Sansa III
Several hours had passed since the first light of the rising sun had streamed in through the windows when Sansa finally decided to sit up in bed. She had woken up at the first glimmers of dawn but had no desire to get up. In the past few days, she had had no desire to do much of anything.
The maid assigned to her heard her move and immediately began rummaging through the wardrobe for suitable clothing, pulling out a few woolen dresses that had once belonged to her mother and aunt when they were young. The summer heat had long since given way to cooler temperatures, even though Riverrun was not nearly as cold as Harrenhal, the chill in the air was becoming noticeable.
Winter is coming. No, it has already come. It came the day Tywin Lannister killed her father and Robb killed her prince. No, perhaps even before that, the day King Robert died. That's when everything began to fall apart around her.
First, Tywin Lannister had captured her father, the Hand of the King, and sent him deep into the dungeons of the Red Keep. It had made no sense, and furthermore, Joffrey not only had not stopped it but he too believed her father to be a traitor. She couldn't believe it; maybe they had deceived him, but then things got worse. Robb rebelling against the throne and supporting Stannis, Joffrey's uncle, who wanted to steal the throne, just like Renly, his other uncle.
Why couldn't things be like they used to be? Why hadn't all the lords supported Joffrey as they had his father? She had heard the rumors of incest, just like almost everyone in the realm by now, but they were so crude that it was obvious they were a lie. Although, whether a lie or not, it didn't matter anymore. Joffrey and little Tommen were dead, and she had a long journey back to Winterfell awaiting her, if everything went as Robb hoped.
"My lady, you should hurry. You're going to be late," the maid said, somewhat nervously. "You haven't forgotten about the funeral, have you?"
"No, of course not," Sansa replied as the woman helped her into a plain, gray dress, devoid of adornments and practically faded. Garments of bright colors brought back too many memories of what had happened on the River Road. Images she tried to forget at all costs, though every night they returned to her in her nightmares.
"It's normal to be sad, my lady. Your grandfather was a great man. I had little interaction with him, but know that I share in your grief."
Well, you interacted with him more than I did. How can I be sad for someone when I didn't even get to know him? Sansa thought. Hoster Tully was a complete stranger to whom she was truly sad for was her father, whom they wouldn't be able to bury until they returned to the North.
Almost all of Riverrun had gathered by the banks of the Trident to bid farewell to her grandfather's body. They had placed the corpse in a boat, with the Tully sigil waving from the mast. Unlike the Starks, who buried their dead in the crypts beneath Winterfell, the Tullys entrusted their dead to the rivers that flowed through their lands. Sansa didn't quite like that tradition. She preferred to have a place where she could visit her dead, rather than having to weep to a river.
Seven were chosen to push the boat into the river, symbolizing the seven faces of the gods, although all of them seemed as eager to be there as Sansa did. King Stannis led the way as the deceased Lord Hoster's sovereign, followed by Robb, Ser Brynden Tully, Ser Garth Tyrell, and the Red Viper. Ser Stevron Frey and Marq Piper completed the entourage. Rather than grieving, they appeared tired.
Still, it was a better burial than Tywin Lannister had. After he was taken down from the gallows, King Stannis had ordered a few men to discreetly burn the body and scatter the ashes in the river, all with Lord Tyrion's consent. Queen Cersei, Joffrey, and Tommen had fared better, as their bones were being sent to the Westerlands to be buried in Lannisport, beneath Casterly Rock. It wouldn't be a royal or even a lordly funeral, but it was more than the old lion would have.
Tywin Lannister, Hoster Tully, Robert Baratheon, Jon Arryn, Mace Tyrell... and Eddard Stark. Of the lords who had led the great houses of Westeros during Robert's Rebellion and the subsequent years, only Balon Greyjoy, the Lord of Pyke, who had succeeded his father near the end of the Rebellion, and Doran Martell, the Prince of Dorne, remained. But it wouldn't be long before they too pass away. There was a part of her that eagerly awaited that moment so that Arianne Martell would feel some of the pain she felt for the death of her father, but she almost didn't care anymore. As far as she knew, their relationship could be like hers with her father or almost inexistent, like Theon's with his. Besides, Queen Arianne wasn't entirely to blame for Eddard Stark's death. That blame belonged to the Lannisters and, primarily, the Imp, who had planned the entire stratagem to end Tywin Lannister's life and had taken her father's life in the process. The man who now stoood next to her.
