A/N: Disclaimers
- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt's, Dante's Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.
* I owe a thousand thank you to my great beta, Onborrowedwings! :D
- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).
- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.
47. White Harbour
Sansa, Sandor, Rickon, and their companions knew that there was no point in delaying their stay here in White Harbour, many days had now passed, with no ravens bringing news about what was happening outside the city's walls or anywhere west of the White Knife. A bird had even been sent to Jon Snow at the Wall, but the new Lord Commander had yet to answer them. Therefore, they had all agreed that the time to plan the journey to Winterfell had come.
Sandorwas making his way through the New Castle, heading over to the bedroom he and the little bird had all to themselves ever since young Rickon had moved out of it, thinking that they he and the little bird had been lucky since the news Seaworth had confessed to them months ago was all turning out to be true.
They had both been relieved to see that Lord Oaf was indeed secretly building warships, for one. There were more than twenty war galleys hidden in the inner harbour, and even though Manderly was no longer in the city, progress on them continued, Sandor and Sansa had wished to see for themselves if Lord Lamprey really was hiding the ships up the White Knife, and had pretended to go hawking one morning as an excuse in order to confirm this with their own eyes.
That was a good day, Sandor remembered; away from the daily stares and endless pointing and rumours about him and his bird. Things they noticed even if they were supposedly done behind their sodding backs. But on the day of the hawking trip, beside counting the ships from a distance, Sandor and the little bird had also raced beside the White Knife, putting their heels to Stranger and Wylla Manderly's mare the way they had done long ago back in that cabin by the sea in the Bay of Lorath. The little bird was currently unable to ride her own horse since that would have harmed Stranger and Nan's foal.
The White Knife river was the furthest place from White Harbour that Sandor had deemed it safe to ride to that day, aware in the back of his mind all the while that he would have to take his little bird and her brother to Winterfell, regardless of the fucking danger it had become. Especially if your surname is Stark.
"I have waited to see Winterfell for more than half a year now, my love," Sansa had chirped at him, when he asked her what she would think of staying behind in White Harbour until he aided rigid Stannis's defeat the bloody Boltons. "It's silly of you to not know what I would answer to that beforehand. And besides, how do you expect I would survive without you by my side for gods know how long?"
But no matter what his little wife told him, Sandor could not readily forget the other reasons behind his fear and hesitations to taking Sansa out of White Harbour, with Roose Bolton's bastard son being one of them. His wife might know that the whoreson was the one who had taken Winterfell from Theon Greyjoy, and that he was married to a girl the north believed to be Arya Stark, but the little bird didn't need to hear how Ramsay Snow hunted woman down for sport, raping and skinning. Even the bloody smallfolk hereabouts feared the bastard, and had taken shelter inside White Harbour's thick white walls.
His bird had gone pale when she learned how the man had forced Lady Hornwood to marry him, refusing to feed her until the woman died of starvation, but not before she chewed off her own fingers- and even if Sandor knew that his bird would manage to bring out the northern wolf in her when they set out for the long march to Winterfell, he had many doubts.
It was not Sansa he doubted, or her strength, but the fickle bitch called life that could decide to play a trick on them all before long, causing the little bird or Rickon to eventually lose their yet precarious place in the game of thrones.
The city walls of White Harbour were not only full of silver, but strong and far away from where Ramsay Snow was presently at, so Sansa was relatively safe here; but out there in the wild and with winter already upon them, she could get sick or hurt or captured or worse.
Taking a drink from the flagon of wine he had found in the kitchens before instructing some servants to prepare a bath for him in his chambers, Sandor reasoned that the best he could hope for was for Stannis to have already fought his battle with the bastard by the time Sansa got within ten leagues of her home.
Sandor had gone to check on Stranger quickly, feeling by then the ache that training gave him, telling his destrier about how he had gone to the empty training yard at dawn with Hagen Edar and a sleepy Rickon to practice in order to keep his promise to Sansa of avoiding those fucking knights whom he knew would be ready to confront him the first moment he let his guard down.
He laughed as he recounted to Stranger what a fool Edar was making of himself every morning since Sandor started teaching the former outlaw- who happened to be the only man in this bloody city who did not think it was beneath him to train with the former Hound- how to fight with a sword in his hand. It was necessary since training a boy as young as Rickon was not the only drilling Sandor needed to practice, and even if the Lorathi was indeed as useless as he'd ever been with a blade, at least today the little bird's sworn arrow had given Sandor a decent fight.
At least Stranger still gives me a good workout whenever I take him to the outskirts of the city to drill him, Sandor remembered with pride. His warhorse had never disappointed him.
Striding down the hallways outside his chamber, Sandor let out a long content sigh as he remembered the prospect of taking a warm bath, even as he placed the flagon of wine on a table in front of his bedroom, since it was empty by now. He grabbed the doorknob and grinned, listening to the sound of the little bird's soft voice saying something inside the bedroom, before he opened the door without any knock that would announce his presence. Sandor knew before he even met Sansa's eyes that her face would light up at the sight of him, and when she saw him and a smile as warm as the sun appeared on her face, Sandor's breath caught in his throat, feeling glad and thankful to his little wife for that.
