A/N: Hey, everyone. Hope you all had a good Valentine's Day and that 2016 is going well for you. And here's chapter 10 for you. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut, and to everyone who's shown an interest in this story. Reviews are appreciated.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin.
Rating: M for references to physical and emotional abuse and rape.
Sansa moved to get up, but Gilly waved her back down beneath the furs impatiently. "No need to strain yourself, m'lady. Rest is the best thing for you right now, until you're back to yourself again."
Sansa stayed silent but huddled back beneath the bedcovers obediently. I don't know if I will ever truly be myself again.
Her maid set the tray down on the table beside the bed and Sansa's stomach rumbled at the delicious aroma that wafted her way. Settling a cloth across her mistress' lap, Gilly pulled the cover off of the bowl of soup beside her and continued matter-of-factly.
"I made this for you myself, m'lady, from the ingredients that you decided you would go and get yourself the other morning."
The reproach in her tone was evident, and the only reason Sansa felt bad for her excursion was because it had upset the young maid. If no one had cared or even noticed her absence, she would have been more than content to wander the streets until the cold carried her to the halls of Sovngarde.
"The lavender will keep your strength up, the mountain flowers and wheat will help you to heal up the rest of the way, and the garlic will keep you from getting sick as the babe grows."
Sansa looked up sharply and Gilly placed a hand lightly on her arm. "Sam told me, m'lady. He figured if anyone should know it would be me, seeing as I'm taking care of you. I promise I won't tell a soul, m'lady, not even your lord husband, though I daresay he would be glad to hear news of an heir."
Her stomach rumbled irritably once more and Sansa dipped the spoon beside her into the bowl of soup before blowing on it gently and raising it to her lips. The combination of tastes was odd, but strangely pleasant, as was the warmth that settled inside of her as she continued to drink the broth.
It was as Gilly was pouring her a glass of chilled water and preparing to retreat that she spoke again. The maid had been nothing but a friend to her since her arrival in Windhelm, and she deserved her trust.
"It isn't his."
The young woman stopped and looked toward her, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "M'lady?"
"The babe. It isn't Ulfric's."
Gilly's eyes grew wide and fell to where her hand rested gently against her belly, still far yet from swelling with her condition. "You mean..."
Sansa nodded silently and curled her fingers into the fabric at her waist.
Gilly's expression turned suddenly fierce and she set about to tucking the blankets tighter around her mistress' frail form. "Then you mustn't try something so dangerous again," she scolded. "We need to keep you healthy and strong."
Sansa raised a delicate eyebrow. "Why does it make such a difference?"
Gilly met her gaze before responding brazenly. "I know what Lord Ulfric did to you, m'lady. He's little better than a monster in my eyes despite the favor your brother seems to hold for him. But if the babe you're carrying is that of the man you truly loved, then it's all you have left of him. A piece to always remember him by."
In the midst of her depression, the thought hadn't occurred to Sansa. What Gilly said was true though. If she had any reason left to live, it was for the babe growing inside of her. She at least owed Sandor that much.
"Gilly," she called out as the maid's hand moved to the handle on the door.
She turned slightly, balancing the empty tray on her hip. "Yes, m'lady?"
"He mustn't know. He mustn't ever know."
Gilly nodded in determination. "Don't worry, m'lady. He shall never hear it from me."
As she closed the door behind her, Sansa burrowed deeper beneath the warm furs. If Ulfric ever did find out that the child wasn't his own, it wasn't only her own life that she would have to fear for. Please Gods...don't let him know.
Sansa was descending the staircase from the upper floor when she heard her husband's voice. Though it was not raised, she could hear the anger in it. Her heart skipped momentarily in her chest and her first instinct was to flee, but she realized before she could that for once, his wrath was not directed at her.
"You failed to retrieve the crown?" Ulfric's voice had grown quiet. Dangerously so.
"Yes, your grace." The voice that replied was Robb's. The frustration in his tone was evident. "By the time we arrived, the Legion had already killed the men holding the ruin and had a full three regiments guarding the crown. Legate Rikke herself was leading them. We had no choice but to turn back, else we would have been slaughtered."
"And now Tywin Lannister has the Jagged Crown. Some may call your actions treason, Stormblade."
"Your grace," one of the other soldiers protested. "He speaks true—"
"What is the name of this army, soldier?" Ulfric snapped. Sansa flinched from her position in the stairwell.
"The...the Stormcloaks, your grace," he stammered.
