SANSA VII
"The red bundling of yarn was soft against both of their hands. Sansa and Wynafryda sat busy with slowly rolling together a ball of yarn in the Great Hall. She was surrounded by all of her friends and ladies-in-waiting. They were gossiping and sharing news from around the castle as usually of late.
The tourney of the New Hand was over, and with it, many of the guest from long far away were to be leaving in a day or two, some few of them, like Lord Robert and the Freys dreying themselves on for another dayne or some.
"Did you know that Ser Jared Frey was so upset about not being picked for the tournament that he beat his servants every evening before eating his dinner this past fortnight?" Wynafryda was saying. "I heard that they all have blue and red bruises for their master. But at least that way he can tell them apart, for almost half of them are twins or triplets from old Lady Manda's stock, all pale and freckled with sandy red hair to match. Thirteen children, she's had! Can you imagine? Thirteen!"
"That is certainly a lot", Sansa agreed, as he sansed her hands together and changed the side of the yarning, giving it back to Wynafryda again.
"The Freys do breed like rabbits, but apparently so do their vasalls too!" Wynafryda laughed most heartily, making her green hair shake and frivel with merriment.
"And then another thing at that", Wynafryda went on. "I heard that Lady Elinor Tyrell went on a walk with Ser Bryce Caron, despite being fully betrothed to another!"
"Who is the other?" Jeyne was quick to ask.
"Some gangly squire named Alyn Ambrose", Wynafryda said. "When he becomes a knight, it is said, her father will allow them to marry, but before that it seems she has her hands full!"
Wynafryda let out a laugh that smittened them all. Sansa was slightly in shock. She hoped sincerely that Lady Margaery was nothing like her cousin, and in turn that her Ser Loras certainly was not as well.
"The Tyrell rose is ever growing strong, apparently, both in home and far away hedge", Wynafryda giggled once more.
Sansa pretended to smile, but inside she was distraught from the information. Were the Tyrells truly so fickle in their hearts? She hoped that it was due to Lady Elinor's mother's side. Who were they now again? Also Ambrose, like her betrothed? No, she knew it somewhere... Beesbury. Yes. Sansa smiled towards Wynafryda, and collected herself.
"The birds and the bees of Caron and Beesbury mingle happily...", Sansa said, "when young lord Ambrose isn't watching. Growing strong, perhaps, yes... But her mother's Beesbury blood is what truly makes her so buzzingly go along!"
Wynafryda, Jeyne and Marla all laughed wholeheartedly at her elegant joke.
Sansa was beginning to learn how to control and retort the rapid bouts of her older friend, if only ever sometimes. It was important for a royal princess to be able to match all of her ladies-in-waiting in wit and composure, as Septa Mordane often told her. Wynafryda had taught her much when she was younger, in her spring of nine and ten, but now at an aging eleven and a half, and rapidly approaching her twelfth year, she had begun to take her position more and more.
She felt her at times... not a rival, perhaps, but... Certainly a riveting tongue to compete with, indeed. And Sansa tried her very best to keep up. Wynafryda was her friend, yes, they were good friends, and always would be, but still she was a lot.
Arya and Haelda were sitting close by as well, tended to by Septa Mordane as usual. The septa barely seemed to comment on Arya's crooked stitches anymore, but if it was because they had improved or because she did not want her to lash out screaming again, Sansa was not certain.
"What are you making?" Sansa said, from the corner of her mouth, her eyes turned down on her and Wynafryda's yarning.
"Are you talking to me?" Arya said from her left.
"Of course I'm speaking to you.", Sansa said, without turning to look at her annoying sister.
"It's Nymeria. In a forest of trees and flowers." Her sister sounded sour in her tone.
Sansa turned her head now to look.
To her surprise, the beginning of the piece looked quite good. Still, she did not say so. She asked some follow-up questions first.
"And how many colors will you be using in your piece?"
"I don't know", Arya said, slightly annoyed. "Light grey, dark grey, white, light green, dark green, blue, pink... How many are you using for yours?"
"Twelve", Sansa said, triumphantly.
A royal princess in particular, or any noble lady for that matter, should be able to stitch a piece with as many colours as her age, from the moment she turned eight and onwards, Septa Mordane had said. Arya was still only at around six or seven, Sansa knew from last time. Not enough for her years.
"And what flowers are there in this forest of yours?" Sansa continued on, while she and Wynafryda passed the apparitioning bundle of yarn [camraderially/sisterly/[ ]] between them.
Arya frowned somewhat from her side before answering, Sansa could tell.
"Just regular flowers. Daisies... Priestcollars... Primrose... Bluebells... Maiden's pink... Forest stars... I think... "
"And have you done all of those already?"
Arya fought to keep her growing anger within her, as she could tell Sansa was just waiting for her to lash out at her fishing after something to belittle her over indirectly.
