Chapter 10: Homeward Bound
It took more than a week for Robb to deal with the aftermath of what people were starting to call the "Red Wedding" for all the blood that had been spilled on a day that should have been full of joy.
Sansa spent most of her time in her chambers, wrapped in pain from her moonblood and in general misery besides, while around her everyone seemed happy and ecstatic, especially her mother.
She's happier about Arya being back than about me, the thought sulkily, knowing the thought to be beneath her, but wallowing in the sentiment of being the unloved one nonetheless.
She pretended boredom when Robb came to visit to tell her about how things were until he became angry and left, from then on only sending Grey Wind to her now and again, who was about the only living being whose presence didn't rub her the wrong way.
Her mother testily inquired a few times why she was behaving like this when she should be glad how things had worked out, but Sansa wouldn't have been able to explain it even to herself. She was uncomfortable in her own skin, as if it was a dress someone had treated with itching powder. She felt like screaming and weeping and laughing manically, preferable all at the same time. She didn't feel like herself at all, but powerless to help it. She was mad at everyone she could think of and most of all at Sandor Clegane, for having abandoned her not once, but twice now.
Red-hot anger turned to bottomless sadness and back again and often enough it was only Grey Wind's huge body, lying furry and warm next to her, a soft whine in his throat, that helped her get enough of a grip on herself to get up and face everyone at mealtimes.
Arya had been notably absent from Sansa's chambers for all this time, but one day the door opened to the sound of a quiet whoof! from Grey Wind as Arya stealthily snuck through the door.
"It wasn't him, Sansa," she said without preamble. "I do not know why that means so much to you, but it wasn't the Hound. I would've known."
"No you wouldn't," she said in a voice that was to communicate she couldn't even be bothered to become angry. "Didn't you hear that I changed his face?"
Arya snorted and plopped down on the bed where Sansa lay curled against the wolf, making all of them bounce.
"Yes, I also heard you turned into a bird and flew right out of Maegor's Holdfast and just an hour ago someone said that the Old Gods gave you the greensight so you knew what old Walder had planned for the wedding."
Arya still bounced up and down on the bed. There was never ceasing movement about her these days, a pervasive nervousness she could not shed even in her sleep. Her mother said she tossed and turned so much during the night, her bedclothes were in knots every morning.
If all this was due to something she had experienced between her disappearance from King's Landing and now, no one could say. She talked about all this only in funny anecdotes, disjointed pieces of a puzzle no one had managed to put together, yet.
Robb had quipped one day that he now had two sisters who were keeping secrets.
"Ryder said it was all stupid rumours and fairy tales, that no one could change a face like the Hound's."
"Of course he'd say that," Sansa mumbled into her pillow, the feeling of betrayal flaring up again.
"Sandor Clegane was a vicious beast, he killed Mycah and the Gods know who else. Ryder Hills was funny and kind, he took good care of me during our journey and it wasn't as if it all went easy. We had a few very troubling encounters, I can tell you."
A darkness pervaded her sister's voice at her last words and if Sansa had not felt so lethargic, she might have asked her about it.
"Whatever," she said instead. "Must have been a really great guy to sneak away like a thief after he'd brought you here. Robb surely would have rewarded him handsomely."
The bouncing stopped for a moment and Sansa felt smug for having hit the mark.
Then the bouncing resumed again.
"He talked about the reward for a while, that's true. But later he mentioned something about having to find his brother because of some unfinished business. Never found out what it was."
Sansa shot upright, startling both her sister and the wolf dozing next to her.
"His brother, of course!"
She had been so wrapped in her own misery, in her feeling of being discarded for some purpose or other, a woman most likely, that she had completely forgotten about Gregor Clegane.
The man who had taken the Ruby Ford and held Wylis Manderly and other highborn Northmen prisoner in Harrenhall.
"The hero's trials," she murmured and Arya stopped her bouncing once again.
"Come again?"
"Do you remember what Old Nan told us about the trials a man chosen by the Old Gods has to go through to prove his worth?"
Arya scrunched up her nose.
"Why'd you suddenly want to know that?"
"Do you remember?" Sansa asked impatiently, having gotten up from the bed to look for her shoes. Maybe her mother would know the answer to her question, or Robb. If Arya proved unhelpful, she had to find them.
"I know one was to endure torment," Arya said slowly. "Then something about evil and innocence."
Sansa had started to pace, but at hearing Arya's words snapped her fingers.