"Right. You'd do well to remember that. Speak out of turn again, and I'll ensure that you speak no more."
A heavy silence fell over the men and it took a few long moments for Ulfric to break it. "All of you. Get out of my sight. When I see you again, I will hear good news. Be sure of that."
As the sound of his boots reached the edge of the stairwell, Sansa fled.
After a few more days of rest and Gilly's watchful care, Sansa was feeling as much like her old self as was to be expected, and the bruises around her throat and thighs had faded to a sickly yellow color, nearly blending with her sallow skin.
Ulfric had come to her bed on several nights since his return, and, too resigned to fight back, Sansa had merely succumbed to his desires. Though the act filled her with shame and she enjoyed it no more than she had on the night of their marriage, her lack of resistance seemed to please her lord husband, and no new bruises had been added to the old.
Usually, he would retire to his own chambers after, leaving her to cry in peace until sleep took her. On one occasion however, he remained at her side as his breathing evened out and after a few long moments of silence, he spoke.
"I do hope you know that you're expected to be carrying my heir within the next few moons."
Sansa nodded, her back turned to her husband. "Yes, my lord."
He was quiet again before moving to lie behind her, his hand sliding down to rest against her naked belly. Sansa fought the urge to flinch away.
"You'll make a beautiful mother, you know. All round and glowing with my child growing inside of you." His teeth found the juncture of her neck and shoulder and left a mark behind to claim her. "It's a shame the Hound is no longer alive to see it. It would've killed him to see us become a family, if I hadn't done it first."
The hand resting against the furs clenched tightly into a fist and Sansa whispered into the darkness as her eyes filled with tears. "Get out."
Ulfric's hand slid lower and his mouth moved to her ear. "What was that, love?"
"I said 'get out'." Her eyes flashed in the faint light of the moons and she spoke between clenched teeth, her lips curled back in a snarl.
For a moment, he remained where he was, and the feel of his calloused hand above where Sandor's child was growing sent her into a fury.
"GET OUT!"
His warmth left her swiftly and he stood, silhouetted beside the bed as she lifted the pillow beside her and hurled it at him.
"GET OUT!"
He left the room without a word, but his gaze as he turned back to look at her one final time made it clear that she would not be easily forgiven.
"Arry? Arry Snow?"
The young soldier turned at the sound of his name and his expression shifted from irritation to surprise as he saw who it was walking toward him. He offered an awkward bow before straightening up again. "Lady Stormcloak."
Sansa shook her head, her curls brushing against her cheeks as they attempted to escape the confines of her hood. "Please, Lady Sansa will do." He nodded once in acquiescence and kept his gaze downward in respect as she continued. "I wanted to thank you for your assistance the other day. It was greatly appreciated, and I'm feeling much better now." It had been just over a fortnight now since that day in the market, but in that time, the soldier had been away and Sansa hadn't yet had the chance to thank him.
"That's good to hear, Sa—Lady Sansa," he stammered, a strange look in his grey eyes as he briefly met her gaze. For a moment, Sansa felt a flash of recognition, and wondered if she might have met him somewhere once before. But no, of course she hadn't. It must've only been the feverish memory of her earlier foray into the Windhelm streets.
"Are you from Windhelm, Arry?"
"No, my lady," he replied, scratching absently at the patchy stubble on his chin and then hastily returning his hand to his side when he became aware of the action. "Storm is the bastard surname for those born here. I was born in Winterhold."
Sansa smiled at that, a wide and genuine smile, perhaps the first since Sandor's death. "Winterhold? That's where I was born. Tell me, do you know of a man named Jon Snow?"
The young Stormcloak soldier was silent for a long time before nodding. "Aye, my lady. He is the Jarl there now, is he not? I knew him briefly, once. He was a good man."
"Yes," Sansa mused quietly. "He was." She felt a wave of guilt for the way that she had once treated her bastard half-brother. "It is good to hear you say so."
Arry nodded in agreement and shuffled his feet, surprisingly small for a man and especially a Nord man at that, no matter how young he may have been.
"Was there anything else that you needed, Lady Sansa?"
She broke herself from her thoughts and shook her head, then hesitated. "Perhaps. I haven't been in the city long, and what little time I've spent here has been primarily within the palace walls. Could you point the way to the inn?" She had her lute strapped across her shoulders and it felt good to have its familiar weight with her again.
