February-March, 299 AC
Sansa awoke to the clacking of sticks.
Since Sansa resumed her own shape, Arya and Gendry had practiced with their swords every morning. At first the ringing of steel had made her sweat and shiver, remembering that terrible day in the godswood. Thankfully they had obliged when Sansa asked them to practice with sticks so as not to damage their blades.
Sansa winced as she stretched her tired arms. The old gods were generous, but their gift came with a cost. She was always the last to rise, and she woke exhausted. It had taken days for Sansa to regain her strength, and only now was the ache in her bones beginning to fade. She didn't intend to change her shape for a long while, not unless it was absolutely necessary. Sansa must not become a burden.
Family, duty, honor, her lady mother always said, and she'd neglected those words while she lay depressed and dreaming. As the elder sister she must watch over Arya with wisdom, as Arya watched over her with steel. As their lady she owed a duty to Jeyne and Merissa, who'd suffered for serving the Starks. And honor required that Sansa be fair to Gendry, who treated Arya with courtesy even when she was hitting him with a stick. A true lady must take the household in her charge, and that was what Sansa must do.
The first task for a lady was to familiarize herself with the castle. What was its size and disposition? Was it an immense fortress like Winterfell or Storm's End? A beautiful array of towers like Highgarden or the Eyrie? Where was it?
Sansa examined the cave which gave them shelter from wind and rain. The open mouth yawned into the side of a small rocky hill. The entrance was wide enough for the horses to avoid the rain, and once inside there was a chamber with a floor of dirt. Paintings of red pigment adorned the limestone walls, and a passage wound deeper into the hill.
None of them knew quite where they were. Jeyne and Merissa knew they were in the Riverlands north of King's Landing, but how far north they could not say. They had crossed no rivers since leaving the city, nor seen the Kingsroad, and the girls had walked slowly due to the red direwolf's limp. Arya and Gendry had left the Kingsroad and followed Nymeria west for a day before finding the others, but they knew nothing more.
The second task for a lady was to familiarize herself with her people. What lords and ladies occupied the keep? What knights? Who were the principal servants, the steward, the head cook, the captain of the guard and the master of horse? How many servants were in the pantry, the buttery, the laundry, the scullery?
Even a small keep had dozens of servants, and a true lady must know all their names and duties. Arya knew more of the folk at Winterfell, because she was always underfoot, Sansa thought, guilt knawing at her tummy. Our steward was Vayon Poole, our head cook was Gage, our captain of the guard was Jory, our master of horse was Hullen. Four they were, and three came south, and three would never return to Winterfell.
Now she had but five people and a dozen wolves in her household. Sansa served as lady and steward and oversaw their pack. Merissa served as cook, for she was the only one who could roast meat over the fire without burning it. She was the one who knew what roots and berries and shrubs were safe to eat. Merissa even knew how to cook down the fat to make tallow, and how to make lights from the tallow and rushes. Arya served as captain of the guard, Gendry served as master of horse, and Jeyne helped everyone as needed.
Nymeria and her pack were under Arya's command. Arya spent half her days with Nymeria, stroking her fur, hunting with her, snuggling her before sleep. During the day the rest of the pack slept or hunted for meat. At night they guarded the cave, with Nymeria curled up inside the entrance as a last defense. And yet...
Arya wouldn't be happy when Sansa told her she wanted to send the wolves away.
"I still don't understand why we couldn't keep Nymeria with us," Arya grumbled as Sansa carefully trimmed her hair with a knife.
The black brother might have been in a hurry when he shaved Arya's head, but surely he could have done a better job. The random tufts of longer hair had been irritating Sansa for days, and finally Arya agreed to let her even everything out before they moved on from the cave.
"Over a moon's turn they traveled with wolves, and Merissa still quivers when they're about," Sansa said quietly so the girls washing in the stream nearby could not hear. "Jeyne hides it better, but..."
It had taken days to convince Arya to send the wolf pack to Riverrun. Almost the minute the wolves departed, Jeyne and Merissa breathed more easily. Sansa couldn't believe they'd come so far with the pack. Jeyne had known Nymeria at Winterfell, and sometimes stroked the direwolf's snout while sitting by the fire. But Merissa had never met Nymeria before she appeared near the Blackwater, a dozen wolves at her heels. Yet they were not afraid of the red direwolf. Was it because they sensed it was a girl in wolfskin?
