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.
* Onborrowedwings, you've been helping me out for 12 months now! I am so in your debt, and so very grateful to you for your constant support and help. I had no idea this fic would turn out to be so long and all, but I can say with certainty that it was my lucky day when you told me you wanted to be my beta. The biggest THANK YOU of all, chica! x)
- 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.
"It's an odd feeling, farewell. There is some envy in it. Men go off to be tested for courage and if we are tested at all is for patience. For doing without. For how well we can endure loneliness. But I had always known that. It didn't require a war…"
- Quote from the movie Out of Africa.
*I have always loved those words, and I think they capture what women must feel like when they watch their husbands, brothers, sons, fathers and relatives go away to fight, leaving them behind to wait for them. I just wanted to include this at the start of the chapter cause those words kept running in mind over and over again as I wrote chapter 53. (:
*The title of this chapter is taken from the book by the same name by Richard Matheson.
53. Bid Time Return
The baby was wriggling in her young mother's arms, her little arms getting tangled with the cloth they had wrapped her into, her face starting to turn red from so much restless movement.
"Can I?" Sansa dared ask after a moment, smiling at Ter.
She could tell that her words surprised little Gilly's mother by the way Ter's eyes widened, and she looked at her baby and then at Sansa twice before she gave a hesitant nod, and said with ill concealed alarmed, "If- if you like, m'lady, but- you don't have to."
"But I want to," Sansa quickly assured Ter, carefully taking Gilly in her arms, cradling her gently to her chest. "I'm sure she is a charming baby."
Sansa looked down at Gilly with amusement as the baby rubbed her face with her little fists, before she started hiccupping. Sansa began to hum a tune she hoped would soothe little Gilly, and it thankfully seemed to work, for the baby began to tenderly grab Sansa's long lock of hair in play.
"She likes you," Ter said shyly, rocking where she sat at the edge of her pallet on the ground beside Sansa.
Sansa met the young mother's eyes with a raised eyebrow, and asked, "You really think so?"
Ter nodded in reply, reaching out to brush her child's soft scarce hair. Though she wasn't much older than Sansa, there was a shy manner in the way Ter carried herself that made one feel as if the little girl she had been not so long ago was still hiding behind her black bright eyes.
Maybe it was because the age difference between them wasn't very big, or because both Sansa and Ter were meant to know love and motherhood at such a young age, or maybe it was because Ter's husband had gone away with Sandor's garrison to Winterfell, but whatever the reason, there was something in the buxom plump and short young woman with the apple-red cheeks that appealed to Sansa, and which made her wish to become her friend.
"You should be proud," Sansa told the woman. "Your daughter is very pretty, and I've found out that not all babies are so easily calmed."
"Aye, she takes after Rawney's side of the family," Ter replied humbly.
"Rawney is your husband's name?"
"Yes, m'lady."
"And are you here with your family, or- ?" Sansa began to enquire, before Ter interrupted her with a shake of the head, and spared her the need to go on with the question as she explained, "No, I've got no family no more, m'lady. My mother died when I was little, and father cast me out from the house when I told him I wanted to be with Rawney."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Sansa said sincerely.
Ter shrugged carelessly, huddling further into the blanket she'd been given, and went on with growing confidence as she became more at ease in Sansa's presence, "I expected it, to tell ye the truth. He always wanted me to marry a knight, but no knight ever looked my way, so when Rawney came along and we fell for each other, I never even remember to ask him if he had a ser before his name. Never cared that he was just a soldier till the day he had to leave me and the girl."
Sansa nodded in understanding, for she knew that even if in the north knights and their vows, along with the Seven and other traditions from the south were of little consequence to its people, here in White Harbour such customs and beliefs were of far greater importance.
We also have this in common then, Sansa thought, realizing that neither Sandor nor Rawney were knights. But a man's worth is not marked by a ser before his name. She of all people knew that better than anyone after knowing someone like Sandor so well- a man who was disdainful of knighthood and everything it represented, yet was a better man than many of the knights Sansa had known in the past.
"So you are all alone here then?" Sansa asked after a moment, sparing a look at their surroundings as she gathered that Ter had at least been lucky enough to have her child's father by her side when the time to give birth had occurred.
"Oh no, m'lady," Ter answered. "Rawney left me with his mother and sisters."
At least there is someone, Sansa was glad to learn. It was a relief to hear that yet another woman or another orphan were not fending for themselves here in the Old Mint.
"I can tell by the way you speak of him that he is a good man," Sansa pointed out, recognizing the warmth in Ter's voice as she spoke of her husband, since it sounded just like Sansa's own voice did whenever she spoke of her big man.
Ter blushed at that, and confirmed Sansa's words, encouraging the latter to remark, "Well then, I think both of us are very lucky to have such brave husbands. Our men have gone off to protect us all and save not only my home but the whole north from the horrible men that think to steal it from my brother and me."
