SANSA STARK
Day 16, 11th Moon, 275 AC
With a tray of porridge and tea, Sansa quietly entered Mother's bedchambers. A fortnight after Oberyn's departure, Mother was always abed to get what rest she could. And a whole fortnight since then, Mother hadn't left her bedchamber.
From the first day, Sansa had taken it upon herself to bring Mother anything she needed. Placing the meal on a bedside table, Sansa sat on a stool next to it. "I hope you're feeling well."
A hand took hers and gave a light squeeze. "The babe was kicking all night," Mother complained with a tired smile, rising to sit against the pillows. Sansa passed her the tray. "Thank you, sweetling. Your father appreciates you doing this every morning, you realise that?" she asked and tucked a lock behind Sansa's ear.
Sansa smiled at the gesture. "I honestly haven't." What Hoster Tully thought about her remained a mystery. "Father and I rarely speak. About duties, normally."
Mother's gaze went to the door, and Sansa tried turning, but there was a hand on her cheek that she didn't fight. Mother stared firmly at someone and cleared her throat. "Sansa, you are my daughter and Catelyn's twin," she said, eyes over Sansa's shoulder. "A sweet girl. You look so much like your twin sister - like me. With time, people will remember your differences," Mother said and thumbed Sansa's cheek. Softened brown eyes met Tully blue. "You are mine and your father's daughter."
Sansa dropped her gaze. A thumb stroked her cheek, and she met Mother's eyes.
"Sansa," she said softly after a moment, no longer looking at the door. "I mayhaps am the most expressive, unlike your father, but it doesn't mean I am the only one who cares."
Sansa peered at the door, closed now, and shook her head. "Father. Father has his reasons for accepting me into House Tully and naming me his child. It's not difficult to imagine what they are," she said while Mother broke her fast. "My likeness to Cat manipulated the situation. Unless he wanted to be ruthless, his choices were limited."
Mother lowered her tea, shaking her head. She took Sansa's hand and gave her a squeeze. "In the beginning, Sansa, there were reasons. I won't deny it," she said with a hand holding Sansa's. "But after everything you have done for this family, and especially me when I'm too weak to rise, don't you think he'd come to care for you more than distant family?"
Sansa hesitated, for she rarely spent time with Hoster Tully. Her new father.
Mother curled her other hand around Sansa's. "Despite Catelyn's aggression, your father isn't blind to all you do for this family." Sansa maintained their gaze. "He mayhaps doesn't utter 'daughter' the way I do, but he is coming to see you as a true one," Mother said with a natural smile. "Believe that."
Despite the detachment Sansa upheld since the ceremony of the seven oils, Mother's acceptance and kind heart softened the steel of Sansa. Her shell against the world. The steel would always be there; it had kept her alive for years. Sansa gave a patient smile. "Your porridge will go cold soon."
Mother chuckled at the redirection and reached for her shoulder. "Come here, sweetling," Mother said and pulled her towards the bed. "You are a daughter to your father and to me. And in time, Catelyn won't be so cold." Mother kissed her forehead. "Go on, Sansa. I know you will have a busy day ahead of you. And Edmure has grown fond of you this past moon, or so I hear."
Sansa smiled at Mother's warmth and embraced it. "Thank you, Mother. And Edmure has," she said and stood. "Rest well."
Mother smiled tiredly. "I'll try, sweetling."
Mentally cloaking herself as the Lady of Winterfell, Sansa took a breath and left the bedchamber. In Mother's company was the one situation Sansa ever dropped the guise and showed her true self.
For the past moon, Mother had grown prone to befalling some illnesses while heavy with child. With the want of helping, Sansa tended to her and the needs of Riverrun to ease matters. The more duties Sansa took on, the more Mother could relax.
Within the Lady's solar, Sansa closed the door to the bedchamber. At the desk, Catelyn worked on a ledger. "How's my mother, bastard?" Catelyn asked but kept writing, mimicking the one instance Sansa saw Tywin Lannister at a desk in King's Landing. Sansa smothered a shudder.