"I didn't expect you to still be in Riverrun, my lady. I thought you would be on your way to Winterfell by now," Tyrion Lannister's gruff voice said next to her. With several weeks' worth of beard and unkempt hair, not to mention his naturally unpleasant appearance, Tyrion Lannister was by far the person least eager to be there. His niece, Princess Myrcella, who stood beside him without raising her gaze, was probably the second.
Sansa said nothing but simply looked out on the horizon, impassive. She just wanted to return to her room and stay there. She didn't want to have to endure all of this, let alone all of these people, and especially not Tyrion Lannister.
"I'm sorry I haven't had the chance to speak with you since... all of that. I'm truly sorry about your father's death. It's something that should never have happened," the Imp continued, ignoring Sansa's attempts to ignore him.
"You don't regret it. Not at all. You tortured my father in King's Landing, and you wanted to use me to blackmail him and my brother. Leave me alone," Sansa replied. What she had just said was totally unbecoming of a lady, but she didn't care. All those lessons from Septa Mordane had been of little use. At least she had managed to control the tone of her voice, and it seemed that no one else had heard her except for the Imp. Drawing attention from all these people was the last thing she wanted.
"Don't say that about my uncle," a high pitched voice said, barely louder than a whisper. Princess Myrcella had lifted her gaze from the ground. Her green eyes had shed their sadness and replaced it with a hint of anger. "He saved me, and he saved you too. He's a good man."
Sansa turned her gaze away and tried to focus on the funeral. Her uncle, Lord Edmure, stood ready with a bow in his hands, attempting to ignite the tip of an arrow. The boat carrying the late Lord Hoster's body had already left the shore, slowly drifting away with the currents of the Trident. Without further delay, Edmure Tully aimed with his bow and fired. The arrow missed the boat but pierced through the sail, which soon began to burn. The boat soon disappeared into the horizon. Eventually, the fire would consume it, or perhaps the river's currents would sink it before that. Either way, the fish would devour the remains of Lord Hoster. Her father and Joffrey, however, would await the worms, though she didn't know which fate was worse.
When some lords and knights approached her after offering their condolences to her uncle and brother, Sansa turned and made her way back to the castle, to her room. There, no one could harm her. She would stay there until she returned to Winterfell; that would be for the best. It would also be best for her mother and Robb. They shouldn't be near her; she had been Joffrey's betrothed, a traitor, and no one wanted to be seen with a traitor.
Sandor Clegane, who stood guard by the door, watched her pass without saying a word or changing his expression in the slightest, his face completely impassive. It should have been strange for someone who had betrayed his lord and his house, although, given what she had seen, most people seemed to be taking it better than she expected. She didn't know how they could; just the thought of voluntarily betraying her family turned her stomach.
When she reached her room, she kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the bed, burying her head in the pillow. She wouldn't be able to fall back asleep, but at least she could waste some time until the servants brought her food. Hopefully, her mother and brother would leave her alone that day, although they were growing impatient because she hadn't eaten with them since their reunion.
Minutes and hours passed until, almost nearing noon, someone knocked on her door.
"Lady Sansa. Lady Sansa, are you awake?" one of the handmaidens called. Sansa sat up and smoothed her dress with her hand as best she could, although there were still wrinkles in some places.
"Yes, you may enter. Is there something wrong?" Sansa said.
"A knight has arrived, my lady. He says he has an invitation for you," the maiden said, peering into the room.
"I have no time for him. Tell him to leave," Sansa replied. She just wanted to be alone, undisturbed by anyone. Was that too much to ask?
"The invitation isn't from me, my lady," said a voice from the hallway. That knight could have at least had the decency not to eavesdrop on their conversation. "The invitation is from His Grace, King Stannis. He would be most pleased if you dined with him."
From the king? Why would the king invite her to anything? She didn't even know him in the slightest. Moreover, during the time her father had served as Hand of the King to King Robert in King's Landing, she hadn't exchanged a single word with the now-king in all those months. She was almost certain he had no knowledge of her existence. Perhaps it was just a mistake. Maybe it was just...