"The Hound-" Ter began, before she realized what she had just called Sansa's husband, and quickly started stammering, "Oh! I- I'm sorry- I- Lord Clegane, I meant- is- I'm sorry, m'lady."
"It's all right," Sansa told the young woman, used to the fact that despite the Manderlys open support of her husband, and her clear love for him, it was going to take years before the north stopped thinking of Sandor as anything other than the Hound. "What were you going to say about my husband, Lord Clegane?"
Ter still looked deeply sorry for her blunder, but after Sansa smiled kindly at her, the young mother answered, "I was just going to say that- that Lord Clegane must be very proud. For- for your own baby, I mean."
"Oh yes, he is," Sansa confirmed at once, her smile widening confidently. "I don't think I will ever forget the way he looked when we learned we were expecting our first child."
The memory of that whole day would never fade in Sansa's mind, and even now the knowledge that she was carrying the child of the man she loved so much overwhelmed her. Still smiling, Sansa lowered her face to stare down at little Gilly in her arms, and she delicately shifted the girl so she could reach out and pat the baby's smooth cheek with her thumb, before she met the child's eyes as Gilly gave her a long soft look.
Sandor would certainly be awkward when it came to handle the baby, Sansa found herself thinking. But it would only be at first. I'm certain he would warm up to our child soon enough, and the baby to its father as well.
"You'll be a great mother," Ter said some moments later, breaking Sansa from her reverie.
Sansa's smile faltered a little at that. She wasn't even sure yet what was she carrying, despite Sandor's certainty at their baby being a boy, but everything so far was so new to Sansa, and Wyn and Wylla could not really help her, since they had never been with child themselves: driving her to seek the help of the septas and the healing women of the New Castle and the Old Mint. It's just a little hard sometimes, to be all alone in this of all times.
"You are too kind," Sansa replied at last, handing back little Gilly at last to her mother. "I certainly hope so, but I would feel more at ease were I to know that if the moment ever came, I could count on your help for any question I may have about the birth, or how to deal with being a mother at such a young age."
Sansa didn't think by the look on Ter's face that she could have said anything else that would please the mother so much. She seemed surprised yet genuinely honoured to have Sansa seeking her advice, and was quick to assure her that she would be here for anything she needed.
"You and Lady Wynafryd and her sister the Lady Wylla have been so generous to us all here," Ter told Sansa. "And anything I can do to help ye, don't doubt asking me, m'lady. Thank you so much Lady Stark."
"It's nothing," Sansa replied, content.
She made Ter promise to come to her or Wyn or Wylla whenever she needed something for herself or her baby, before she shifted around on the little stool where she had been sitting, looking for Donnel, one of her and Rickon's sworn shields, and finding him standing guard some steps behind her.
Donnel noticed what Sansa wanted to do at once, and in the blink of an eye he bent down and was helping her to her feet. Sansa thanked the big man as he offered her his arm, which she declined, bidding Ter and Gilly farewell before she began to make her way down one of the many narrow rows of straw pallets and little fires that had been accommodated on the ground of the Old Mint.
She could hear Donnel's heavy footsteps behind her despite all the noise around her, and sighed, not only because the man following her wasn't Sandor, but because it wouldn't be that long before she grew big with child, and would be unable to refuse Donnel's assistance if she meant to continue her visits to this refuge shelter. She wanted to continue at least until the point where she would have to start her confinement in the New Castle in order to avoid falling ill, and risking her child's safety. Sansa had already started gaining a little weight after all, and her clothes felt as tight as ever, to the point where the dressmaker had been forced to take away most of her gowns so she could re-adjust them around the waist line.
Sansa nodded at the people who gave her a bow or a curtsy, calling her "Lady Stark," when she passed them by. As she walked over the woollen carpets that covered the ground of the cavernous high ceiling long wide building, amongst the cloisters of people all around her, she could not help but feel pleased to see that the Old Mint was as busy and as crowded as ever. It was full of smallfolk, amongst them women, children and old men, and though many had died in the time Sansa had spent so far in White Harbour, many arrived daily from the lands around the White Knife, desperately seeking the shelter that the thick whitewashed walls of this place afforded from not only the war now, but from winter.
At least they no longer have to eat by begging or stealing or selling their bodies, Sansa gathered, as a group of little children saw her walking near them, and ran to hold her hands and hide in her skirts, laughing with her. There were many children being fostered in this shelter, and though most of them were underfed and had lost loved ones or seen horrible things at a young age, they were always ready to trust and grow fond of you once they got to know you.
And getting to know the northerners seeking shelter in the Old Mint was what occupied most of Sansa's days now. Less than a week after Sandor and his garrison had left White Harbour, Wylla and Wyn had proposed to Sansa that it might do them all good to increase the time they were spending in helping the poor, offering any help they could possibly give to the refugees.