Sansa tugged at her robe as she stepped into the bedroom, frowning slightly, her bare feet falling softly on the carpet as she walked towards the windows. This was the third time this morning she had to use the chamber pot, so when the kettle in the hearth started to hiss and one of her maids asked her if she wanted a cup of tea, Sansa declined.
If I don't drink anything anymore, I won't have to find some privy in the city when I least expect it, she reasoned, opening the shutters as she took a deep breath.
She loved to feel the cold northern wind singing around her, and the mornings in White Harbour were always cool and lovely, with the salt breeze blowing from the sea somehow comforting to her.
Today is going to be a good day, Sansa told herself, smiling as she imagined how this day would turn out. She would be visiting the Old Mint with Wyn and Wylla to see the people who had taken shelter in that building, bringing them food and warm clothing.
The first few times she had gone to the Old Mint, Rickon had gone with her, and Sandor had refused to leave her side all the time that they were there but his constant scowl always scared the smallfolk so. After their first three visits it had been decided that Rickon would no longer visit every single time that Sansa did, and a week later Sandor had finally deemed it all right if she went with the Manderly sisters, their guards, and Hagen Edar into the city alone, without him.
Sansa was sad to part with her husband during those hours, but both Sandor and she knew it was for the best since not only had the mothers, children, old, sick and wounded, started to open up to her more ever since it was Hagen Edar by her side rather than Sandor, but also because it showed to the world that Lady Sansa's sworn arrow was capable to take care of her. Not that her big man didn't force her to take the dagger with the pretty pink hilt that had belonged to that archer in the Kingswood with her on those occasions, hiding it in the folds of her clothes, for he did. But so far Sansa could not help but thank the old gods and the new for the fact that she had never yet been forced to use it.
Sandor always got terribly bored when he accompanied me to the Old Mint anyways, Sansa reasoned, running her fingers through her auburn locks as she closed her eyes and let the sounds of the city below take over her senses. And poor Septon Huern always looks as if he fears the big man will suddenly snap and bite his head off. Sansa smiled, for that was exactly what crossed Sandor's mind every time he'd met Septon Huern.
He should be back by now though, Sansa thought with a sigh. Not only did Sansa have to part with her husband for long hours on the days she visited the Old Mint, but now she was not even waking up beside her husband in the morning, since by the time Sansa opened her eyes Sandor was long gone, practicing in the empty training yard, her shield brother and their Lorathi friend before the knights that were staying in the New Castle arrived, in an attempt to avoid having another encounter with them.
Not that those knights were looking to provoke Sandor anymore as far as Sansa could tell. After their breakfast in the Waterway Stairs, besides forming a rapidly growing friendship with the girls, Sansa had also kept a lookout for any rumours, or opinions or incidents regarding Sandor, but according to the Manderly sisters and Hagen and even Lord Seaworth, there had not been much to worry about in the past weeks.
Sighing deeply, Sansa opened her eyes, her gaze falling on the streets and rooftops of White Harbour beyond the castle's walls at once. At least we will be leaving for Winterfell in a fortnight, she remembered excitedly, feeling as if butterflies were nervously flapping their wings inside her tummy. After all this time, Rickon and I are finally going home for true!
"The bath is ready, m'lady," the youngest of Sansa's maids suddenly informed her, interrupting her musings.
"Thank you, let us just hope that Lord Clegane comes back before the water grows cold," Sansa said after a moment, turning around to face the servant as the maid curtsied and walked out of the bedroom, a pair of empty wooden pails in both her hands.
Sansa had been given two maids; one was older than her lady mother but still pretty, and the other one was called Trenn and was seven and ten and had a wart on her nose. The older one, called Maddy, and was at present laying out Sansa's black woollen dress on the bed. Sansa gazed at the large, airy bedroom momentarily, thinking back on all the things the Manderly sisters had done for her and her pack thus far.
I have known Wylla and Wynafryd for only a few weeks so far, but already I owe them so much. The small gestures of a featherbed to sleep on, hot water to bathe in, and warm food for her belly were simple ones yet Sansa had come to appreciate these things during her long travels in the east, making her eternally thankful to Wyn and Wylla for them, among their other kindnesses.
They were also wonderful hostesses, since this bedroom which Sansa shared with her big man had woollen carpets scattered all over the floor, and tapestries on the walls. Tall beeswax candles to give more than ample light and furnishings, like a long table, a settle, a chest, several tall cases full of books, and chairs.
But what Sansa truly valued above else was the way the sisters were not only staunch supporters of Rickon, but also of her and Sandor now.
"Will m'lady be wanting anything else to break her fast with?" Maddy asked her, grabbing the discarded food tray from the table.