"Robb has men and lords to protect him," Arya said, scrubbing at her head with her fingers. Fine dark hairs floated down onto the boulder which served Arya as a seat. "We've just got me and Gendry."
"I know," Sansa replied. "And you're teaching him well."
Gendry paid close attention as Arya patiently showed him what she had learned in her water dancing lessons. The smith's apprentice got whacked with a stick frequently as he tried to practice dodging. Gendry was slow and clumsy compared to Arya, and he was particularly struggling with Arya's latest idea to improve his speed.
With no cats to chase, Arya had decided Gendry should try to catch squirrels instead. Sansa might not be able to risk transforming, but that didn't mean she couldn't listen. Since Sansa awoke she could hear the voices of birds and beasts more clearly, and the squirrels were not pleased with this peculiar exercise. A few found it very frightening, until Sansa explained the purpose of the game. Then the squirrels delighted in taunting Gendry, flicking their tails and chittering insults.
But Sansa heard more than just insults, and what she heard worried her. The squirrels were gathering every nut they could find and hiding them away. The birds were preparing to fly south. The rabbits were digging their burrows deeper and deeper in search of warm earth. The roe deer were stuffing themselves with grass and berries, their coats shedding in tufts as thicker fur grew in. Winter is coming, and we must reach safety before it arrives.
"Are we leaving today?" Arya asked, stretching as she stood.
Sansa bit her lip. She had to choose their path; she should have chosen it already. In truth she'd sent the wolves away partially to see if there was a safe path to Riverrun. With only two horses for five people, the wolves traveled much faster than they could.
The wolves had left ten days past, their snouts pointed north. On the second day they had crossed a river and lapped at the waters of an immense lake, one that sang with power and smelt of weirwoods. From the lake the she-wolf led her pack west, calling new pack brothers and sisters as they sped onward. Sansa could still dimly feel Nymeria as the direwolf drew ever closer to her pack brother. Tomorrow, tomorrow Nymeria would reach them.
Find Grey Wind, Arya had reluctantly told the she-wolf. Bring him as many wolves as you can. Tell them that Robb will help them take revenge on the ones burning the fields and scaring away game. Nymeria had sneezed at her, amused. Her girl might be strong, but Nymeria did not need advice from people.
Sansa disagreed. You know wolves, but Arya and I know two-leggers, Sansa told her. When you find Robb, go to him alone before you call the pack. You must amaze them, they must see that you are sent by the old gods. A direwolf could not understand the power of tales and songs, but Sansa did. Robb was just a few years older than Sansa; how could he lead a host in father's stead? But wolves would help, they would show all the lords that Robb was fierce and mighty. Direwolves could not bend the knee, nor curtsy, so Nymeria and her pack must bow instead, even if Arya couldn't stop laughing as Sansa coaxed the reluctant wolves to try it. No one would laugh at Riverrun, Sansa was certain.
"Hey!" Arya waved in Sansa's face, making her jump. While Sansa was lost in her thoughts, both Jeyne and Merissa had returned from the stream, their hair damp and their eyes curious.
"Are we leaving today? I saw you and Meri checking over the packs this morning."
"Meri thought we best keep our things packed away, should we need to flee suddenly. It was a sensible idea." Sansa said, turning to Merissa, whose cheeks flushed pink.
"Then when are we going?" Arya demanded, her face screwed up in a scowl.
"I want to go home too." Sansa felt hurt. All Arya could think of was home, not the dangers between here and Winterfell, or even Riverrun. "Do you remember what happened to Sherrer?"
"I'm not stupid," Arya snapped.
"Arya, they broke the king's peace." Arya wrinkled her nose, unimpressed. Did Arya never listen to their history lessons? Sansa tried again.
"The king's peace is one of the highest laws of the realm. Any lord who breaks it can be attainted and executed for treason."
Now Arya was beginning to think, her forehead creased in concentration.
"Isn't that why father sent Lord Beric out? I knew that already."
Sansa stamped her foot in frustration.
"Tywin Lannister sent the Mountain, even though everyone would recognize him and know Lord Tywin sent him. They attacked Lord Beric even though he rode under the king's banners!"
"You can't attack king's men," Jeyne added quietly. "It's treason."