Sansa had accepted at once, grateful for the distraction, and pleasantly surprised when Osha admitted she wanted to lend a hand, encouraging little Rickon to offer his help as well. Maybe they want to feel useful just like I do, Sansa had supposed when she had first heard her brother telling her that he was planning on accompanying her.
But whatever the reason, it didn't really matter. Coming here to the Old Mint and getting to know the people living here was the best thing that could have happened to Sansa at this moment of her life, when she stood in a position where many looked up to her, yet felt so alone at times that even the encouraging prospect of becoming a mother failed to cheer her up during Sandor's absence.
There was much to be done in the Old Mint aside from lending the coin to buy food supplies or giving the shelter provisions, Sansa had discovered quickly. So far she had spent days looking after children, cooking, washing, supervising the mending, stitching and hemming, or aiding the healing women with the sick. Having work to do felt refreshing to her, even if sometimes Sansa would only end up assisting someone else in these tasks; since not only had she never in her life learned how to scrub a floor, among many other things, but the people in charge said that they did not think it fit to have the Manderly ladies or Lord Eddard's daughter meddling with such tasks.
Yet the favourite thing Sansa enjoyed doing so far was getting to really know the people of the Old Mint. It wasn't only that Sansa felt somehow responsible for them all since they were her brother's people, but the knowledge that she was actually not only helping them by sharing their workload, and making their hard lives a little easier, but by becoming their friends, humbled and strengthened Sansa both at the same time, reminding her of how important it was to be a good ruler to the people you were meant to look after.
Maybe I cannot go and fight for Winterfell, and rid the north of our foes, Sansa had realized some weeks ago, but I can get to know the northeners in a way that would make Father and Mother proud of me; a way she hoped she could teach her own child when the time came, if they all managed to come out of this war on the winning side, and they survived the long winter. Even Wyn and Wylla had remarked at how easily it was for Sansa to win over the smallfolk, earning their trust faster than others did.
Sansa had quickly discovered that she was a good listener, and didn't mind spending hours each afternoon learning about the lives of the women who had lost and learned just as much as she had during the past years, or about the stories the old men that were also living at the shelter had to tell. I feel useful here, and I'm occupied from morning till dusk.
She especially liked hearing the tales about the men who had fought alongside her father during Robert's Rebellion or Balon Greyjoy's First Rebellion, and Sansa would encourage everyone to share with her their hopes and histories, answering the questions the smallfolk ventured to ask her from time to time with a smile and a readiness that startled yet pleased them.
As Sansa reached the wide room at the back of the cavernous hall where Wynafryd was supervising the cooking of the meals for later today, Sansa asked her friend if there was anything she could do, but was told by Wyn that there wasn't.
"The food is almost ready," Wynafryd told her, looking pointedly at her tummy. "And in any case, shouldn't you go and seat down and rest, Sansa?"
"I've just spend almost an hour sitting down," Sansa answered, covering her bump unconsciously with her hand, and sparing a look behind her to see if Donnel was still following her. "I was with that young mother Ter and her little girl. Are you certain you don't need me to go see if the table is already being set at the common room?"
Wyn actually laughed at that, and with a shake of the head replied, "I am certain, I assure you. Everything is almost ready as I said. The butter has been churned, the bread will soon be taken out of the oven, and you can probably tell by the smell of the crab stew that dinner will be ready in less than an hour."
Sansa's tummy tightened as the smells of the food reached her. She looked over at the boiling pots above the fires, glad for the fact that even if the food of the Old Mint was quite plain, it tasted good and was fulfilling, even if there wasn't too much variety in what the smallfolk ate here, some days alternating between a thick stew of crabs or mussels, and several different kinds of fishes.
With a reluctant shrug and a long sigh Sansa turned around and walked away, gathering that in this spare time she should then go and pay a visit to the Old Mint's sept, since she hadn't yet prayed today to the Seven for Sandor and Hagen and Shaggy and all the other brave men who had gone away.
The sept in the refuge wasn't really what one would call a proper sept, since it only consisted of a little room in one of the corners of the Old Mint being turned into a modest altar where wooden carved figure of the new gods had been placed- a room that was lightened up by candles at all times, its only decoration being the stained glass windows set in pointed arches to either side.
At this hour it was empty when Sansa arrived but for an old man with a bent back who was whispering a prayer before the altar of the Smith. Sansa's eyes fixed on the figure of the Warrior at once, and she stood there on the threshold of the sept for a long time, her thoughts and prayers on her husband, before all of a sudden she gave a little start when a heavy hand was placed on her shoulder and a rough voice said, "My lady."
A shiver ran through her body as Sansa heard that, but it only took her a moment to come out of her train of thoughts and realize who the voice and the hand belonged to. Not Sandor's, she thought quickly with a heavy heart. No, how could it be? Of course it couldn't be his.