"Right," she said, her agitation growing. "He has to endure great torment, fight evil and save an innocent. Only then would he find his true purpose and his true love."
Arya looked unconvinced.
"More hogwash," she said with a sigh. "Once the poor guy would be true fighting all that evil and saving all those innocents, one would think he already has found his purpose. Besides, I am pretty sure you just invented the true love thing. Ryder would say that life is nothing like Old Nan's stories."
Sansa listened to her only with half an ear, too preoccupied with her own musings which for a change were happy ones.
Sandor Clegane had not been chosen on a fairy's whim, he'd been chosen for who he was. The only thing left to do for him was fighting evil and as far as that was concerned, she was sure he needn't look further than his own brother.
And once he had dealt with him, he would be free to look for his true love. Maybe a lady who herself had been chosen by the Old Gods. It would only be logical, wouldn't it?
Closing her eyes, she stretched her arms to her side and slowly twirled, lost in fanciful daydreams.
…
Under the impression of what had happened at the Twins, Robb had decided to keep all his "hens in one basket" as he called it one day, much to his bannermen's amusement and her mother's tight-lipped dismay at the disrespectful joke.
Still, they were all happy to stay together, now more than ever with Arya returned to them and Jeyne having spilled her sweet secret to Robb to the latter's unmistakable and utter happiness.
They stayed a day's ride behind the army, heavily guarded, while Robb retook Moat Cailin from the Ironborn, a feat that in retrospect had been much easier than he had feared.
The Ironborn, not used to this form of warfare, had been disorganized and panicked as they realized by just how large a host they were besieged. But in the end, Lord Reed's crannogmen brought the battle to a swift end by picking off the invaders one by one with their poisoned darts or a quick cut to an unsuspecting throat. Some of Robb's men later said it had looked as if they had been felled by invisible hands.
Unfortunately, the talk of witches and magic had not ceased after they left the Twins and the effortless victory at Moat Cailin had only poured oil to that particular flame. Therefore, Sansa found herself always regarded with a mixture of awe and fear when she walked through the encampment with Grey Wind at her side.
Let them think me a witch, she had decided one day.
It had even served her well a couple of times when some of the more highborn men tried to secure her favour, probably with one eye on marrying into the royal family.
They always beat a hasty retreat when she started gesturing with her hands, closing her eyes and humming a tune in her throat.
Arya had watched such an occurrence one day and after almost dying of laughter, had cheerfully started to blackmail her with the threat of telling all this to their mother should Sansa continue to insist on Arya's help with the embroidering of Robb's tapestry. Since Sansa knew that Arya's contribution was not at all likely to improve the work anyway, she submitted. But there was no telling if Arya wouldn't continue to hold her knowledge over her head, so she ceased her attempts at this mummer's show.
Not that it helped with the rumours about her.
…
After the victory at Moat Cailin, they spent a few days as guests of Lord Reed, for everyone to regain their strength for the long march to Winterfell and the fight that awaited them there.
Sansa spent that time mostly with Jeyne to work on the tapestry, or – which seemed more prudent now considering the circumstances – on clothes, blankets and swaddling for the baby.
One day, they were in the midst of a giggling fit about something inappropriate Lord Umber had said a while ago, when the door to Sansa's guest chamber opened and Sansa's mother stepped inside.
"Your Grace," she began, looking at Jeyne, "May I ask to have a private word with my daughter? The King wishes for your company."
Jeyne, quite obviously still uncomfortable to be addressed like this, coloured at little and nodded.
After giving Sansa an apologetic look, she left the tent so quickly she might as well have been running.
Her mother picked up the piece of knitting Jeyne had left in her sewing basking and continued where Jeyne had stopped, working for a while without saying anything, only causing Sansa to get more nervous.
Had she heard about her acting as if she truly was a witch? Or – infinitely worse – would this be the discussion she had dreaded for weeks, about how much she had hurt her reputation by running around hollering a man's name at the top of her lungs?
"When I was your age," her mother began, "we had a master-at-arms at Riverrun who was quite a favourite with all the ladies."
With a sinking feeling, Sansa had an idea where this was going.
"He was tall and strong, incredibly handsome and always had a smile on his lips. Many a maid lost her heart to him… and a few other things besides. Even I – knowing him beneath me – couldn't help being captured by his easy charm, by his looks and his winning smiles. I even petitioned my father to let me marry him because I thought myself so much in love."