"Our mother is quite tired." She set to work on the inventory ledger at the desk. "The babe kept her awake all night." Quill in hand, it glided across the page, recording resources due for restocking. A task she'd frequently fulfilled in Winterfell.
Catelyn worked silently.
Her ledger done, Sansa rose, and Catelyn ignored her. "Catelyn, she is 'Mother' to me too. I pray you will see that one day." Catelyn paused with her quill, then continued filling the coin ledger, a scowl on her face. She mirrored the awful girl Sansa once was to Jon.
Disappointed, Sansa left the Lady's solar and made for the nursery, where Edmure likely waited for her. It was routine that Sansa took care of the Tully heir; it kept a certain someone away from her, for the most part.
Standing against the cot railing, Edmure looked at her with bright eyes and a grin. "Sa sa! Sa sa! Sa sa!"
So adorable. Sansa laughed and picked him up, her hair in a single braid over her shoulder where he couldn't pull; lesson learned concerning his hands. "Hello, Edmure. You'll have a sibling soon, I expect. Time we break your fast," she said, playing with the curly auburn locks so similar to Rickon's. Rickon was a toddler when she'd left for King's Landing.
A man's throat cleared. "You've done much here. Including help your mother," he said as fact, and Sansa suppressed her surprise. Beside the bookcase stood Uncle Brynden. The Blackfish. "How did you learn to manage a household?"
"Lord Uncle." She briefly curtsied.
Nearly everyone in Riverrun believed Mother tutored Sansa in high lady duties on her better days. For a time, that had been true. What she truly learnt these days was the layout of Harrenhal, favoured parts of the castle, and the Whent family there. Sansa's supposed home for the past eleven years.
"I've worked beside Cat for the past moon, and Mother tutors me. So far, I've made no major mistakes, and I hope to keep it that way, Uncle Brynden."
He nodded slightly and followed her while she carried Edmure to the kitchens. This was one of a few conversations with him. Brynden Tully favoured watching her instead of talking when their paths crossed. This was the closest thing to a 'thank you' as well. Although only a minor success in appealing to him, Sansa called it a victory.
With Edmure fed, Sansa took him for a turn in the godswood. Oaks with one slender weirwood, she enjoyed the peace of traversing a godswood again. She brought Edmure here for a walk thrice a week to keep his routine mixed.
In tribute to Arya, Sansa wore her grey mummer's gown the days she walked Edmure here. Only the Blackfish would consider it suspicious if so inclined.
Uncle Brynden strode along instead of watching from the battlements but said nothing. Little Edmure walked quite well, babbling while she held his hand. Should Edmure ever be like Rickon at Winterfell, he would become a running nightmare with a hate for baths. But, so far, he was an energetic babe.
May the gods be good and make Edmure less of a handful than Rickon.
If Sansa had concealed the truth of her blood from Mother, odds were she would have used these walks to mourn House Stark as she'd known it. To remember them all, what they loved, looked like, and what had happened to each. But Mother warned her against living in her memories. To be spotted melancholy within the godswood held significant risks.
A throat cleared beside her, so Sansa turned. Uncle Brynden had his eyes on Edmure. "Why the godswood for his walks?"
She had an honest answer. "Edmure is indoors mostly, thus needs fresh air. I dare not venture outside Riverrun. He's young and Father's only male heir. Edmure is safe here."
Uncle Brynden remained quiet for a moment. "Well argued," he said and picked up Edmure, eyes on the toddler. "I'll take my nephew off your hands." He turned his attention to Sansa. "Go to the inner courtyard and await a wheelhouse's arrival. A rider delivered word two hours ago. Don't prepare for Guest Right. No one will need it."
Sansa nodded. "I assume instruction for aired guest chambers has already been given?"
"Yes." He, with Edmure, left the godswood.