Donning a smile on her face, Sansa turned around, exclaiming, "You startled me, Septon Brent."
"I apologize for that. Yet is good to see you here with the gods, Lady Clegane," Septon Brent said with that rough voice of his, giving Sansa the shadow of a bow.
Septon Brent was one of the few people in White Harbour who called Sansa by her married name, and she never cared to correct him, since she enjoyed hearing herself being addressed like that by others.
"I was praying to the Warrior for my husband's welfare," Sansa admitted as she began to walk away from the little sept in order to avoid her conversation with the septon's interrupting the old man at his prayers.
"Ah yes, Sandor Clegane," the septon replied, walking beside her. "I have included him in my prayers ever since I had the honour of meeting you both."
"Thank you for that," Sansa said, trying to hide the little smirk that came to her face as she imagined the expression on Sandor's face and the remark he would have rasped were he to learn this. "I greatly appreciate it."
Though Sansa knew that Sandor had never cared much for the man, Sansa couldn't really find any fault with Septon Brent. He was a learned man who knew the Seven Pointed Star by memory, and had been a wandering septon for decades before the war, alternating between visiting the scarce market towns, small villages, and holdfast in the north, and living on the smallroads, unmapped tracks, and caves in the wild, all the while naming newborn babies, performing marriages and absolving sins.
The children had confided to Sansa that many were a little scared of him due to his appearance, and his stern expression. The man had a heavy jaw, a veined red nose, a wind burnt face with grey bushy eyebrows, and a shaved head. He always wore brown woolen robes that went down to his ankles, with wide bell sleeves and a pointed cowl.
The cowl was thrown back in this moment, Sansa noticed, and recalling that Ter had told her earlier that she was also a little frightened of this man, Sansa decided to remark, "I was just with Ter, the young woman who had her child a fortnight ago."
"Ter..? Ah yes, I know of whom you speak. One of our young mothers. Her husband went away with yours to Winterfell, didn't he?"
"Yes," Sansa answered, leading the way out of the cavernous room, and stepping into the cool narrow corridor that led to the backyard outside the building where she knew her brother and Osha and Wylla were at. "He left her with his own family because Ter's father made it clear he never wanted to see her again after she told him whom was she marrying."
Septon Brent sighed and rubbed his face twice before commenting, "A sad tale, but I've just heard of a sadder one today. Brother Robin just informed me that the guards down at the Seal Rock ended up hanging that poor boy who attacked the beggar three days ago."
"Oh no," Sansa said, remembering the incident. "How old was he?"
"Fourteen, I believe," the septon replied, waving his hand. "I can understand why it had to be done, but still, he was a boy."
"It is horrible," Sansa agreed, thinking back on her own siblings and the possible horrors they had all been made to endure.
"And it's just the beginning," Septon Brent commented darkly. "Brother Owen, Brother Justin, Brother Robin and I are doing the best we can to avoid disorder, but there is so much to do. We are busy with a hundred duties, and there is more to do with every passing day.
Though we are really grateful to you and both Lady Manderlys', I'm afraid of what will we do when winter is truly upon us. How will we feed so many mouths? I can only beseech the gods to have mercy on us all, and keep this city from being stricken by some plague or disease."
"If there is anything I can do," Sansa began to say, recalling the coin Hagen Edar had saved for her in the Iron Bank, before the septon interrupted her with, "You are doing enough already, Lady Clegane, as are Lady Wynafryd and Lady Wylla. I expect that the time of your confinement will soon arrive, but when it does I will ask of you to keep on praying to the Seven- and not only for your husband, but for all of us."
"Of course," Sansa promised, entwining her hands before her. "I will do so daily, and by the Old Gods as well, you can be sure of that. I trust you know how much the people appreciate all that you and the brothers are doing for them."
The hint of a small smile betrayed Septon Brent's face for a heartbeat, before he remarked, "I shall try and remember that tonight during readings."
She could not help but blush at that, and looked down at the floor in shame, remembering what had happened last week, when the smallfolk had invited her and the others to stay and dine with them in the common room.
Everything had gone well at first. Septon Robin had pronounced a prayer before the food was served on the long trestle tables, and a woman had even played for them all on a little harp she had managed to bring with her from her home. She had filled the room with its soft sweet sounds for a time, before Septon Brent stood up and announced he would continue his nightly reading of the The Seven-Pointed Star.
Sansa had listened at first with rapt attention, easily remembering nights long ago spent in Winterfell with her lady mother reading out loud to her the same words, and had therefore been just as surprised as everyone else in the hall when she realized about an hour later, along with everyone else in the hall, that Wylla, Wyn and herself had fallen asleep where they sat, missing more than half of Septon Brent's reading.