Snow looked up and nodded, moving a few steps backwards before pointing to a tall building a few streets away. "That's Candlehearth Hall right there, my lady."
Nodding her thanks, Sansa left the young man to himself as she walked past the palace walls and into the chilly streets of Windhelm. The streets, wound around upon themselves to accommodate the hill upon which the city sat, did not do much to help her already foggy mind, and she found herself at a fork, unable to remember which building the young soldier had indicated. After a moment of hesitation, she turned left, the bottom of her gown swishing gently through the snow that covered her feet.
After a few minutes, it became evident that she had gone the wrong way and she turned, trying to regain her bearings. Unsure of where she had made her mistake, she moved to the nearest building and ducked inside, planning to ask for directions once more.
The building she entered was dark and dingy on the inside. A deeply stained bar stood across from the door and a few worn tables made up the majority of the small amount of furniture within. A dozen red eyes met her surprised gaze, and the Dunmer behind the bar was the first to speak, slowly wringing out the cloth in his hands.
"Lady Stormcloak. To what do we owe this pleasure?"
The way he said it didn't make it seem as though her presence was a pleasure at all, and her words died in her throat. After a minute, she gained the courage to speak. "I was trying to find Candlehearth Hall and got a bit turned around in the streets. Might I ask where I am?"
"You're at the New Gnisis Cornerclub," another man answered from his spot beside the bar, broom in hand. He looked no friendlier than the first. "At the heart of the Gray Quarter, my lady."
Sansa shook her head in confusion. "The Gray Quarter?"
The patrons fell into a suspicious silence, and just as she was about to speak again, the barkeep nodded. "Aye. The Gray Quarter. It's where your new husband puts our kind. The very first day he became the Jarl, he pushed us all here and left us to rot. We would be doing him a great service if we died in this awful cold." At Sansa's horrified expression, the two men at the bar exchanged a glance. "Are you thinking that that doesn't sound like your lord husband?"
Sansa stayed silent. As a matter of fact, it was the first shred of evidence that supported her view of Ulfric Stormcloak. It appeared that she wasn't the only one who had been at the receiving end of his hatred.
"No," she said finally. "It sounds very much like my lord husband. I simply hadn't known that he was both a bastard and a bigot."
A shocked silence met her words, and after a few long moments, the Dunmer behind the bar began to laugh. As his mirth grew, a few chuckles escaped from the other patrons, and it didn't take long for it to spread. When he regained his breath, he looked at Sansa with a wide smile. "Pardons, my lady. It's been a long time since one of your kind had spoken to us with anything other than hatred. Would you care for a drink?"
Shaking her head, she moved cautiously inside and took a seat on one of the rickety stools at the bar. "No thank you."
Still chuckling, the bartender shrugged and then extended his free hand. "My name is Ambarys Rendar, my lady. Welcome to the New Gnisis Cornerclub."
Once it became clear that their guest had been accepted by the man in charge, the others relaxed and returned to their drinking. Sansa looked around in curiosity and disgust before turning back to Ambarys. "How do you live like this?"
He raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? This forgotten alley, 'where all the filth from the upper quarters flows downhill', as they say? We don't have much of a choice. Once, I tried to get Ulfric to even get off his throne and come down here to see the squalor, but the High Lord of His Mightiness couldn't so much as find the time."
Sansa sighed heavily. Perhaps she would be able to speak with him, when his anger had cooled from her outburst several nights before.
Ambarys had returned to wiping down the bar by the time Sansa refocused on the tavern and the man absently sweeping the dusty floor jerked his chin in her direction. "Do you play or have you Nords starting carrying junk around just for show?"
It took her a moment to realize he was referring to her lute and she settled it in her lap before replying. "I can play. I attended the Bard's College as a girl."
His eyebrows rose slightly. "A true bard then? I can't remember the last time I met one of those. Did you hear, Ambarys?" he called over to his companion. "The Lady Stormcloak is a bard."
Ambarys looked over with interest at that and gave her a nod of grudging respect. "Think you could play a song for us?"
Sansa nodded and moved her fingers to her lute, a song immediately coming to mind. Once, she had sung it with a certain amount of bitterness, but now, it brought with it a sense of perverse satisfaction.
"We drink to our youth, to the days come and gone. For the age of aggression is just about done.
We'll drive out the Stormcloaks and restore what we own.
With our blood and our steel we will take back our home.
Down with Ulfric the killer of kings. On the day of your death we will drink and we'll sing..."