"Oh no," Sansa said at once, clutching at her full tummy. "I already feel as if my belly was about to burst. I wonder if I will even fit in that gown."
She had already eaten her breakfast, though she had not been very hungry, and every bite of the fresh-caught fish, spiced mutton, warm bread, turnips, carrots and crabs had been chewed and swallowed dutifully.
Maddy laughed at her words, muttering, "You'll fit in it all right, Lady Stark, don't worry. Would you like to change into it right now?"
Sansa was about to open her mouth and reply that she supposed that would be fine, when the door to the bedroom flew open, and Sandor strode inside, a wide grin on his burned features.
His grey eyes met hers at once, and he moved as if to take her in his arms before realizing that there was another person in the room. Glancing at Maddy, Sandor snarled a simple but menacing, "Out," before resuming gazing at her again.
Sansa smiled against her will due to the way her big man's eyes were roaming over her as she stood in the middle of the room in her nightgown and robe since that look always took her breath away, even as she blushed in embarrassment for the way poor Maddy had been dismissed from the room.
She lowered her eyes to the floor for a moment so she could recover herself with a blush before turning to look over at the maid, expecting to see the woman looking either afraid or affronted. But Sansa was taken aback when she saw the way Maddy's eyes were roaming over Sandor in appreciation.
"Leave us now," Sansa commanded the servant at once, forgetting her intention to apologize for Sandor's behaviour. "And bar the door."
"Yes, m'lady. M'lord," Maddy replied, without even looking at Sansa again. She left the room and locked the door behind her.
Really! Sansa thought, feeling partly jealous, partly amused, and partly proud, even if her big man didn't seem to have notice anything was amiss- or at least if he had, Sandor didn't considered it worth his attention.
The moment they were alone Sandor reached Sansa in three long strides and picked her up in his arms, saying in a growl, "Morning, my bird."
Sansa gave him a quick kiss and whispered, "Good morning, Sandor."
"Oh fuck, I've missed you," Sandor told her, nosing her hair and robe out of the way so he could kiss the skin of her neck and the shoulder that her nightgown partially revealed.
"Your bath is ready," she told him, turning her face away from him as she played with the sash of her robe.
"My bath can wait," he rasped, pressing her closer to him.
"Sandor," she began to protest, but he only kissed her words away.
Holding her breath until Sandor released her, Sansa turned away from him at once.
"What is it?" Sandor wondered at once, realizing something was wrong, and placing a heavy hand on her shoulder, forcing her to turn around and make him look at him.
Sansa did this, considering her choice of before she suddenly burst into giggles. He'll probably just laugh, she reasoned. And not care at all.
"Darling, I- I missed you too, but it's just that," she began, hesitatingly. "Well, you smell quite bad, you see. Please, go take your bath now."
Sandor blinked down at her in disbelief for a moment before he did just as she had expected he would, bursting into a long rasping laughter that echoed off the walls and rumbled through her all the way to her core, a laugh choked with amusement.
"Seven hells, I smell that bad, do I?" he asked her, reaching out to ruffle her hair with his hand. "Ah well, I reckon I do. All right, little bird, stop wriggling your nose like that. I'll go wash up, but I am not done with you yet."
Chuckling, Sansa thanked him and watched him as he started removing his water-stained leather jerkin and scuffed boots first. When he was standing only in his patched brown breeches and tunic, Sandor said with incredulity, "It's a bloody wonder you can't stand being around me right now, my bird, but can spend hours feeding those ugly peasants and their poxy whelps without a single complaint escaping that pretty mouth of yours."
Sandor's shirt was open to the waist, and Sansa had been staring at the way it exposed the thick black hair that covered his chest, wishing to go over and run her hands and fingers through it, before Sandor's laughter broke her reverie.
"I am sorry darling, what did you say?" she asked, watching him take off his tunic to reveal his muscled chest to her, the sight appealing to her instincts at once. No wonder Maddy was staring.
Laughing again, aware of the way she was gazing at him, Sandor answered, "Why don't you join me in the tub, little bird?"
"You know I can't," Sansa admitted with regret. "I am going to be late, darling. Remember that I have to get ready for-"
"-For visiting that bunch of scrawny families you have taken under your wing," Sandor interrupted, finishing for her, a trace of contempt beneath his words. "They can wait. Your husband needs you more than they do."
"Sandor, don't say those things with so much disdain. They are good people who need help and are just hoping to survive this war. Rickon will one day rule over them if the gods are willing, and they have to remember that the Starks aided them in-"
"Enough, little bird, I know you're reasons," Sandor told her, removing his breeches. He was now standing as naked as his nameday in front of her, and Sansa was looking at him as he went on talking, noticing the rich crop of bruises all over his body from all the training he was doing these days, before letting her eyes linger on his manhood and the coarse hair down there.
"I was not saying that they are bad. But whatever they are that doesn't mean they aren't still a useless pack of mouths," her husband finished, before starting to walk away from her.
