to launch missiles on a defenceless target."
She couldn't follow. "I guess so," she said with caution. "And then?"
"Then you might be tempted to launch a few of your own, before those of your imaginary enemy would hit you."
"Do they build missiles in Dornistan?" Sansa asked. She didn't think they did.
"I don't think they have much technology," he admitted. "Just tons of sand and oil buried deep under it. But they've got plenty of funds and they're very close to powers that have some advanced military assets."
"What's worse, they are happy to sell oil to all of their neighbours," he paused and stared at her, awaiting her reaction.
"I thought shields were a means of defence," she tried.
"Same crap, defence, offence," he said. "Someone or something here will try to bring down the new anti missile shield in Europe which is still in its testing phase. Making it look like a manoeuvre preceding an attack. Already the fact that a foreign power knows about it will make the military people here nervous and trigger happy."
"Someone... or something, an entity," she tried again, "will make money on it."
"Right," he said. "Where did you learn that?"
Sansa remembered all the guys starting with Ramsay Bolton who only wanted to date her because of her father's money. They would still want to date her if she missed an eye.
"Isn't it true that when there is a disturbance in international relations someone always profits from it?" she said meekly, trying to use her university tone.
Mr Clegane did not speak. He closed the water. He still gazed at the bathroom wall with utmost suspicion, and for a moment, Sansa thought he had sniffed it.
Timidly, he said. "We should... we should... make some more sounds for whoever's listening out there. Unless you fancy a performance in bed."
"Your turn," she said, trying not to sound queasy. Attempting to be brave, she advanced on him and seized the front of his boxer shorts. The grunt he gave was genuine and so was the sound of a falling toilet brush in a heavy metal container when he jerked backwards and toppled it over.
Good, she thought, they'll think we're demolishing the place. She didn't dare to look at his underwear though, unsure what she could see under it. Instead, her eyes roamed down his still clothed leg and noticed for the first time the reason why he was limping.
"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, breathless.
"You made enough sounds earlier, don't you think?" he said, ironic and concise.
"How long have you been hurt?" she asked. "How could you drive? We could have crashed..."
"Well, mechanic Luwin fixed it a bit, it's only a knife wound.."
Sansa thoughtlessly attacked his trousers, making him sit on the toilet seat as she did that, and growl with pain and discomfort which could be conveniently misunderstood by their uninvited guest.
"Wait here," she said. She wrapped a large towel around herself and removed the dress she had been wearing. Before getting out of the bathroom, she undid her hair and splashed some water over it, in order to look dishevelled enough yet not to show any private parts to their eager public. Out in the room, she dug in her suitcase and found a first-aid kit and some disinfecting stuff. She always had it in case she would cut herself when cooking. The sight of blood terrified her. Back turned toward the wardrobe to hide her fumbling, she hid it under the towel and slowly walked back towards the bathroom.
"I'm coming, honey," she said as sweetly as she could.
All she could do was open the horrible bandage he wore, dispose of the ruined tie, clean the cut and cover it again. He hissed a few times when she was not treating him gently. It stopped bleeding and it didn't look that bad, just like he had said, but on the condition that he would not be walking so much for a day or two. The time they didn't have with all the social obligations and the need to scout the second floor of the palace.
"I will go," she told him, stubbornly.
She saw defeat in his eyes. "On one condition," he still tried to boss her around. "You take my phone. Whatever happens, don't lose it."
"So that you can find me?" she said, joking.
She stared at his eyes and saw something there which did not exist before. Or maybe it had always been there but she was unable to see it. Solitude larger than the world.
"Come on," she told him. "Help me emptying the closet. Unless you want to sleep in the bathroom."
Outside, she teased him. "Honey, will you help me with the stuff here?" she said and approached the closet. Abruptly, she pushed the door wide open. He was immediately behind her with her colourful suitcase, making lots of noise when he walked. Then, he turned totally silent and put a finger on his half-charred mouth. She kept quiet.
She believed she had seen his ears moving. Listening. She didn't know that was possible for people. Not to that extent.
"The coast is clear," he said after a while. "I think I could open the backside of this and close their passage but-"
"-they will know we found it-"
"-and they will use another way which we may not recognize on time to watch us-"
"I'll go out now," she said. "If I meet anyone, I'll say I was looking for a drink of water."
Prince Doran's palace was definitely not a hotel and there was no little fridge with drinks you could consume and pay later on. And Sansa would not be the only one among the guests to doubt the quality of tap water, she supposed. She returned to the bathroom to put the dress back on.
When she was ready to go, she found him standing at the window. "I guess you should lay down," she felt a need to mother him. "Men normally fall asleep after... Well..." she really didn't know why she started saying that. He immediately wore that damned amused look again.
"It might work. Could work. Take this," he gave her the phone, recovering fast from whatever he found so funny.
"And take care... Sansa," he said after her when she was out of the door, in a voice so quiet as if he didn't want her to hear it.
A/N A comment? Pretty please?