Oh no. No, no, not her. All of this was her doing, she was sure of it. She knew she was there, in the castle, but she had kept her head down when in public and hidden in her room the rest of the time. She thought she had managed to go unnoticed by everyone, but it seemed the queen hadn't forgotten about her. It took her a few seconds to realize that she had started to tremble.
"My lady is not feeling well, sir," her handmaiden said. "She will respond to you later."
"No, that's not necessary," Sansa interrupted, using all her strength to maintain her composure. "You can tell His Grace that I will come to dine with him whenever he wishes, good ser, do not worry." She had survived the Imp, Tywin Lannister, and the ambush. She would survive a meal with Arianne Martell and her husband. She would indulge their whim, and perhaps they would leave her alone once and for all.
"In fact, the invitation is for today. He asked me to accompany you to his presence if you accept. Come with me; he doesn't like to be kept waiting. And neither do I."
Sansa expected to see one of the Kingsguard knights waiting for her, but that wasn't the case. The man waiting in the hallway was a handsome young man with a hawkish nose, high cheekbones, silver hair cascading down to his shoulders, split by a streak of black, a chiseled jaw, and dark violet eyes. Eyes that looked her up and down, seeming to imagine what her dress concealed.
"This way, my lady," he said, taking her arm without asking and leading her, or rather dragging her, toward a nearby staircase. "So you're the younger sister of the young wolf, huh? You certainly don't resemble your sister in the least," the man remarked.
"Arya? You know her?" Sansa asked.
"Not much, I'd say. I saw her briefly in Dorne during a visit to the Water Gardens. I must say, you are much more pleasant to look at," he said with a mischievous smile that sent a shiver down Sansa's spine.
"T-thank you, I suppose," she replied. "Sir…"
"Gerold Dayne, at your service. You've probably heard of my cousin, Arthur."
"The Sword of the Morning. My father killed him." She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Reminding him of her cousin's death wouldn't do her any favors, and it would only make this walk even more unpleasant than it already was.
"That's right. I almost regret not being able to thank him in person. I also would have liked to challenge him, you know? If I had beaten him, no one would be able to say that my cousin was a better swordsman than me," Ser Gerold said with a hint of disdain.
"Are you the new Sword of the Morning?" Sansa asked, somewhat confused.
"No, and I don't think I will be, Edric will probably take that title. But I'm not worried. I'm sure I'll get hold of a better sword. I understand that Randyll Tarly has a Valyrian steel sword called Heartsbane. I think I'll take it when I kill him."
"They say he's a very strong warrior," Sansa commented.
"He might be, but he's old, and his time is coming to an end."
King Stannis and his court were accommodated in the Central Tower, displacing the northern lords and her brother who had previously occupied those chambers, just below the quarters of the Lord of Riverrun. They passed through several rooms until they reached large carved doors, where two men dressed in the armor and cloaks of the Kingsguard stood watch, ensuring that no one approached. They walked past them as the doors swung open without so much as a glance at Sansa or Ser Gerold. Their faces remained impassive behind the white helms.
It was Queen Arianne herself who received her when she entered the room, rising from the chair where she was seated next to the king, who remained in his place.
"Sansa, dear, how delighted I am that you accepted my invitation. Don't just stand there, come in," the queen said, taking her by the arm. Ser Gerold bid farewell with a slight bow, and the large doors closed as he left the room, not without casting Sansa an enigmatic farewell smile.
"Please, have a seat. The meal is already served, a magnificent fish soup and a succulent venison. It may not be as opulent as what you were accustomed to in King's Landing, but everything has been arranged in haste, and there will surely be more occasions," Arianne Martell continued, not giving her time to speak.
"You're overwhelming her, Arianne, let her catch her breath. She hasn't even had a chance to speak since she entered," the king said, frowning.
"Oh, forgive me, Sansa. Stannis sometimes speaks so little that I feel I have to talk for both of us," the queen replied. She sat down next to her husband and flashed a fleeting grimace, but quickly regained her smiling face.
"There's nothing to apologize for, Your Highness. It's an honor that you invited me to this evening. I couldn't refuse such an invitation," Sansa replied, kneeling briefly before sitting in front of them.
"Of course. We deeply regret the deaths of your grandfather and your father, dear Sansa. We would have understood if you wanted to spend these days alone, you wouldn't have offended us at all," Arianne replied.
"I didn't know your father well, and I can't say he was my friend, but justice has been done," the king said curtly.