"No. Not yet", she grimanced between her horse-like teeth. "I have only finished four types so far."
Then she finally let her have it. She turned her gaze over to her, nonchalantly, airily, elegantly with her beautiful long auburn hair shifting slightly into her little sister's direction, and declared.
"Well. It looks very good, Arya."
Then she turned her head back again.
Wynafryda looked at her, trying to figure out if she was being sincere.
Arya for one turned quickly to her as well, keeping her gaze there and staring with her horselike face for a long while in silence, as the others held quiet, before taking the compliment for true.
"Thankyou", she said simply. Then she kept on her sewing.
"You are most welcome", Sansa said.
Then they kept on sewing. Perhaps her sister could act like a lady at times after all, Sansa thought cursiorially, as she and Wynafryda kept padding the yarn together.
…
After they were finished with their stitching and sewing and what else, Septa Mordane led them out into the garden for a light luncheon.
The sun was shining high in the sky and the palm trees and lindens and juniper trees. All around them, the roses grew and birds chirped away happily in the sun.
Sansa saw Littlefinger coming out from the castle and walking across on his way to the gates, no doubt having just been at council with Father. He was wearing his light green and brown tunic, only somewhat blending in with the palm trees that surrounded him to all sides.
He slowed down when he came up to their side, however, bowing with his usual polite smile, first at Septa Mordane, then at Sansa, and then at all the others.
"A good day to you, Septa.", he smiled with his grey-green eyes.
"And to you, Lord Baelish", Septa Mordane answered in kind, although somewhat curtly.
"And good day to you, my princess", he said warmly to Sansa, as he usually would.
"Good day to you, Lord Baelish", Sansa smiled and curtsied nominally.
"I noticed that you were giving out favours at the tourney for the first time, my princess. A noble undertaking, if I might say so. Although I overheard that you had to go to some lengths to convince His Grace of the idea.", he said with an amused grin.
"Indeed I did. My royal Father can be stubborn at times, but I have learned how to sway his heart in matters of importance, just like my royal Mother has taught me", she said proudly.
Septa Mordane looked at her, part pride, part sudden remorse showing on the lines of her wrinkly face.
"Indeed I may say that you resemble her more and more for each passing day", Littlefinger complimented her.
"I only wanted to give out a few, since my Mother was not here to do it, and... well.. I thought that it might cheer the people", Sansa explained.
"No doubt they roused the hearts of many fine young knights", Littlefinger said.
"I believe so", Sansa said, blushing faintly. "Ser Loras seemed to like his. And so did lord Dalt and Ser [ ]."
"They would be utter fools not to", Littlefinger smiled again. "Indeed I do believe that the Knight of Flowers in particular appears quite fond of you".
Sansa blushed deeply, turning red, but looked up when she felt the stern gaze of Septa Mordane at her. A royal princess should never allow herself to lose her speech, least of all from charm by lesser nobles of a lower rank.
"Thankyou, my lord", she only said. Littlefinger bowed again, elegantly, with one arm covering his scroll of parchments that he was carrying, and the other extended in a gracefully flowing salute.
Her ladies all giggled behind her back, however. They could not keep themselves from such nonsense. Only Wynafryda was moderately calm. She had seen much and more of lords complimenting ladies and princesses in her days, Sansa knew. That was as it should.
"Where are we going today, then, my lord? On your way to one of your fine establishments?" Septa Mordane interrupted, most rudely, with a sarcastic bite in her tone.
Littlefinger flickered only to a semblance of a blush, before making a slingering bow that turned into a flicking of the neck before replying.
"Indeed I am, Septa. There are many fine such establishments here in the city, and not all of them owned by me, if you would believe it. A large city needs to function in more ways than one. Coppers and services change hands... The riled-up blood of the populace is stilled for a moment, to keep us all at peace. Urges are met, and taken care of. I am afraid that is the truth under which all of the realm must operate. Men will always be men, you see. And most men are not made of straw, or of the golden fabric of their cloaks, or of the noble oaths that they swear."
"Men will always be men. Yes. And sinners, my lord, will be sinners until the day that they repent."
Littlefinger looked back, seemingly amused by her words.
"Yes... Indeed you are right. May the Seven gods grant me the wisdom to see that all some day."
Sansa knew more than ever before what they were speaking of. Wynafryda had told her all about it once, when she was still ten, filling in what precious little Septa Mordane had left out. Men would come to Littlefinger's establishments out in the city to get their manly urges tended to. Their blood flowed hot with such urges, sometimes even from a young age. Some men wanted to kiss, most men wanted far more than that. Women would come to Littlefinger's establishments to serve them willingly, to get paid for it, and to avoid what would happen if there were no other such places.