The hall had erupted in laughter at that, and Sansa and her friends had giggled until they met Septon Brent's stern cold expression, regarding them with reproach.
They walked in silence for some moments now, Donnel's heavy footsteps following close behind Sansa and the holy man, before Septon Brent remarked thoughtfully, "War has not yet truly reached us here. Yet tidings of the events happening in the Seven Kingdoms do. Even this morning a raven arrived from the south, with some news that surprised me."
"What have you heard?" she inquired at once.
"It came from a good friend of mine's in King's Landing, so it was mostly about what has been occurring in the capital. It spoke of our current High Septon, whom I believe has earned the name the High Sparrow."
How clever, Sansa thought, a little amused. The High Septon and the members of the Faith Militant had taken the name "sparrow" for themselves since the sparrow was apparently believed to be the most common of birds, and the Faith Militant was made up of the most common of those people sworn to the Faith.
"The High Septon wasn't a member of the Most Devout before he was elected, was he?" Sansa inquired, knowing full well that the new High Septon had only earned that title after the sparrows took over the selection process that the members of the Most Devout were conducting, bursting into the room with axes in their hands, and their leader on their shoulders.
"His Holiness was not," the septon beside Sansa admitted after a brief pause. "And he does not seem to indulge in the traditions that the Most Devout had practiced for years. My friend tells me the High Septon has an iron will."
Sansa shared that opinion. From what she had heard the current High Septon was very different from the ones Sansa had met in King's Landing, not only because he had been humble enough to sell his crown in order to feed the poor, but for his more drastic actions and decisions, such as vouching for Cersei Lannister to do a walk of shame through the streets of the capital, and refusing for days to release Margaery Tyrell and her cousins from their arrest due to the various accusation against them and their virtue.
From what Sansa had heard, King's Landing was now being ruled by Lord Kevan Lannister, and by Mace Tyrell and Randyll Tarly, the former of which had been named Hand of the King, and the latter the Master of Laws. Sansa had not been as surprised as others to learn that Queen Cersei had allowed the Faith Militant to be restored once again after being disbanded from Westeros by King Jaehaerys I- an order which was compromised of the Sparrows or Poor Fellows, and of the knights who called themselves the Warrior's Sons.
The Poor Fellows were mostly poor peasants, and were similar to the Begging Brothers, since they both wandered the realm and escorted smallfolk through the land, but they, unlike the Begging Brothers, were armed. Lightly in comparison to the Warrior's Sons, but still, they carried axes and cudgels, and wore star badges, red on white. The knights who joined the Faith Militant were expected to give up their lands, titles and possessions, and wear hair shirts underneath their amour. You could recognize them by the rainbow cloaks falling down their shoulders, and the swords which they carried, since their pommels were star-shaped.
Sansa's lessons on the Faith Militant had been a little rusty, and she had difficulty in recalling what Maester Luwin had taught her years ago about them, aside from the fact that Maegor the Cruel had repressed them after they started causing trouble to many members of Westeros' most noble houses.
Sandor had had little love for the Poor Fellows, calling them "bloody fanatics" when The Onion Knight had first told them about what was happening in the south weeks ago, yet that hadn't stopped him from listening with interest to what Lord Seaworth had learned about them.
"Why do you think Cersei restored them to power if they caused the Seven Kingdoms so much trouble?" Sansa had asked her big man later that day, as they walked side by side down the Waterway Stairs.
"The crown owed the Faith thousands of dragons, little bird," Sandor had replied, shrugging. "That bitch isn't the smartest of women, and I bet she thought it wise to have the sparrows on her side rather than risking them all joining someone else who was willing to listen to their sodding cause. Bet Cersei didn't remember though why Maegor the Cruel put a bounty on the sparrows' heads in the first place."
Sansa knew Sandor was probably right, but she could not help but wonder what she would have done had she been the queen in such a situation. She knew of the horrors that had assaulted the countryside- whether it was despoiled septs, or the many brutal killings and tortures many holy men and women had endured- and which had led to the sparrows forming up the Faith Militant, but Sansa didn't really think that the Seven Kingdoms were any better now that the Poor Fellows and the Warrior's Sons were once again in the world.
Not wishing to dampen her spirit with the memories of her time in King's Landing, or with the Lannisters, Sansa was only too glad when Septon Justin interrupted her conversation with Septon Brent, and she quickly excused herself, slipping outside the Old Mint with her faithful yet silent protector Donnel following close at her heels.
They made their way to the back yard, hearing at once the shouts and commotion that were happening as Osha tried to train many of the orphan boys along with Rickon on the best ways to stand when holding a sword.