Heeding him, Sansa returned to the keep's courtyard and sheltered herself under some shade. There she unravelled her hair from its single braid until loose and free. Uncle Brynden hadn't said how far away the wheelhouse was, so she simply pinned her wildest locks away from her face.
The overhead sun no doubt turned her fiery locks to molten copper, brighter than Cat's, but that couldn't be helped, much like her fairer skin.
Behind her from the keep's doors, a familiar man's stride approached, and Sansa turned to meet his eyes. "Father," she said demurely, walking to his side as he neared the top step.
He nodded to her. "Sansa." A silent moment passed between them. "Were you told who our guests are?"
"Unfortunately not, Father. Only that their messenger arrived two hours ago. By chance, do you know which House they hail from?"
Father hummed affirmatively with his gaze on the courtyard. "Yes. They sent a raven to your mother and I nearly a moon ago, the day they left Harrenhal."
Harrenhal. House Whent. "Who of House Whent has journeyed here, Father?" she asked before dropping her voice to a whisper. "If you believe it best that I remain at your side for their arrival, how would you have me interact with them? Ruining your plan is not my wish."
He looked at her and met her eyes. "Lord and Lady Whent. They'll be your grandparents. Act excited as though you're reuniting and familiar with them, but do it with a lady's bearing."
"I understand, Father, and I'll do my best."
Slow clops and the moderate rumble of a wheelhouse reached her ears, so Sansa turned towards the courtyard. On each corner of the wheelhouse roof, small standards of nine black bats on a yellow field flapped.
She lightly swallowed and gathered herself. Mother's lessons had given her an idea about the personalities of Harrenhal's ruling family, but their reactions to her could go either way.
At her father's flank, as he approached the wheelhouse, Sansa walked with enthusiastic steps in case her sisters, Petyr, or potential spies were watching. Father greeted a lord and lady who she guessed to be roughly sixty. Grey hair, laughing lines near their mouths, and eyes with a wisdom about them. Lord Walter and Lady Shella replied to Father as though nothing was amiss or unusual.
A discreet tap on Sansa's hip from Father prompted her into action. "Grandmother! Grandfather!" she delightfully crowed and dropped into a curtsy. "I thank the gods your journey to Riverrun was as safe as mine."
Her hint for them dropped, she stepped toward Lady Shella, who embraced her but murmured to Father with surprised tinging her voice. "Goodson, her resemblance to Catelyn is uncanny. Two minor differences, but she's easy to mistake for Catelyn otherwise. How is this possible?" Grandmother asked Father while thumbing Sansa's cheekbones and jaw.
"No one knows, Goodmother. Not even Sansa."
A man's hand rested on Sansa's shoulder, and she forced herself to settle into a stranger's hold. "Although I saw our daughter's missive, we'd both like to see her, Hoster," Grandfather said while stroking Sansa's hair as though he'd done it subconsciously.
"Of course, Goodfather."
Grandmother pecked Sansa's temple, maintaining the pretence. "Soon, I'll meet you proper, little one. No doubt you have duties or lessons to tend to."
Taking the hint, Sansa walked away so Father and her grandparents could converse with Mother alone. With no tasks, Sansa ventured into the godswood but kept an eye out for Petyr. Unfortunately, when she was alone, he liked to attempt to get near her. Sansa needed to do something about Petyr, but her choices were limited. Mother knew of his pursuit, but nothing could be done until significant merit arose to justify dismissing Baelish from Riverrun.
In her previous life, Petyr Baelish's actions destroyed many lives. And without Littlefinger's subtlety, Cersei Lannister caused several disasters herself. To prevent at least the damage done by Cersei, Sansa needed to chip away at the influence of the future queen and Jaime's sister. Destroying any of her power would give Westeros a chance.
At Gulltown some time ago, Sansa started her endeavour against Cersei Lannister. A letter to Jaime Lannister. It pointed out her manipulation and rhetorically questioned his future if Cersei married Prince Rhaegar. Both would give him thought. From Riverrun, she'd written another - Cersei's hatred towards Tyrion.