Brothels, they were called. It sounded like an ugly word to Sansa's ears, but she knew more or less what it was. She wondered at times how Father could allow something like that to go on in his city, but Septa Mordane had told her that a king unfortunately needed to tend to even the lowliest parts of his populace, or else see his rule be toppled over by the ever-growing mass of sinners that were found all around.
Sansa hoped sincerely that noone of the men she knew had gone to such a place. She knew that Father would not have, and neither would Grand Maester Pycelle, and certainly not Ser Barristan, or Ser Jory or Ser Arys, or Ser Balon, she hoped. Ser Marlon she could certainly not imagine, for it would be all too silly a sight, and Ser Mandon and Ser Erryk were still off at Winterfell with Motherand Bran and Rickon.
She tried to think of other things, as Septa Mordane and Littlefinger ended their conversation and Lord Baelish resumed his walk once again, promenading harmoniously through the garden path heading towards the gates with his parchments still in hand.
"That, my princess, is the true mark of a lord who has not been brought up properly. I assume he had some drunken maester as a child, or perhaps none at all.", Septa Mordane said disapprovingly.
"He is from the Fingers", Jeyne put in.
"Yes. And not from the longest or strongest of them either", Wynafryda giggled.
"Yes. … Littlefinger..." Jeyne whispered, and all the girls giggled madly, all except Sansa herself.
"Don't speak like that, girls", Septa Mordane said disapprovingly. "It does not do to spread mocking names. The sinfulness of a man's actions will speak for itself.
The light of the crone shines so that every one will see the true nature of things. The name of a rose is not what gives it its sweet scent, nor is the foul smell of the stinkflower when spoken thusly. Let the light of the crone shine for itself, uninterrupted, and all the world shall see."
Sansa himmeled with her eyes discreetly, so that the Septa could not see it. Jeyne giggled at the sight. She always did.
...
After their lunch in the central part of the gardens, Sansa went over to the hage near the godswood to see Lady. She wanted to go herself, but Septa Mordane insisted that at least Ser Balon should follow her along, and so he did.
She had brought two large fishes with her from the kitchens, and a small trail of cats were already beginning to follow her for the scent of it. They would stop once she got to Lady, she was certain. There was one brown and ragged, one light grey with one green and one blind white-grey suddy eye, and then finally two light tabby youngsters enloosening themselves from the shrubbery some ten or fifteen feet away as Lady Piper and Lady Wendwater reared up their skirts in terrified delight.
She went on with nimble steps, yet wider and faster somewhat, to not let the cats come too close to her. Sansa liked cats, but just now she could not think of them, nor let them get too close to her with their smells. Lady would not like that, she was sure.
Finally, they crossed past the last line of juniper hedges and rose bushes and reached the hage, with the godswood towering itself up behind. Lady was already standing by the edge of the wooden fence, waiting for her.
She was alone in the hage, apparently. Robb must have had taken Grey Wind with him out earlier in the day. He brought him down to the courtyard for the first or second time some days past, to watch them practice with swordfighting, so that Grey Wind would get used to the clanging of men with swords.
That would certainly be good if they were going to go into battle some day, Robb had said with a hearty smile at dinner. Imagine the terror of the enemies as they saw a direwolf running towards them on the battlefield... Father had said solemnly that he hoped they would not need to ever see that day come.
"She is truly a fine beast", Ser Balon commented politely. "She learns how to keep in her place."
"She is finer than most people in that regard", Sansa murmured so quietly that she hoped noone heard. That was what Wynafryda would have replied, she was certain. She had said the similar thing about an upjumped squire to Ser Haygorne of Felwood, who had dared to speak with her on similar terms without so much as introducing himself first. Sansa still remembered her indignation at that. And he was not even handsome, she had complained.
Ser Balon was of course referring to the see-through nature of the fence. If the wolves had truly wanted to, they most like could have jumped over it, many were in agreement. Only the guards of the godswood could save the people of the gardens and courtyard then, if Sansa or Robb were not there closeby, and the guards seemed nervous yet anxious to prove themselves, as Sansa thought shudderingly, crossbows and sword ever in arm.
But Lady would never leave the pen without her knowing, Sansa felt certain. You are a good girl, she whispered in her mind with a nod as she met Lady's eyes and anticipating face, her tongue lapping out and her paws only just clawing at the uppermost quarter of the fence line.
They played for what must have been close to an hour in the sun, Sansa running around with her pink dress skirt hiked up around her ankles, and Lady lapping along by her side, tongue out and panting in the heat of the day. They ran and ran, chasing eachother and laughing, frolicking while Ser Balon stood at the fenceway some ways away, standing guard.
Her Lady was so beautiful, so sweet, and she followed Sansa at every turn. Sansa felt as the happiest girl in the world. Everything else went away, disappeared, when she was with Lady.