A self-indulgent smile coloured her mother's voice at the recollection.
Sansa kept her eyes on her sewing, pretending to concentrate on her work.
So this was what her mother thought. That she had been drawn by a handsome face and a strong body, by charm and an easy smile. She nearly laughed at the idea of Sandor Clegane being charming, let alone winningly smiling at someone.
"This isn't some fancy, mother," she said softly and if she didn't have to be so very careful of what she wished these days, she would have wished for things between her mother and her to be as they had been before King Robert came to Winterfell. When she had adored her mother and her mother had pampered and adored her.
Nowadays, they treated each other as if respectively suspecting the other to be a jar of wildfire, ready to go up in flames at the slightest spark of fire.
"He saved me and he did so more than once," she went on, still trying for softly explaining instead of forcefully making her point. "He never asked for anything in return."
All this she had told her mother before, had retold every instance of Sandor saving her, and while her mother had seemed surprised at some of the stories, it appeared she could still not see Sandor in a positive light.
"Did he not?" her mother asked, sounding just as careful as Sansa did. "I cannot believe he did all of that just out of the goodness of his heart."
Sansa took a deep breath, willing her rising ire to back down. She had acted petulant and childish enough during her stay at the Twins to last her a lifetime, she had vowed to herself never to behave that immaturely again.
"It saddens me, mother," she said instead, "that you do not believe me. I do not know how I deserve your distrust."
"Sansa, no," her mother said, "that's not what I meant to say at all. It's not you I do not trust. It is merely…," she stopped herself from her outburst, visibly trying to calm herself, to look for exactly the right words. "I have some years' worth of experience on you when it comes to men and all I know is that no man…," again her mother stopped herself, then put down the knitting she had not worked on and smoothed her hands over her skirts in a rare gesture of nervousness.
"I think, what I really meant to ask is: what happened between you and Clegane in King's Landing?"
Sansa thought of a kiss and a secure embrace and as always, her insides hurt at the memory as much as at the thought that this kiss had obviously meant so much more to her than it had meant to him.
She contemplated telling her mother, unburdening herself from this secret she carried, satisfy her mother's curiosity and maybe allay whatever fears she had. But her tongue was not cooperating as she opened her mouth, her mind strongly rebelling against the thought of dragging something into the light that had been only between her and him, intimate, private and magical.
"I just need to understand why you call him by his first name," her mother pressed, growing more insistent with Sansa's silence. "Why you insist on sleeping with his cloak. Why he seems to be on your mind at all times. I merely wanted to tell you that infatuation is something that does not last and that, however important it seems to be at the time, will become nothing but a fond and hazy memory when you're older. That you shouldn't cling to it."
If she was at liberty to wish for things, she might have wished that her mother was right. That at some point, she would just stop hurting whenever she thought of him. That she wouldn't need his cloak to fall asleep at night, that their kiss would not be in her thoughts so much, tormenting her. That she wouldn't be tempted to wish for him to be here, when he had made it so unmistakably clear that he did not want to.
"Have you ever known the feeling of being untouchable, mother?" she asked, lifting her eyes and looking directly at her mother. "Have you ever felt so ostracized, so utterly friendless, people only approached you either because they were paid to, like servants, or because they meant to hurt you? Have you ever walked through your days, seeing only contempt in the eyes of those who looked at you? Have you ever felt that you are judged and found guilty for something you cannot help and did not do?"
"No," her mother said, wetness gathering in the corners of her eyes. "No, I haven't."
"Then your experience is not equal to mine in this regard. Please do not presume you could ever hope to understand what I am feeling, nor what happened between me and Sandor Clegane."
A lone tear rolled down her mother's cheek as she nodded wordlessly.
Then she visibly gathered herself, donned an armour and a mask that Sansa herself knew how to wear and stood up.
Sansa knew without a doubt that she had just made matters so much worse with what she'd said, when Catelyn Stark turned without another word and left her sitting where she was.
…
During the days they spent at Greywater Watch, they received a raven that brought tidings from King's Landing.
To Sansa's surprise, Arya and herself were invited to be present when her brother read the news to his assembled family and lords bannermen.
"Uncle Brynden sent a raven from the Twins and uncle Edmure from Riverrun, both of them telling of events from King's Landing," he began. "It appears Joffrey Baratheon has been poisoned at his own wedding and everyone is convinced Tyrion Lannister is responsible. He is currently held in the black cells, awaiting his trial."