Sansa frowned at Sandor, watching his backside as he entered the adjacent room to the bedroom where the bath tub and chamber pot were. She shook her head in resignation, knowing that it was of no use to try and make her big man change that stubborn opinion he had of the smallfolk living in the Old Mint.
Deciding it was best to wait a little to clean her face until her big man had washed up properly, Sansa braided her hair and took off her robe in the meanwhile, placing it on the bed beside her mourning gown, absentmindedly humming a melody from Norvos to herself.
Her husband was already inside the tub by the time she walked to the bathing room, scrubbing himself with a bar of soap and a brush, smelling much better already.
Sansa walked over towards the water basin, noticing the way her big man's eyes seemed to devour her, as she commented, "I am afraid you are a lost cause, dearest."
Sandor understood her meaning, and he gave a bark of laughter, rasping, "Let's see if you still think as highly of those peasants once you catch the porridge plague from them."
That caught Sansa's attention. Porridge plague? She turned around to regard a Sandor with an arched eyebrow, completely at a loss.
"You haven't heard of it?" Sandor asked her, in disbelief. "Don't you have it here in the North?"
Taking a step towards him, Sansa shook her head. Did Maester Luwin or Mother ever mention it? Septa Mordane certainly didn't.
"I- I don't think we do," she admitted, growing wary.
"Well, you won't like it once you have it, Sansa," he told her, with a snort, "Your skin starts to look like boiled oats and your face falls off with time."
Sansa could not help but gasp at that, "But that is awful!"
Sandor's mouth began to twitch before he suddenly burst into a loud laughter that sounded just like iron does when it's scraping over stone. Sansa's mouth dropped opened in a small O at that. Oh gods be good!
"You're- oh Sandor, I can't- I almost believed you!" she exclaimed, walking over towards the wooden tub, trying hard not to laugh, and failing miserably.
"You should have seen your face, bird," Sandor growled, reaching out with one hand for hers, while the other one fisted a piece of the hem of her nightgown.
Sansa shook her head as she took her big man's big hand, highly enjoying the way Sandor played with her like this, despite her next words.
"You know, sometimes I think you and Arya would have gotten along just fine. Both of you have enjoyed vexing me out of my wits more times than I can tell."
"Didn't the little she-wolf hate my guts?" Sandor asked her, still laughing as he went on tugging at the fabric of her nightgown.
"Well yes," Sansa confessed. "But maybe that would have changed with time."
"I doubt it," Sandor said dismissively, looking up at her with a strange expression appearing in his face. His laughter died away at once then, but a mischievous grin remained.
"Darling?" Sansa began to ask hesitantly, before her breath caught in her throat as Sandor yanked her by the arm towards him.
The next thing she knew Sansa had fallen into the wooden tub with a little startled squeak, warm water splashing loudly everywhere. At once her nightgown was soaked, and Sandor could not stop laughing.
He does have the warmest laugh sometimes, she thought in amazement, fleetingly, before gasping, "Sandor!"
Sansa sat up, still a little startled, realizing at last that she had fallen right on her big man's lap, as his strong arms moved to encircle her.
"Yes, little bird?" Sandor rasped, still laughing as his eyes regarded her with amusement, rubbing her arms in soothing motions.
"Sandor, my nightgown," she said feebly, looking at her husband with a resigned sigh. Sansa could not really get mad at him for pulling her into the tub when he was looking at her like he currently was.
But he only shrugged and growled, "The nightgown will be dry by the time you come from visiting your new friends, my bird. You were planning on getting out of it anyways, weren't you?"
"Yes, I was," she admitted, staring at her right hand, which had landed on his chest as Sandor raised his hands from her arms and moved them to fist her auburn hair, silently undoing her braid.
Sansa began to caress the hard muscles and bruises underneath her palm, feeling the strong beating of her big man's heart, touching him slowly since she loved to touch Sandor's body like this.
Straddling her husband, Sansa leaned on her big man's warm chest as she brought her mouth to his good cheek and her hand to tenderly stroke his scarred one, leaving a trail of kisses on his neck and behind the remains of his bad ear, nibbling at his earlobe just before she returned to his warm neck, sucking at the skin there in different places. Her stiff cold nipples were caressing Sandor's chest through the dripping wet fabric of her nightgown every time she moved above him, making Sandor groan loudly
He brought his hands to rest on her thighs as he jerked his hips upwards, rasping in a hoarse voice that could not hide the vulnerability behind his words, "What the fuck am I supposed to do without you today, Sansa?"
"I don't know," she whispered, feeling Sandor's hard need underneath her before pressed her body down onto it. Sansa claimed her husband's mouth, already accepting the fact that she was going to be a little late, for all she wanted to do right now was lose herself in Sandor, and that is why she pulled her nightgown's hem up to her waist.
We can do this quick enough after all, she knew. And so they made love in the wooden tub, with Sansa trembling as she clung to her big man breathlessly, while Sandor held her tight to him in return, his rough calloused hands caressing her everywhere as he buried himself deep within her until they shook with the force of both of their releases.