Many children around Rickon's own age had gathered around him and the wildling woman, holding wooden sticks and fallen branches of several sizes in their hands as they tried to pay rapt attention to Osha's instructions. Besides their party, there was a donkey for heavy load, packs of food and goods standing nearby, and three soldiers were cutting lumber. Ser Marlon Manderly, Wyn and Wylla's uncle, had made it clear to the barracks that they were to send ten men to the Old Mint to help in any way they could during each day.
Sansa waved at Rickon as he showed a bruise on his elbow to a older boy, only to realize a moment later that the older boy was no other than Wex, the mute ironborn boy who had been the one to follow Osha and Rickon all the way from Winterfell to the eastern cost of the north, before the latter fled to Skagos. Sansa waved at the mute boy as well after he bowed his head in her direction, and she then made her way to where Wylla was sitting on a bench at a corner of the yard, stitching clothes from a basket. Donnel's brothers were also present, Sansa was relieved to se. Domeric was keeping his eyes on Rickon, while Damon stood behind Wylla.
"Where have you been?" Wylla called out to her by way of greeting as Sansa sat down beside her.
"I just escaped Septon Brent," Sansa confessed, and she proceeded to tell Wylla everything that had just happened with the holy man.
"Poor thing!" Wylla exclaimed, patting Sansa's hand. "He shouldn't have mentioned that unfortunate incident. I still can't believe we fell asleep during his reading last week."
Sansa was ready to blush all over again at the memory, but she just giggled and shook her head in resignation, hoping dearly that the Seven would not hold their behaviour against them. Her eyes then fell on her wild little brother as he ran and laughed around the yard, and a big wide smile appeared on Sansa's face at that. It had been too long since she saw Rickon laugh so much, and spending his days here at the Old Mint were proving to help him just as much s they did with her.
For though Rickon no longer had Shaggydog for company, he was at long last spending time with boys and girls his own age, playing and laughing and running, the way Sansa remembered seeing Robb and Jon and Theon doing.
I guess Osha could take the place of Ser Rodrik here then, Sansa gathered, and before she knew it a laugh had escaped her.
Wylla looked quickly at her at that, and smiling commented, "It's good to hear you laugh again like that, Sansa."
Sansa knew what her friend meant. Ever since Sandor had left White Harbour, she hadn't been laughing as much as she was used to. Fisting a corner of her skirts, she returned Wylla's knowing smile before shrugging silently, trying to keep her mind from straying down the path that her mind was dangerously trying to start to brood upon.
"You know," Wylla said suddenly, with a careless gaiety that Sansa envied. "I was just thinking moments before you appeared and joined me that it would be wise of you, Wyn and I to ask Osha if she would willing to teach us a little about the best way to defend ourselves should the need ever arise."
That caught Sansa's attention.
"Do you mean it, Wylla?" she asked, turning around to look at Osha, her eyebrows raised.
"Yes of course! I- well, I suppose it would be prudent to learn that, and if Osha doesn't mind… I'm sure that as a spearwife she is one of the toughest women in the north, and has a lot of scars well earned. Who better to teach us than her? All the men have gone away."
"If Osha doesn't mind it, I'm sure we could all end up learning much from her."
"I already started learning from her. She has the most interesting stories from beyond the Wall. Sometimes I fear that I bore her with so many questions, but I just can't help myself. If she accepts, I think Uncle Marlon would certainly approve of this."
Sansa nodded, recalling the afternoon long ago when her big man had shown her the best places where she could stab someone, and pointed out with a smile, "Sandor would as well. He would be surprised but more than pleased, I dare say. The poor man tried showing me how to use a dagger for over a year, but it was never really something that interested me enough to practice constantly.
I- I remember the first time he taught me. It was while we were in the Kingswood, shortly after we had escaped the capital, and I was so scared and unsure of what I was doing that I kept on trembling and dropping the blade…"
She must have fallen silent after that, for the next thing she knew Wylla was reaching out to give her hand a squeeze, but Sansa didn't even feel it. It was too late now. She had allowed herself to remember Sandor for longer than she should've during the day, and now there was nothing else for her to do but let her emotions overcome her.
With a sniff, Sansa tried to smile bravely at her friend as she retuned her gaze to Wylla, who opened her mouth as if she were about to say something. She never got the chance to do so though, for a heartbeat later a little girl came running out of the Old Mint to tell Wylla that Septon Justin needed her.
Wylla groaned and stood up reluctantly, ready to follow the girl, but not before she turned to look at Sansa and said, "We'll make them proud, Sansa. When Sandor and Grandfather and the rest return, we'll surprise them by showing them how much we've practiced."
Sansa nodded, unable to express how much she hoped that would indeed be the case, before Wylla winked at her and walked away. Left alone to her thoughts, Sansa stared for some moments at her brother and the older children still gathered around Osha, before she abruptly stood up from the bench, feeling the urge to be alone.
That wouldn't be completely possible though, since in the blink of an eye Donnel was by her side, inquiring solemnly, "My lady?"