Apparently, Sansa had stirred his curiosity, for an unexpected response had arrived and frightened her. The fact he'd successfully replied meant she could've left clues of her identity. That, or Tywin Lannister had spies in Riverrun. Sansa needed spies, just as Varys and Littlefinger once had.
The few words had nestled within her mind.
Who are you?
Of course, I'd protect Tyrion. He's my brother.
And…you're not wrong about Cersei.
-Jaime Lannister.
Three weeks ago, he sent that response, but messy and ink-blotted as though rushed. Her two anonymous letters had him thinking. It stirred satisfaction, for wedging the Lannister twins apart had begun.
Despite the apparent successful start, Sansa ceased her letters with one exception that suggested they meet at the Tourney of Lannisport. A celebration of splendour, including the great houses present, in the name of Viserys Targaryen's birth.
For the sake of caution, she would be the patient wolf, waiting to see if that wedge grew with time. Should the letters fall into the wrong hands, Lord Tywin's wrath towards the Tullys was the last thing she wanted. The three Jaime already had might be enough.
The gods must've given her a smile because Maester Kym had been elsewhere when Jaime's reply arrived. At the time, Sansa sent out her father's missives about 'Sansa Tully – the survival of Catelyn's twin' to the Great Houses of Westeros and the Citadel. She'd immediately read and burnt Jaime's words in the nearest hearth.
Although changes outside Riverrun seemed to occur, things inside Riverrun remained unaffected.
Catelyn acted as Catelyn Stark had to Jon but was forbidden to call Sansa a bastard. She did it privately. Oddly, Lysa acted more accepting, although Petyr's affection was their sole conflict. When Lysa witnessed Petyr interacting closely with Sansa, she accused Sansa of playing with his heart.
Going indoors, Sansa checked on household matters and retrieved her sewing basket. Unlike King's Landing, there was no sewing circle and none of the gossiping, thankfully. So instead, she found a peaceful place and habitually threaded fabric together.
With quiet steps, she settled in a comfortable chair of the Lady's solar now without Cat and ignored the murmurs within Mother's bedchamber.
Her current project was a standard dress, instead of a mummer's gown, another for her wardrobe. If Petyr showed signs of courage the previous night, Sansa chose a mummer's gown the following day to easily avoid him. Otherwise, she wore a regular dress.
Sometimes luck sided against her, and Petyr would approach Sansa when she thought he'd stay away. Unfortunately, those days left her in a physically limiting dress instead of a mummer's gown. When that happened, it was worse because her traditional dresses were prettier by far and made Petyr's attempts for her attention more persistent.
If there was one thing she had to be thankful for regardless, it was his behaviour of a young boy and predictable, compared to his older self, Littlefinger.
But that strategy barely helped her anymore. So now, she made everything with the same level of adornment.
She usually watched Mother in her bedchamber should she wake and need anything. Then, in darkness and peace, Mother would sleep while Sansa sat in the daylit side of the bedchamber, whittling away time with quick and sure needlework. Blissful relaxation for both of them.
Mother always treated her like a true daughter. Called her 'my daughter' when Sansa's doubts came to the forefront. Sansa had to admit the reassurance Mother gave was the warmth she had missed since first leaving Winterfell.
The love of a mother.
Completing the seams of her silver and black dress, Sansa rested it on the chair and glanced into the looking glass of the solar. A child's face stared back. A child of almost two-and-ten. Identical height to her memory. Sansa was as tall as Catelyn, if not slightly taller, much to the latter's displeasure, whose twelfth nameday - their nameday - neared.
She was not Sansa Stark of Winterfell in this life but Sansa Tully of Riverrun.
And Cat instead of Catelyn Stark, who'd raised and loved her. Cat, a girl with bitter looks and silent stares at her. Minisa Tully was her mother now, an adjustment that made her a little sad. Minisa Tully was kind and gentle, but she wished Cat would be nicer.