Afterwards, as Sandor leaned his back onto the edge of the wooden tub with his legs sprawled before him, cradling Sansa's body on top of his, his arms holding her close while she leaned on his back, running her feet along the long length of the hairy legs beneath hers, Sansa closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest, feeling comforted and loved. Her husband was running his hand along her back, tracing patterns on her skin idly, his other arm thrown across her chest.
"Did you remember what your nightmare was about, bird?" Sandor asked her after a time in his usual snarl, as he brought a handful of her loose hair to his nose and breathed in its scent, and making Sansa's eyes fly open.
She almost stifled a gasp as she remembered. Last night Sansa had woken up sobbing hours past midnight from a horrible nightmare she could not recall. Her heart had been beating madly in her chest as her big man comforted her, whispering soothing murmurs in her ears as he held her close, and waited until sleep claimed her again before going back to sleep himself.
Raising her head and meeting Sandor's eyes now, she answered, "No, I haven't. I can't remember, love."
But that was a lie. By the time she was breaking her fast a short while ago, vivid memories from her nightmare had come back to her, and she had almost choked on the bread as she recalled that it had been one of those weird dreams in which she was her brother's direwolf.
Only this time I was not Shaggy but Lady, she recalled. Sansa had dreamed she was her wolf in those moments before her father cut her throat. She almost shivered now as she lay in her husband's arms when she remembered the sharp painful coldness of the blade on her neck. No, not my neck. It was my Lady's neck. Is that what Father felt when Ser Ilyn chopped off his head? Sansa barely managed not to shiver then.
"At least whatever haunted you last night didn't turn out to be true," Sandor pointed out with a smile, as the corner of his mouth began to twitch. "Remember when you dreamed of the Onion and Edar and the others looking for us in the woods bare sodding moments before it happened?"
Sansa remembered all too well. She gave a weak chuckle as she lowered her gaze to Sandor's chest and the little drops of water there, wondering what she could say to steer the conversation away from the troubled and upsetting memories that were running through her mind, but when she met her husband's grey eyes again, Sansa realized that Sandor knew she was holding something back from him by the way he was regarding her.
For a moment, Sansa wondered if Sandor would pressure her into revealing the truth to him, but her big man did nothing but stare at her as he waited to see what she would decide to do, respecting whatever she chose.
I can't tell him what is happening to me when I don't even know myself. I would not even know where to start, Sansa reasoned, doubts still gnawing at her, hoping she was making the right decision of not speaking about her dreams to anyone just yet.
"Have you ever had any nightmares?" she asked Sandor now, curiously. "You have never woken up in the middle of the night because of them so far, you know. That is a good sign."
Something shifted behind Sandor's eyes, and his stare turned hard as he rasped, "I used to have nightmares all the time, little bird. About Gregor and the day he burned me, and about my sister breaking her beck after the fucker threw her down the stairs."
"Oh," Sansa whispered, knowing instantly that there really wasn't anything she could say right now to make Sandor feel better.
So instead she silently raised her hand to her husband's face so she could lightly trace his burns with her fingertips, thinking that even if Sandor was happy now, it could nonetheless still hurt that there had been a time when her love had probably needed to be comforted, but had never had anyone to help him cope with all the pain and loss in his life for years.
"It happened a long time ago," Sandor said dismissively, bringing his head down so that he could reach Sansa and kiss her as he cupped her face. "And don't be sorry, bird. The only reason why I don't have them anymore is because of you. It should bloody well be the same for you too, but instead-"
Sansa did not let Sandor finish. You can't help me with this, big man, she thought, as she placed two long fingers over Sandor's scarred lips, shaking her head and whispering softly, "Hush. Please, let's just stop talking about nightmares and dreams. It is upsetting us and we were so happy right now."
Sandor arched an eyebrow at that, weighing her, but nodded in agreement in the end, rasping, "As you wish."
A short time later, Sansa's big man left her with Wynafryd Manderly at the courtyard that was nearest to the New Castle's kitchens, parting from her with a curt nod and a wink when he was certain no one was watching him. Sansa watched Sandor stride away with a little regret, missing him terribly already.
"You look so lovely," Sansa told Wyn, admiring her pink lambswool dress, as she remembered her courtesies and pried her eyes away from Sandor when he disappeared around a corner. The gown looked old, but had a beautiful pattern of dragonflies around the hem and the sleeves that reminded her of those she had worn long ago in the capital.
"I will lend it to you any day that you wish," the eldest of the Manderly sisters told her, smiling.
Sansa could not help but laugh at that. "Oh Wyn, if only I was a little shorter I would hold you to your word, but it could never possibly fit me."
Not only was Sansa taller than either of the Manderly girls, but her bosom was larger too. That thought made her blush, and she rapidly lowered her eyes to her cleavage, making certain the top of her breasts were hidden. Lately, grown men had begun to look at her chest more than they had ever done whenever they were certain Sandor wasn't looking. Even just the other day the stableboy had gaped at her as he helped her mount.