"Always so eloquent, this husband of mine" the queen said. Now it was the king's turn to give her a murderous look.
"It was very kind of you, Your Grace. Tywin Lannister was a monster," Sansa said, carefully choosing her words.
"He deserved his end, that's true, but the realm is full of monsters. What did you think of Ser Gerold? He's quite handsome, isn't he?" the queen asked.
"He was very kind and quite chivalrous as well," Sansa said.
"Yes, he knows how to be when it suits him. They call him Darkstar, you know? And it's not by chance. Behind that smile, he's a dangerous man, very dangerous if you believe half of what they say about him."
"I'll be careful."
"What my wife means is that in war, there are monsters on all sides, and we all have to deal with it. The important thing is that when peace comes, these men shouldn't be the ones who end up in power," the king added.
Sansa didn't understand the direction this conversation was taking. Did she just summon me for this? She was being kinder than she had been in those months in the capital, but perhaps it was just a facade.
"The war will end soon. Everyone says so," Sansa said. "When your brother surrenders, it will all be over."
"That's right, Sansa. And then we'll have to rebuild the kingdom. And that's where you come in. Among others," the queen said.
"Me? I just want to return to the North, to Winterfell. I don't want anything to do with the court or the throne, I promise. Joffrey and I never got married, I swear," Sansa replied nervously. She remembered some lessons from Maester Luwin, and how often ladies from the defeated faction ended up as Silent Sisters as punishment for being on the wrong side. But Robb had supported Stannis from the beginning, and her father hadn't yielded to the Imp and the Kingslayer. That wouldn't happen to her, would it?
The king continued to gaze at her with his rock-hard expression, but in the queen's countenance, she saw a hint of... compassion.
"Don't worry, Sansa. We're not going to judge you, far from it. After all, you're still little more than a girl who has found herself in the midst of too many events. You can return to Winterfell with your family, of course, although I had hoped to convince you otherwise," Arianne Martell said.
"Otherwise? I don't understand..." Sansa replied.
"The old alliances have died. My brother built his reign on them, but now the ties that bound Baratheon, Stark, Tully, Arryn, Lannister, and Martell have almost completely vanished. If it weren't for Cersei, peace would have lasted beyond Robert's death, and that's something that will need to be rebuilt," the king explained.
"And that's where you come in. This war has elevated many new lords. Your brother, your uncle, Tyrion Lannister, or Willas Tyrell, to name a few. Your brother is betrothed to a Frey, indeed, as is your sister, although the latter might be avoidable. Still, there will be many marriages to arrange, both among the great lords and the small ones," the queen continued.
"You want to marry me to one of them, don't you?" Sansa retorted. That's why she's being so kind. I'm sure she wants to marry me off to the Imp, or something worse.
"It's a possibility, certainly. But we won't do anything without consulting you or your brother, although I doubt the Young Wolf will oppose any marriage if you give your consent," the queen said.
"And if I object?"
"You'll return to Winterfell. Likely, you'll stop at the Twins on the way and get a look at your future husband. If you choose wisely, you might even become Lady of the Twins someday, if Lord Walder doesn't outlive us all," the queen said. Her friendly demeanor had disappeared completely, and her face had become as stony as her husband's.
"Arya is the one who's going to marry one of Lord Walder's grandsons, not me," Sansa said, shivering.
"That's right, but we both know how your sister is, as does your mother and your brother. Tell me, how much do you think it will cost me to convince them that it would be best for you to take Arya's place?" the queen said.
Sansa finished the last spoonful of soup left in her plate. She realized it had tasted like nothing. The Dornish snake had sunk its fangs into her, and it didn't want to let go of its prey.
Hello again, dear readers.
Once again, writing this chapter took longer than I expected, but summer really does a thing to my productivity. This chapter was a little shorter than the last ones but I have good news ahead. I think I'm in a good streak lately and next chapter is almost finished too. You might expect it in about two or three weeks at most. I don't want to give false hope to you all but if I can continue at this rithm the waiting between chapters will reduce significantly, not that there are many chapters left. I know some of you might be dissapointed but I always wanted the fanfic to end after the war and I really think it will be finished by the end of the year. I'll expand on these thoughts in the last chapter, as a short of conclusion.
Thank you all for reading this, for your favs and folllows and your kind comments. See you in next chapter.
