Author's Note: If you look closely at this chapter, you will see that the author has decided to complicate the plot because she just couldn't resist. Graduate school and grading students' papers does strange things to her brainwaves. I must say, I am thoroughly enjoying my readers' reactions to this particular fic. You guys run the gamut of emotions and despair seems to be in the general order of the day. I guess I'm doing something right.
Chapter 5: In which Sansa muses about High Garden and decides to make a scheme of her own.
Sansa had never been to High Garden before, and while its novelty was charming and its people interesting, it made her miss Tywin more than ever. He had a hatred for all things insipid, and she couldn't help but think that the Tyrells' fetishization of the rose could be anything else. Roses were everywhere, etched into every building, planted on every street corner and in every window box. Their cloying perfume followed her around as if it were trying to seep into her and drive out every trace of Tywin Lannister.
Her stomach lurched at that the thought and she placed a protective hand over her slightly swollen belly. At least her baby would be the one thing that would bear Tywin's stamp forever in one way or another no matter how hard Margaery tried to convince her that marriage to a Tyrell was the way to go.
Now that Margaery had joined her in High Garden, Sansa could not escape her subtle, and not so subtle, hints. Sansa spent her days preparing for Margaery's insinuations and smirks. It was difficult to keep turning her friend down, especially when Margaery had been so kind, supportive, and so damn welcoming. Her room at the Tyrell estate was massive and, best of all, filled with light.
Sunbeams poured through the huge windows, bathing everything they touched in a bright yellow glow. It was such a change from the North. Sansa loved Winterfell, but the last month had proven to her just how oppressive its walls could be. Still, she admitted to herself, the windows before her were walls, just of a different kind. She was afraid that she would be surrounded by walls in one way or another for the rest of her life, but that thought was too depressing to dwell on for long.
She looked down at the open book on her lap, a libretto for Florian and Jonquil, and knew that it hadn't a wight's chance in dragonfire of cheering her up. Going to Margaery was also of the question as she would take advantage of Sansa's boredom and bad mood and try to press her into a date with Willas at some time in the near future. Again. Maybe Osha would be up for a walk…
Sansa sighed and rose from the chair, stretching out her limbs and rolling her neck. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and raised her shirt partway up her stomach. It was barely noticeable, the tiny life growing inside of her, and it was frightening to imagine that in just six more months she would be holding her child in her arms. Suddenly, she ached to feel Tywin's arms around her, caressing the curve of her belly, whispering into her ear of a future that was nothing but words and air.
Osha, she needed to find Osha and get out of the house before she drove herself back into bed, weeping.
She checked the woman's room and found her lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling with peculiar intensity.
"I'm not interrupting, am I?"
"I was counting."
Sansa looked at the ceiling and seeing nothing there to provoke an arithmetic session, queried Osha as to the reason why.
"Nothing there to count. I was counting the minutes until you finally got tired of this gilded cage."
Sansa blushed, "It's not that bad."
"Nothing good comes of leaving the North, little Stark, you'd do well to remember that."
Thinking back on all that had happened to her in King's Landing, Sansa knew there was some truth to the woman's words, but there were also memories of warm looks and touches and hours spent in bed next to the man she loved. "It's not all bad, Osha. Who knows, you might find something about High Garden to love."
"I'll not hold my breath waiting for that to happen."
"Well, I won't give up hope."
"That's your father's optimism talking."
"We Starks have an incorrigible amount of it."
"Hmm, how awful." Osha rolled over, finally looking at Sansa, "'Spose you'll be wanting to go on a walk?"
"Gods, yes!"
"I'll get my shoes."
High Garden really was a beautiful city, cleaner than King's Landing, but its beauty had an air of falsity, like something unpleasant was lurking just beneath its polished surface. Sansa shook her head, Osha's words were getting to her, so she pushed them out of her mind, intent on enjoying her time outside.
"Do you have a destination in mind, little Stark, or are we going to continue wandering aimlessly?"
"Well, I thought we could do a bit of window shopping."
The woman beside her snorted in derision, "A pointless exercise, but if you can't think of anything better."
"You think of something, then!"
"What's wrong with actually shopping? Exchanging coin for products instead of eying up what you don't intend to buy. That's like taking your clothes off in front of a man before telling him that he can't fuck you."
"Osha!"
"You know, I've never heard window shopping described in that manner before, but now that I have, I don't think I'll ever think of it the same way again." They turned around in surprise to see Willas Tyrell staring at them with a bemused smile on his face. "Hullo, Sansa, you're looking well."
"Willas! Margaery didn't say that you were expected back today."
"I felt my ears burning while I was at Storm's End, so I thought I had better hurry back to put a stop to whatever Margaery is plotting."
"How did you know that she was plotting?"
"Just a feeling, really, but it was confirmed when she sent me straight out the door to find you. So, Sansa, is there anything I should know, or am I to be left in the dark while my baby sister and her friend scheme behind my back?"
"I doubt that that is a situation that you are unfamiliar with," Osha broke in.
"Osha, there's no call to be rude. I'm sorry, Willas."
Thankfully, Willas shrugged Osha's words off, "Not to worry, Sansa, your brute of a companion will have to do worse if she hopes to score a hit on me."
Osha grinned fiercely at the challenge, "I eat little boys like you for supper, though you look a bit too stringy to make a proper meal."
"Okay, stop it, both of you. Let's start over: Willas, this is Osha Sperwif; Osha, this is Willas Tyrell, my friend and our host." Sansa was appalled to see them eye each other with intense dislike.
"So, I'm to be subjected to your presence for some time, then? I'll make a note to re-stock my supply of barbs and brandy."
"Afraid I'll do more than eat you, little boy?"
"Just what are you doing here, anyway? Putting on some traveling show? 'Come see the Amazing Bitch: insults a pence each, saliva comes free?'"
"Gods, Willas, she's my midwife!"
That brought him up short, and he got a vaguely queasy look on his face, "You're not going to give birth now, are you?"
Osha rolled her eyes, "Use what little brain the gods were kind enough to give you. Does she look that pregnant to you?"
Willas backpedalled furiously, "NO! You look fine, Sansa, gods' truth! But, how did you get pregnant?"
Sansa blushed while Osha continued to harangue him, "Through the usual method, I suspect, or have you still not had your first pump-and-tickle?"
It was Willas' turn to blush, and he reddened magnificently, "A gentleman does not kiss and tell."
"So you've been kissed at least? Gods be praised."
Sansa had had enough of their petty bickering, so she continued to walk towards the shops, calling back as she did, "I'll see you later, Willas. Tell Margaery that I'll be out a bit longer." She didn't know if either of them could hear her over their squabbling. They were like an old married couple bickering over who had eaten the last prune. The thought gave her pause, and a wicked smirk crept across her face. Perhaps there was a way to misdirect Tywin and get Margaery to stop matchmaking at the same time. Now it was her turn to do some plotting. She had to restrain herself from rubbing her hands together like some mad scientist