"Thank you, Sansa," her friend replied with a polite chuckle now. "But I am sure that something can be done. I will ask my seamstress to visit you and take your measurements before the week is over. I have known her since I was six years old. She also made me a linen shift and silken smallclothes along with this gown."
"Oh would you ask her, really?" Sansa exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "I would be thankful for it. I would only need two new dresses, that is all. My old ones don't fit me as well as they did some months ago."
"Well, you are still growing," Wyn pointed out as they heard Wylla and Hagen laughing at some joke as they crossed the yard to meet them. "You are younger than my sister and Wylla's body stopped changing only until last year. But as I am sure you can tell, my little sister is still a child in many other ways."
Sansa had to smile at that, as she confessed, "She reminds me a little of my sister Arya. She- Wylla isn't as fierce as Arya was, but she doesn't like playing bells or the high harp or writing poetry, and Arya loathed them. And of course, they are both fond of speaking their minds."
Wynafryd had a lovely voice, and when coaxed would play the woodharp and sing songs of chivalry and lost loves. And while Wylla could sew and dance and sing as well as Sansa, and knew how to dress beside, she loved riding more than anything else- unlike Sansa and Wyn.
But despite their tastes, Sansa had had some of the best fun in her life with both sisters, and at times it was difficult to remember that they were older than her, since they both behaved in private like girls who had their heads full of songs and stories, and to the world like ladies who has responsibilities, cares and worries to busy themselves with every day.
Still, it had been so long since Sansa had enjoyed the company of other women her age that she had almost forgotten how pleasant it could be. Frema had been her dearest friend after Jeyne Poole, but at least the Manderly sisters had taken Sansa into their company as if they had known her all their lives after their breakfast down at the Waterway Stairs.
Whenever they were not attending their duties, Sansa and the Manderly girls spent afternoons doing needlework for the refugees living at the Old Mint as they talked over lemon cakes and honeyed wine, and had even played at tiles a one evening, and had even gone to sing at the grand building with the domed roof surmounted by tall statues of the Seven that was the Sept of Snow.
Yet the most important bit, Sansa remembered. Is that they are good and true of heart, so unlike the ladies of King's Landing. They may be sweet and gentle unmarried maidens who had never seen a real battle before, but Wyn and Wylla had a strong resolution that would not easily break. Sansa had not known just how strong the women of the North could be until she came to White Harbour. They are just as strong as me. Winter has made us so.
Wynafryd met her eyes at that, gulping momentarily before saying a low voice, "Don't worry Sansa, you will get her back. Your sister is too valuable to the north for Ramsay Snow to kill her. She is surely waiting for the moment to be rescued right now in Winterfell."
Sansa nodded, growing silent. She had not told anyone but Sandor about her suspicions regarding the identity of the girl the Lannisters had sent north for Roose Bolton's bastard to marry. What if I tell Wyn about my hope that Arya was not meant to suffer that cruel fate only to have my hopes crashed if it really is my sister the young woman who is at Winterfell? And even if it was not Arya, all Ramsay Snow had to do was to wait for an heir before he could discard his wife.
Even now, what Wynafryd had just said only served to plant more doubts in Sansa's mind regarding the identity of the woman whom all believed to be Arya Stark. The little girl she had grown up with would never just sit patiently until someone came to rescue her. She would kick and bite and scream even if they punished her for it. But surely the Bastard of Bolton would not dare to hurt her sister before the men who had served as her father's and Robb's banner men but a short while ago?
She could find no answers to those questions, for in that moment Hagen Edar and Wylla finally reached Sansa and Wynafryd, as their laughter died away.
"What is so funny?" Wyn asked her younger sister, looking at Sansa's sworn arrow and the girl.
"Oh Wyn! Good morning, Sansa," Wylla answered with a smile, giving the latter a curtsy. "Oh I am sorry, it's just that Hagen here was just telling me about the night he met you and Lord Clegane! When his band of outlaws ambushed your caravan and Stranger saved the day- or rather the night- by kicking Hagen until an inch of his life! Isn't that thrilling?"
Sansa had to giggle as she remembered, and because the former outlaw's eyes were twinkling as he started to chuckle again at the memory. Wynafryd however looked a little startled, but recovered herself quickly enough, turning to Sansa as she said by way of apology, "I am afraid Wylla has always been a willful child."
"It's all right," Sansa assured the eldest sister, smoothing her skirts, exchanging a look with Hagen.
"What were you and Lady Sansa talking about?" Wylla asked, tucking a strand of loose hair back into her garnish green braid.
"About Winterfell, and-" Wyn began to answer, before Wylla took Sansa's arm and started leading her away, towards the gates.
"Oh, you must be so excited at the prospect of seeing Winterfell again- despite what that filthy bastard and his monsters must have done to it by now. Not that it won't be anything that can't be fixed once the war is over of course. We must ask the gods for that mercy."