"I- I think I want to go look at the sea now," Sansa informed her guard. "But would you stay here? I want to be alone."
Her words made Donnel uncomfortable at once. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, and said uncertainly, "Lady Stark, I- it wouldn't be wise to-"
"All right," Sansa interrupted softly, knowing there would be little use in arguing. "Come then."
She began to walk away from the training yard with Donnel close behind her, towards the pebbled path between the white washed stables and the small groove of trees that led to the flight of wooden steps that had been erected over the small steep slope behind the Old Mint.
Halfway through the wooden stairs Sansa began to feel a little tired, the now familiar feeling of having her lungs squished due to her corset appearing, and though she didn't say anything about it, Donnel must have noticed her difficulty in breathing, for the next thing she knew he had taken her by the elbow, silently asking her to allow him to support her.
Sansa mumbled, "Thank you," and side by side her guard and her made their way to the top of the slope. Once they had reached it Sansa sighed, taking in the simple beauty of this place. The snow covered slope stood in the middle of the loud busy city, yet Sansa always managed to feel at peace in this place. Her eyes took in the sight of the many narrow winding streets of White Harbour below her as the sails of the old windmill that stood on the other side of the slope began to creak noisily.
Donnel escorted her to the richly carved archway that had been erected long ago on the slope, and carefully helped her sit down on its pedestal, before he told her he would give her some privacy and go stand guard a short distance away.
She thanked him again as she leaned back against the tall wide column behind her, finding a measure of relative comfort for her aching back at once. Sansa tilted her neck backwards, glad for the shade that the big tree to her right offered, and stared up at the old rusted bell that was hanging from a peg in the middle of the archway. She closed her eyes for a moment, gaining back her strength as she sat in this quiet corner of the world, and when she finally opened her eyes again, Sansa fixed her gaze on the horizon, staring at the distant harbour to her left, not really seeing anything or taking in the beauty of the sight before her, for her thoughts kept her from concentrating on anything that was not Sandor.
During the day Sansa had found that she could keep her mind from brooding about him by keeping herself busy with her tasks at the Old Mint, yet there were moments most days- just like right now- when the overwhelming feelings of loss and loneliness and longing unexpectedly overcame her, and Sansa had to flee to quiet places where she could give herself to her feelings and the memories of her husband without having someone from the Old Mint noticing her pain.
I wish Sandor rather than winter was here, she sighed for the hundredth time this week, wondering what her big man was doing in this very moment, and where he was. The first days after her husband's departure had been hard for Sansa. She had felt desolate, and had silently cried herself to sleep for three nights. That had stopped after the night when she had accidentally woken Rickon up though.
Since she was now sharing a bedroom with her little brother, she shouldn't have been so surprised that he had heard her in the end, yet when he had silently crawled into her bed and put his arms around her, trying to give her as much comfort as any boy his age could manage, Sansa had realized that having Rickon see her like that could not do him any good.
I can't let my grief get the better of me when it's only been a few weeks since Sandor left me, she had told herself. This is just the start, and even if the old gods and the new are good and heed my prayers, it may still be months before a raven from Sandor even reaches me.
If Sansa was honest with herself, at first the main reason behind her agreeing to come daily to the Old Mint and help the people out had not only been to keep herself from succumbing to restlessness, but also because Sansa needed to distract herself from the ache she felt at not having Sandor beside her. Of not being able to talk to him as he held her hand in his calloused one, or having the rough rasp of his voice be the last thing she heard at night and the first sound she heard in the mornings; or kiss his half scarred lips, and running her hands and lips over his burned face and body all the while taking in his strong male scent, and of so much else.
Sansa turned her gaze to the unclouded sky when she felt the faint breeze of the evening on her face, and she unconsciously raised her fingertips to her lips, brushing them softly as she remembered the way Sandor liked to do this very same gesture to her.
The little things that one usually overlooked in the moments you were with the person that you cared about so much were painful for Sansa to recall these days. Things like being called "little bird" or the way Sandor's warm breath would feel like against the back of her neck in the mornings when she woke up in his arms. Sansa even missed sharing a cup of wine with her big man at night as they told each other how their day had turned out, or seeing the proud and approving light in his dark grey eyes as she showed him how she looked wearing a new gown.
She had recalled everything they had lived together since they had first met again and again during the weeks since Sandor's departure in an attempt to tell her tortured heart that it could go on beating even if the man she loved had gone away, and surprisingly, Sansa had found out that with time that life did get easier after a while of getting used to this new way of living.
Over the weeks her old vigour had returned to the point where every day she could hold her head high and come down to the Old Mint with a ready heart and a brave face, but nights were still a different matter, for it had happened more than once lately that Sansa would be resting on her bed after a long day at the shelter, when all of a sudden her baby would start moving inside of her.
