November-December, 298 AC
The ginger kitten mewled as he stepped on Sansa's chest, his tail flicking her nose. Sansa stroked his back, her eyes half-closed as she yawned. This was how Sansa began her days- with a purring, needy cat. As she scratched the kitten's chin, he turned his gaze on her. For a moment his green eyes reminded Sansa of the Queen, and her tummy clenched. But no, Buttons' eyes were lighter, a rich yellow green like new leaves.
Buttons, so named for his love of licking the buttons on Sansa's gowns, was the only company the Queen permitted. To Sansa's dismay, the day after Jeyne and Merissa were taken, new servants had been sent to wait on Sansa. The new servants immediately informed Cersei of the flock of kittens in Sansa's room. When the servants came to remove them, Sansa begged and pleaded to keep just one.
The servants pretended to take pity on her, but Sansa suspected they had been given orders in advance. Cersei didn't care about Sansa, she just wanted another way to keep her in line. If Sansa did not do as she was told, doubtless Buttons would share Lady's fate.
An unfamiliar servant helped Sansa dress, and another brought her porridge and fruit to break her fast. There were no lessons with Septa Mordane, no whispered conversations with Jeyne or Arya.
At first, Sansa had thought she might join Myrcella and Tommen for lessons. Surely their septa and guards could keep Sansa in line. But as the weeks passed with no such invitation, Sansa grew resigned to her solitude and fell into a daily routine.
Mornings were spent embroidering in the sunlight by her open window. They had brought most of her things from the Tower of the Hand, including her needlework. At Winterfell she had started a handkerchief for Joffrey. Sansa had not worked on it since Lady's death. The day after she wrote the letters, she resumed working on the golden lions and black stags. She was, after all, supposed to be wet with love for Joffrey. Sansa still wasn't sure what that meant, but she knew it was not meant kindly.
After forcing herself to work on the handkerchief for as long as she could stand, she set it aside and turned to her other needlework. When they brought Sansa's things, they had also brought a few of Arya's. Sansa had dug through the chest of clothing, searching for the cleanest, least ripped roughspun shirt. It was a bit big for Arya, but that was just as well. Sansa did not know how long it would be until she saw Arya again, but she would have a gift ready for her sworn shield. She wracked her brain trying to remember every detail of Arya's beloved sword, and stitch by stitch she embroidered a row of Needles along the shirt cuffs.
Lunch was as solitary as breakfast. Sansa nibbled on bread, pork, and root vegetables, her head buried in one of her books. Almost all of her books were tales of southron chivalry, of dragons and princes and lovers. But she did have one book about the North, brought accidentally because it happened to be between two of Sansa's favorites. It was a collection of Northern legends assembled by a maester. Some were familiar, echoes of Old Nan's tales. Others were strange and frightening, tales of giants and skinchangers and greenseers.
As the sun began to wane, it was time for Sansa's walk. As soon as the Queen granted Sansa freedom of the castle, Sansa had gone to the godswood, hoping there would be some sign that the old gods were pleased. To her disappointment, the only difference was the weirwood sapling's height.
In the few weeks Sansa had been confined in her room, the weirwood had grown as tall as Hodor. The bone white bark had acquired a deeper sheen, and the leaves seemed thicker. Two graceful branches extended from the main trunk, their twigs like fingers. The face wept crimson sap, the tears oozing down the trunk to pool around the roots. Sansa was careful not to touch the sap. It reminded her too much of Quent's blood.
Sansa visited the weirwood almost every day during her afternoon walk. The godswood was peaceful. The guards that always shadowed her didn't come into the godswood. Why bother? Sheer walls enclosed it. Even if she could climb like Bran, there was no way for Sansa to escape.
At least, not in her own body.
Nymeria was too far away for Sansa to slip into her skin, and Buttons was not allowed outside of the tower. But the godswood was full of birds, now that the kittens and the mama cat weren't waiting in the bushes, ready to pounce. Sansa watched them flutter about until she spied a robin that was headed toward the tower where Sansa was kept.
Sansa carefully set herself on the ground, her back leaning against the weirwood sapling. She closed her eyes and breathed deep. Warm nests and soft feathers. Claws on a tree branch. Pecking crumbs in a courtyard. Sansa opened her eyes and the wind rushed under her wings. The open window , Sansa nudged the robin. Please? There's food there for you. Startled by his unexpected passenger, the robin landed at the top of a tree. It took a few minutes of coaxing before the robin recovered from his fright.
Sansa sympathized. Slipping into Nymeria had scared her witless. She had done it a few times on the road, but once they reached King's Landing her sister's wolf was too far away. Sansa had not known she could slip into anyone besides Nymeria. Slipping into Buttons had been an accident.
It was soon after servants took the rest of the kittens away. Buttons mewled at the door, crying for his mother and brothers and sisters. Sansa had scooped him up in her arms, cradling him to her chest. She knew what it was like to be alone. She spoke to the kitten gently, barely noticing when she began to hear replies. They fell asleep together, curled up on her bed, and she dreamed of chasing birds and mice.
It took a week of practice and headaches before Sansa finally slipped into Buttons and saw the world through his eyes. Before she could celebrate her success, she promptly fell back into her own skin when the kitten leaped off the bed. Sansa threw up in the privy, washed her mouth out with water, and tried again.
It was a moon's turn before Sansa could slip into a bird. Her twelfth nameday came and went unremarked, and still she practiced. It seemed she could only slip into a creature that was within her sight. Once she was inside the creature, her spirit followed it. And so she coaxed the robin up to the window, careful not to look down.
The robin immediately began pecking at the crumbs of bread and green peas she'd left on the ledge. While he ate, Sansa cleared her mind. Napping in the sun. Chasing loose thread. Kneading the bedcovers.
Buttons yawned and stretched as she slipped inside his ginger fur. He didn't quite understand why Sansa had to consort with birds, or why he wasn't allowed to pounce on them. Because I won't have them terrified after they've helped me , Sansa told him. It would be rude. Buttons licked himself, unconvinced, then padded toward the door. His yowls quickly persuaded the guard to open it.
"Not enough mice in there?" The guard asked, chuckling as he scratched Buttons' ear. Buttons purred and rubbed against the guard's legs as Sansa resisted the urge to hiss. She knew that laugh. She'd heard it as Hullen begged for his life.
It took Buttons and Sansa hours to find every cat in the tower. Most were willing to listen to Sansa's plea for help, though a few simply scratched themselves and stalked away. The mama cat agreed immediately, saying she could recognize Arya, Jeyne, and Merissa's scents anywhere.
They were climbing the long steps back to Sansa's room when a black tomcat appeared out of nowhere. His ear was torn so badly it looked as though he had only one of them. They backed up, their fur puffing up with fear.
The tomcat hissed, unimpressed. He'd killed bigger rats than this pitiful kitten. My name is Buttons, they said respectfully. Do you have a name, my lord?
Long ago,the tomcat answered. I lost my girl and could not find her. Your sister caught me. She kissed me. I remember her scent.
I will find her.