"I feel overwhelmed every time I imagine how it will be when I set eyes on it again," Sansa confessed, picturing her home as she had last seen it on the day she left south with King Robert's company.
"I really do wish me and Wyn could go with you," Wylla confided, squeezing Sansa's arm. "But our place is here, and Grandfather would have a fit if we got within twenty miles of a battlefield, and if he learned that we abandoned our duties here to go meet him at Winterfell."
"I understand, don't worry about it," Sansa assured her friend, smiling as she remembered that her big man had looked when she made it quite clear to him that she was not going to stay behind in White Harbour and wait for him and Stannis Baratheon to defeat their enemies before she could set out for Winterfell.
"When this war is over," Sansa told Wylla now. "I hope you and your sister can come to Winterfell for a long visit and I can repay you a little for all the unfailing kindnesses you have shown me and my family in these times."
"Do not expect anything less from us, Sansa," Wynafryd told her, catching up with her and her sibling. "The people of White Harbour are lawful and loyal, and you are our liege lady after fierce little Lord Rickon after all. Oh forgive me for the change of conversation, but I think it would be best I think if we go to the kitchens for the baskets before we leave for the Old Mint."
Sansa and Wylla nodded in agreement. After their trip to the kitchens they finally left the proud and pale New Castle behind them upon its hill, before heading over to the Castle Stair and the city below. They all had blankets of food and provisions hanging from their arms, and were being flanked by five guards with the badge of House Manderly upon their breasts, as well as with Hagen Edar, who was walking so close to his liege lady that Sansa could hear the soft thumping of his quarrel against his hip every time they descended a step.
When they reached the top of the broad white stoneway or street with steps that was the Castle Stair, and which led all the way from the Wolf's Den over by the water to the New Castle on its hill, Sansa peered across the horizon as Wynafryd went to take a seat on one of the marble mermaids with bowls of burning whale oil cradled in their arms that were only lit up every night after dusk descended on the world, so that she could remove some pebbles from her shoe.
Looking across the city, Sansa let her eyes travel towards the distant ocean and the ships anchored in White Harbour's harbour, which was divided into the Inner and Outer, noticing how the merman of House Manderly was everywhere in evidence, flying from the towers of the New Castle, above the Seal Gate, and along the city walls. The direwolf of Stark will fly beside the merman as soon as we ride out for Winterfell, proclaiming our purpose to the world.
The Outer Harbour was larger and could hold a score of ships, but the Inner Harbour had a better anchorage and was sheltered by the City Wall on one side and the looming mass of the Wolf's Den on another, and a mile-long, thirty foot wall, with towers every hundred yards, located on the jetty that separated it from the Outer Harbor.
Sansa and her big man had mostly visited the Harbour only to make sure that the war galleys Lord Manderly had concealed behind the thick white walls of the Harbour, and which were supposedly only just waiting for a command to be put to sea, were really in a good state after they had made their way along the swarming wharf and docksides, as well as through the crowded fish market, staring at the ships as they took on different provisions, or at foreign sailors throwing dice as fishwives cried the day's catch.
There was always a clutter of small boats tied up along the fish market, off-loading their catches, as well as seagoing vessels and a shabby old bear that would dance in a circle for a ring of river runners as a little boy that appeared to be Rickon's age, played in time on a drum.
Sandor had been interested in looking at the places where the scorpions and spitfires behind the standing stones of the jetty walls had been placed, in order to advise Ser Marlon Manderly where they might be changed the scorpions and spitfires be changed to for a better defence if the need arose, but had agreed to take her to see the seals that liked to bask on the broken rocks below Sea Rock too.
The wind flapped up at the girls' skirts as they walked down the streets of White Harbour after Wynafryd had fixed her shoes, biting at their legs with cold teeth. Sansa looked left and right as she always did, taking in the details of the place, like the way the houses were all built of whitewashed stone with steeply pitched roofs of dark grey slate.
Sansa was rapidly growing quite fond of this place. White Harbour had been the first city she had ever seen when she was little as she accompanied her father to visit Lord Wyman, and though it was small compared to King's Landing or Pentos or Norvos or Braavos, it was clean and well-ordered, and the people here loved her and Rickon. They would always call out their names as they passed by, and would even hold up their children for a startled Rickon's blessing, going to one knee, many with tears in their eyes as they kept on muttering, "They're alive! There is still hope for the North."
Soon enough they reached the cobbled square that had a fountain at its centre, and which the locals had named Fishfoot Yard. It was just outside the Seal Gate, in the middle of five alleys heading in different directions- four of which Sansa knew she shouldn't stray over to, since one lead to a brothel, one to a mummer's hall were bawdy entertainments could be had for a few pennies, and the other two led to an alehouse and an infamous inn, which Sansa knew Edar and Lord Davos liked to visit since they served tasty lamprey pies.