The first time Sansa had woken from her sleep due to her child, she had smiled excitedly, and had even turned around to reach out for Sandor, only to recall a moment later that he was not sleeping beside her. Sansa hadn't been able to go back to sleep at once, preferring to lay back down and silently relish and reflect on what was happening in her tummy where it felt as if butterflies were strongly fluttering around.
It had taken a long time for her sleep to claim her back, but Sansa had spent that night between uselessly bidding the time she had spent with her big man to return, and imagining what lay ahead for Sandor and her and their child once the war and the long winter were but a memory, and they were back in Winterfell.
Sansa was used to waking up in the middle of the night by her child by now, since the baby seemed to prefer to move around whenever she was resting, and Sansa had to remind herself to get used to the lack of sleep, since when her little boy or girl was finally with her, it was probably going to go on waking her, only this time with its cries.
She always giggled when she gathered that at least she would have practice with this custom of waking up in the middle of the night because of the babe, but her big man, if he was here by the time she had given birth, would probably snarl and grumble that the wailing of the child was just as bloody annoying as being woken up by the bells of Norvos had been.
A healing woman had told Sansa that babies were lulled to sleep by the constant movement mothers made during the day, and Sansa could only suppose she was right, because during the day she rarely felt the child or the fluttering feeling.
Carrying a child without her husband beside her wasn't easy, and being unable to share with him the joy and nerves and excitement that the prospect of having a baby made one feel what she had dreamed of as a girl made it worse, but at least Sansa wasn't completely alone, since Wylla and Wyn and Osha and many other women, both from the New Castle and the Old Mint, were always asking her how she and the child were doing, offering their assistance whenever Sansa required it.
Even little Rickon had shown he was interested and aware that there was a little person growing inside his sister's tummy, since he always wanted Sansa to tell him when she felt the baby moving, and after she gave him an encouraging nod he would place a hand on her belly, only to retrieve it quickly, looking at her with wide awed eyes.
The ghost of a smile appeared on Sansa's face as she remembered that, and she placed her hand on her tummy, staring at the far away mountains in the distance as she sat below the archway on the slope beside the Old Mint in White Harbour.
"I told your father to come back to us soon," Sansa whispered to her baby, recalling her and Sandor's parting words as a tear slid down her cheek. "We may have to wait a while, but at least we have each other while we wait for him, and we will keep each other company in the meantime."
She sniffed and went on looking at the horizon for some moments, only to be interrupted when she heard heavy footsteps behind her, and saw a shadow fall across her face. Sansa turned her head around to find Donnel standing beside her, looming over her like a cliff.
He looked down at her as he said hesitantly, "My lady, I- it's getting late. We should probably get back to the Old Mint."
Donnel's eyes lingered on her face, and Sansa almost shied away from his gaze, not wishing to let her guard see the tears that were about to fall from her eyes, before Sansa realized that something in the man's voice gave away that he was concerned for her welfare. That made her give him a small smile, and she nodded in agreement and took his hand when he helped her once again get to her feet.
This time she didn't refuse him when her guard offered her his arm, and as they made their way down the wooden steps on the steep slope, Sansa realized that she was grateful for the man's quiet discreet presence after Donnel didn't remark anything regarding the tears she had wiped away from her eyes. Her new sworn shield didn't make her laugh as Hagen Edar could, and Donnel was certainly not Sandor in any way, but at least he was here to keep Sansa from being alone in moments such as the one she had just had.
A/N: My lovely readers, I hope I didn't make it too painful to you all with this first chapter of Sandor and Sansa's separation. Thank you for reading and for letting reviews and all. It means a lot, and your encouragements is fuel for the muse (:
- Next week it'll be a year since I first posted the first two chapters of the fic. It's been a great journey so far, (one which I am honoured to have been sharing with you all), and I had no idea the story would turn out to be this long or take many of the turns it did in the past back when I first started coming up with the initial plot back in November 2011. Whenever I imagine myself in the future looking back to my first year of college, I smile at the knowledge that I managed to write such a long story at the same time. It makes it memorable, and hopefully helped me improve as a writer a bit.
The reason why I'm saying all of these this Sunday rather than next one is because I'm going to the beach in a couple of days for a week, so I won't again be able to post next Sunday. Sorry for this when I told you all a little while back that it wouldn't happen again (I shouldn't have said that during the summer holidays!). In two weeks though I will be posting chapter 54, so I must thank you for understanding and for your patience once again. At least I will be able in this trip to have internet connection, and won't be away from the fandom (:
- Also, I guess it's as good a time as any to let you all know that I'm hoping on having this fic end when I reach chapter 63. The plan is 60 chapters for the story & 3 epilogues that will deal with matters which I can't yet reveal ;)
& now, sorry for rambling on so much. Thanks once again for your time and for reading!
Love,
Caroh99