Consistently hostile towards Sansa, Cat was utterly unknowing she'd been Sansa's genuine and loving mother at another time. However, Sansa couldn't allow herself to see Catelyn as such anymore. That courted trouble. Catelyn's cold shoulder pierced her heart, though. In this era, they were both young girls. And Catelyn resented her.
She'll eventually accept me as her sister if the gods are good.
For all intents and purposes, Catelyn Stark, as she'd known her, was never coming back. Minisa, though, Mother, had a kind, loving heart and treated Sansa like she was really her daughter. Sansa would do everything possible for her.
She placed her things in her basket she turned towards the window. Many shadows were gone. Time well past the midday meal.
Silent, she left the Lady's solar for the kitchens. With a short distance to go, Sansa was in the middle of a hall when Petyr came the other way. So far, Sansa had managed to take a corner as though it'd been intentional. This time was different. Turning and fleeing would make him more determined to pursue her affections.
Without a cluster of people near, Sansa couldn't blend in among them. And frankly, fed up with the necessity to hide in her own home, Sansa kept calm and pierced him with the steel of a determined Stark. The warning, however, failed to make him falter and change his mind.
Instead, Petyr took her hands and brought them to his lips. He would have received a broken nose a moon ago if Arya had been in her position.
If he was Littlefinger, I'd slash his throat with my Essosi dagger and promptly shove him in the Red Fork for all he'd done.
"Petyr," Sansa scolded and tried taking her hands back with dignity. "I have somewhere to be."
"So fierce," he said with want in his eyes. If he was drunk, it would explain the boldness. "The others are nothing like you," he complimented. It almost sounded like Littlefinger's words when he was older; she suppressed a scowl.
"No," she said, projecting her voice, not that he noticed. The kitchens were near. In the Vale, she learnt the nuances of a man with lust while in the presence of Harrold Hardyng. In previous instances, Sansa managed to escape being touched any further than her hands by Petyr. Better Petyr than Littlefinger.
Sansa stepped back, straightening their arms so he couldn't easily kiss her hand again. But her action worked against her because he slid his hands up her elbows.
"Release my arms, Petyr."
His grey-green eyes lit at her words. "As you wish, Sansa." He took a step forward, his hands now on her shoulders.
The emboldened look made her want to shudder in dread. She had to stop him. "No, Petyr! I'm not interested!" she yelled. Background noise weakened.
He kissed her sloppily.
She slapped him hard and swept her foot behind his ankle, knocking him to the floor.
He cried out and gripped the side of his head.
Behind him and in view appeared Lysa, her eyes wide and pained, but without Lysa Arryn's erratic and obsessed temperament. "How could you?" Lysa whispered and took Petyr's hand slow and gently with her own.
Petyr lay dazed, a hand on his cheek. This was the first time Sansa used physical aggression; she needed to.
A crowd gathered in the hallway, hovering near the entrance to the kitchens. Sansa shook her head. Her hate for the manipulations of Littlefinger bubbled under her skin; she allowed it to surface.
"By the gods, Baelish!" she shouted. "I said 'No'! It's been a moon, and 'No' is the only answer I will ever give you!"
She made to step around him, but Lysa stared at Sansa from where she knelt. "Why? Why do you play with his feelings? It's not funny. Am I the only one who cares?"
Dread filled Sansa's stomach at the implication Lysa was already infatuated with him; she couldn't allow the matter to grow. Calm took dread's place. Mother and Sansa needed a valid reason for Petyr's dismissal. This ought to be sufficient.
And if this doesn't result in your banishment, I'll gut you with Lady Daena's gift and throw your body in the sluice!
Sansa kept her voice level and replied. "Find a way to stop him from pursuing me, Lysa, and we'll both be happy," she told her younger sister and left to retrieve Mother's meal. She had to end this incident and the situation at large.
If Petyr got the opportunity to plant desire within Lysa again, Westeros's future would suffer.
That mustn't happen.