Inside the Yard there was a cobbled square with a fountain at its center. The fountain had a stone merman rising from its waters, twenty feet tall from tail to crown. His curly beard was green and white with lichen, and one of the prongs of his trident had broken off many years ago, yet somehow he was still quite to impressing.
The Yard was teeming this afternoon. A woman was washing her small-clothes in Fishfoot's fountain and hanging them off his trident to dry. Beneath the arches of the peddler's colonnade the scribes and money changers had set up for business, along with a hedge wizard, an herb woman, and a very bad juggler.
There was also a man was selling apples from a barrow, and a woman was offering herring with chopped onions. Chickens and children were everywhere underfoot, and they all stopped what they were doing as soon as they caught sight of the Manderly sisters and Sansa.
"Old Fishfoot is the name the locals know it by," Wylla had informed her when Sansa had first visited the Old Mint.
Their party strolled across the yard around Old Fishfoot, past where a young girl was selling cups of fresh milk from her nanny goat. Down past where Old Fishfoot's trident pointed was an alley where they sold fried cod, crisp and golden brown outside and flaky white within, Hagen was kind enough to inform her.
"I am not hungry, but you can go get one if you like while we pray," Sansa told her sworn arrow with what she could only hope did not look like a very poor attempt at a smile.
"Oh no, I don't fancy it right now," Edar assured her after he had allowed his gaze to rest on her till the moment where a slightly concerned frown appeared on his forehead. Mercifully though he said nothing if he had indeed seen anything at all.
They went down a flight of stairs after that, and reached the Old Mint at long last. The building that was the Old Mint had long been in disuse, but had become a sort of refuge shelter from the war for those who had no other place to live, mostly compromised of smallfolk from up the White Knife, and Hornwood, who had no more than rags on their backs.
What little help Sansa, Wynafryd or Wylla could give them was simple sturdy food so as to not starve to death, or to give the boys that stood five feet tall or more place in the New Castle's barracks, as well as advice to the girls who had no notion as to how would they survive another day.
"M'ladies!" most of them started to call at once when the party was spotted. Shouts of "Lady Wylla" "Lady Wynafryd" and "Lady Sansa" or "Lady Stark" wrenched the air as the girls went on giving the poor alms, or a couple of golden dragons and silver stags, and even some meat pies, as the people thanked them and asked the gods to bless them.
Sansa could not help but let out a sigh as she wondered fleetingly if the people of the North would ever come to think of her as Lady Clegane. Even if it was really not that rare for a highborn lady to be addressed by her maiden name, since Queen Cersei, Elia Martell and Margery Tyrell were almost never referred to by their married surnames, Sansa at times wished she could just be known as her big man's wife to the world.
She was still silently wondering about this when her eyes were caught by an old man who was sitting on the floor, resting his back on the wall of a building by a gutter. Even from a distance it was easy to see that he was badly wounded on the leg, and yet none of the people passing by him were paying him the briefest of glances.
"Oh Hagen, look," Sansa said, nudging her friend in the ribs with her elbow to attract his attention. "We have to help him. Isn't he hurt?"
Before Edar could answer her, Sansa was already making her way through the crowd of women and children around her and the Manderly sisters. When Sansa finally reached the old man and had quickly gone to her knees on the street, her breath caught in her throat, since the sight of the old man's leg shocked her speechless. The flesh of part of the old man's thigh was cracked and red, with flies flying over the crusted blood on the wound.
"What happened?" she murmured, feeling dizzy as the horrible reeking stench of the gutters hit her.
Sansa stared at the wound for a moment before meeting the man's eyes, which were already weighing her with a hard look. Coarse grey stubble covered his cheeks and chin, and he had a lumpy nose and black eyes.
"Sansa," Hagen suddenly exclaimed beside her, as she tried to stand up, staggering slightly. "Are you all right? Would you like to seat down?"
"No," she answered at once, nodding and holding on to her sworn arrow's arm for support for a moment. "No, I am all right, but Hagen, please help this poor man. Tell- tell the guards to take him inside the Old Mint. His leg ought to have been treated and looked after long ago."
"Are you sure you don't want to take a seat? You are just as pale as a sheet," her Lorathi friend and protector observed.
"It was just the smells," she said, gathering herself as she felt the dizziness left her.
Hagen looked as if he was about to protest further, but ended up nodding curtly and calling to the guards to help the poor old man. When Sansa saw them carrying him away, she was feeling as good as she'd felt before this little incident happened. Sansa joined Wylla and Wynafrd, who had not seen what had just occurred, speaking with a couple of the mothers who were asking them something.
By the time the gathering crowd allowed them all to move to the front doors of their destination, a pair of wiry strong silent sisters opened the huge oak-and-iron doors of the Old Mint, revealing hundreds of women, children, and old men, huddled on the floor on piles of furs with little cook fires going. Sansa straightened her shoulders, donned a smile on her face and stepped inside, ready.
A/N: Thank you for reading! :D Your comments make my days better, so if you feel like it, please review (;