How foolish Sansa had been to think Lord Beric would defeat the Mountain and send the Lannisters running. The Lannisters had tried to kill Bran, cuckolded a king, committed incest, sent away Ser Barristan… they did not care about the laws of the realm. Lord Beric had followed an order from the Hand of the King, speaking with the king's voice, and for obeying his oaths they branded him an outlaw.
But Gregor Clegane, a burning, murdering raper? A man who ignored every vow a knight swore? He was their trusted servant. The Rains of Castamere bragged of Lannister vengeance, but there were no songs boasting of the Mountain's crimes. Singers had no pretty words about Princess Elia's screams or Merissa's trembling and nightmares. And Littlefinger was going to sell Merissa and Jeyne to be raped over and over and over...
Sansa's skin pebbled with goosebumps and she could taste bile in her throat. Arya and Jeyne dodged out of the way as Sansa vomited onto the grass, her stomach heaving until nothing remained. With shaky legs Sansa made her way to the stream, washing the burning acid from her mouth. Arya watched, her dark grey eyes puzzled, her nose wrinkled with disgust.
"I can't forget that awful dream. Princess Elia…" Sansa fought back tears. "I can't let that happen. I won't."
Arya's face fell. She gnawed at her lip, then awkwardly patted Sansa's back. The grass rustled as familiar steps approached.
"I won't let it happen, m'lady," Gendry said, his gruff voice low.
"Don't make promises you can't keep," Merissa said quietly.
Sansa looked at Merissa. Her honey brown eyes were steady, but she could hear her heartbeat flutter. Suddenly Sansa felt ashamed. Merissa had suffered enough, and it was Sansa's duty to get her someplace safe.
"We leave on the morrow."
It was their last night in the cave, and Sansa could not sleep. Slowly she extricated herself from Arya's hold, careful not to nudge Meri as she got to her feet.
Sansa patted her skirts, feeling the small lump in her pocket. She'd found her bag of weirwood seeds at the bottom of the smallest pack. How it got there Sansa did not know, but she knew what she must do as she slipped out into the moonlight.
When her task was done and her arm was bandaged with a strip of cloth, Sansa crept back inside the cave, a rushlight in her hand, power still humming in her veins.
The rushlight flickered over her four charges. Jeyne and Merissa faced each other, wrapped in an embrace. At Merissa's back there was a gap where Sansa had lain between the milkmaid and Arya. Arya was mumbling in her sleep, her eyes shut tight, Gendry curled against her back. Though they slept in different arrangements every night, Gendry and Arya always seemed to end up near each other. Sansa supposed she should be concerned, but it was Arya. If Gendry even thought of trying something unchivalrous, she'd stab him like she'd stabbed the stableboy.
Sansa's tummy flipped. Arya killed him. Did Arya feel sorry for the stableboy? Sansa dared not ask. Yet Arya had to kill him to escape. Did he have a mother who cried for him? It was wrong, all wrong, ladies were not supposed to kill people, let alone ladies of nine. What about ladies of twelve? The Hound's mocking voice asked. I saw you, little bird. Kingslayer.
Sansa exhaled, trying to calm her racing heart. Perhaps the songs of the night would soothe her. Slowly Sansa lowered her walls, letting the sounds rush over her. The stream's voice was sweet as she burbled over her bed of rocks and sand. Leaves whispered in the trees as the wind caressed them. For a moment she floated in the music, then another voice called her. Sansa frowned. The voice was deep and gentle, but it was coming from inside the cave.
Shadows danced on the walls as Sansa followed the voice, her rushlight held high. As Sansa descended into the passageway the paintings shifted, handprints yielding to images of leaping deer and aurochs raising and lowering their horns. Further she went, and the ancient voice welcomed her. It spoke no words, yet Sansa knew it sang of sorrow, of loneliness, of loss.
Suddenly the passage opened into a chamber. Her rushlight only spread a few feet in front of her, so Sansa kept close to the walls. Now the paintings showed little children dancing beneath the trees. Men in shaggy furs came, swords in their hands, and the children fled before them. Then the children and men vanished, replaced by a plain of grass waving in the wind. Something hung in the sky above it- was it the moon? A comet? Her skin prickled as she looked at the blot against the sky. Whatever it was, in the next painting it was gone. Dark clouds and falling snow loomed over the plains. The grass disappeared, the snow piled higher and higher and higher- and then the paintings stopped, and the stone voice mourned, and Sansa wept.