Sansa felt curiously numb at the news. Joffrey had felt so far away these days, it was nothing to her anymore whether he lived or died. The only thing she did feel was a sliver of compassion for Tyrion Lannister, who in her estimation might be many things, but not a kinslayer. In the back of her mind, a faint memory of how he had interceded with Joffrey on her behalf came back to her. In a way, it was his intervention that had made it possible for her to vanish without anyone noticing.
"Who is to be king now?" Lord Reed asked.
"His brother Tommen, most likely," Robb said. "With Cersei as Queen Regent."
Lord Umber snorted.
"That woman cannot even make the right decisions when it comes to whom she opens her legs, let alone rule a kingdom."
"Lord Umber!" Sansa's mother said forcefully, "I beg you to remember the presence of young girls in this… tent."
The Greatjon grumbled something into his beard, but did not say anything else, while Sansa was tempted to point out to her Lady mother that she had heard similarly indecent words from the woman in question herself.
In the end, she held her silence. There was no sense in further estranging herself from her mother if she could help it in any way.
"I expect Tywin Lannister to make all the important decisions as Hand as he has always done," Robb continued. "Also, the alliance between the Tyrells and the Lannisters is still thriving, it seems. Since Joffrey died before the bedding took place, their marriage has been declared void and she is now supposed to marry Tommen."
More snorts could be heard around her, but no one commented on those news, probably in fear of incurring her mother's displeasure.
Then Lord Reed got up from his seat while Robb sat down.
"I've asked for the Queen and the princesses to be present for what I have to say," he began in a voice that sounded much stronger than Sansa would have expected from so slight a man. "It has been a secret for far too long and I think it is time it stops being one."
Sansa leaned forward with a feeling that this revelation would be far more interesting than what Robb had told them.
"I kept this secret on behest of Eddard Stark, who kept it because he had given a solemn promise to his sister on her deathbed. And he kept it to preserve the life of an innocent. But I think the time has come when the keeping of this secret might do more harm than its revelation."
"Now get on with it, Howland, will ya?" the Greatjon grumbled good-naturedly.
Howland Reed smiled and then chuckled a bit sadly.
"I'm still afraid Ned will strike me down from out of his grave for this," he said ruefully.
Then he took a deep breath as if needing to give himself courage, then began his tale.
A tale of a desperate fight of a brother to get to his sister whom he thought to be a prisoner to a selfish prince, only to find that she had gone with him willingly, drunk on love and not regretting her decision. How that brother had finally found her dying in a bed of blood, her newborn son squalling in the midwife's arms and how she had made him swear to keep it secret of whose blood the boy had come, because she knew the wrath of the one she had scorned would not stop at slaying a child.
"The boy you think your bastard brother is a bastard still, but he's as much a Targaryen as he is a Stark and he is not Eddard Stark's son."
Pewter cups and goblets clattered to the ground as her mother sprung up from her seat and – not looking where she went and not caring either way – stormed out of Robb's tent.
Arya made to get up and follow her, but was held back by Lord Reed's hand on her arm.
"Leave her," he advised quietly. "I think she has to come to terms with this on her own."
Sansa looked over to Robb, who looked stunned, as if unable to grasp what had been said.
Curiously, Sansa was not surprised at all.
What Howland Reed had told them made way more sense to her than anything she had believed to be the truth before. She had never truly been able to wrap her mind around the concept of her father – her upright, honourable father – betraying the trust of his young wife. Had never understood how he could be so callous as to insist that Jon grew up as one of them, instead of being sent away as bastard's usually were. She knew her mother had asked for that a thousand times at least. Her father had done almost everything her mother had asked of him, but not that.
Back then, she had been indignant on her mother's behalf, had held herself distant from Jon for her mother's sake.
How petty that had been, she thought, suddenly feeling guilty. Jon had been a motherless child, with no say in how he had come into the world and she had thought less of him for it.
"I will always think of him as my brother," Arya said, a mulish expression on her face.
Sansa's guilt doubled at the thought that Arya, at least, had not been as shallow as she herself had been.
"I guess I can't name him my heir now," Robb said in a voice coming from far off. "I am glad I never had to make that decision with you being back," he continued, looking at Sansa with a lop-sided smile.
She smiled back, equally unsure of what to feel, only filled with a longing to have Jon right here with them, to kiss his cheek and wrap her arms around him and ask him his forgiveness.
...
tbc