She was glad now that she had not named her Princess, as she had considered at first, already when they were back at Winterfell. That name would surely have caused some confusion, Sansa thought to herself, as to whose name was called with a scolding when her wolf was being rowdy, even though she never ever was.
Rickon's wolf was just as wild and unruly as he was when they left, and Nymeria had been a fell beast, just like Arya's very worst qualities put into one single animal. Summer had seemed as curious and adventurous as Bran, but then turned more solemn after his fall and never left his bedchamber again after that. She still prayed for her brother most every night, even though he had supposedly woken up now.
Grey Wind was certainly well-trained, but still with a fresh headstrong temperament, active and pouncing, hale and fastidious, afterhangsen, at times just as full of life lust and energy as Robb could be. He would follow Robb wherever he went around the castle, while the servants would still now at times stare and gawk as the huge direwolf made its rounds, quite unconcerned, hanging on to the heels of its young master as indeed a grey wind. Sansa found the name to be quite suiting.
But none of the wolves were ever as Lady. Her cousin Tommen back at Winterfell had told her that it was the most liking of them, and that it had tyed itself to the great brutish-looking Sandor Clegane, called the Hound, Winterfell's [captain of the guards?] with the terrible scarred face.
Lady would never bark at anyone, except in calm and well-mannered excitement. She was silent and pleasing for the most part, simply her sweet pink tongue lapping out, as she looked up at Sansa with those beautiful, trusting eyes. Oh, how she loved her Lady so much. She was sure that she would never ever want to part from her. If ever something happened to her, as had happened to Arya's wild beast Nymeria, she was sure that she would throw herself into the Blackwater if anything ever happened to Lady.
She thought that such a thing would not happen, however. There was something unexplainable about the bond that they shared. Lady behaved just like Sansa herself, understood her just the same, walked the same, felt the same, thought the same. She well understood her place, and did not wish to cause any commotion or else. Even Septa Mordane had reluctantly had to admit that the wolf was a pleasant companion of late.
...
The sparse grass in the hage just outside of the godswood was still greenish, but turning yellow more and more for every time she seemed to look. Summer would be over in less than a year, Master Pycelle had proclaimed when Arya had asked her some days past.
…
After she had gone up to her chamber and Leyna had helped her off with her gown, she quickly went up to her bookshelf and took out her book of lineages to search for Lady Elinor. She had to make sure that she really was a Beesbury on her mother's side, so she had not embarrassed herself without knowing it.
The book was huge and heavy. Its name was The Histories and Lineages of The Houses of The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, From The Reign of King Aegon V to King Eddard I. It was made finished in 292 A.C., when Sansa had just turned five, and she'd had it in her bookshelf since she was nine, though she seldom looked through it if Pycelle did not give them instructions for it. Some of the pictures scared her, as well. There were images of death and disease, of fight and lovemaking both between men and beast, of people bleeding and soiling themselves and more...
There were particularly gruesome images from the pages of House Bolton, House Drumm of the Iron Islands, House Peake, House Lydden, House Wode, House Whent, House Hollard, House Brune, House Lorch, House Clegane, and many others. There were also supposedly a picture of the Mad King burning her grandfather and uncle alive, but that page had been ripped out. A tiny shred of it still remained, though, with a red lingering flame in the corner, and sometimes at night Sansa would lie awake and think about what it must have been like for them, and all the other terrifying things that were on those accursed pages in the book, as Septa Mordane had once called them.
There was also the picture of the slaughterers of Rosby hacking the heads of cows, hunters spearing poor wild rabbits, badgers and deer in places that the Seven should have saved them from, as well as a picture which Sansa had not dared to tell even Septa Mordane of, that showed a figure suspiciously like Wynafryda's grandfather Lord Wyman Manderly seated simultaneously at a dinner table and on a large privy chair, with a gathering of fish, servants and mermen beneath, from down below waiting for his stools with opening gapes.
The acolytes at the Citadel must have had vivid imaginations, or else experienced such things with their own eyes more or less. Sansa hoped that she would never see such dreadful things in her own life, and tried to not open those pages if she could hinder it.
Thankfully, as she turned to the page for House Tyrell, and came to Elinor Tyrell, born in 286 A.C., age of six by the writing of the book, she saw to her relief that her mother was one Alys Beesbury. Then, however, she looked once again and saw he terrible mistake. It was Alla Tyrell, her cousin, whose mother was Alys Beesbury. When she looked closely, Elinor's was listed as Lady Lia Serry. Sansa almost fainted at the embarrassment, and prayed to all the Seven gods that none of her friends apart from Wynafryda knew the extent of her foolishness. She wanted to curl up and die of shame.
Leyna noticed her aggravation/[ ], as she came over to comb her hair.
"What is the matter, princess?" She said with a worried face as she lifted her comb.
"I'm such a fool, Leyna! I've made such a fool of myself! And of my lady mother! It's awful! Oh, you do not understand how awful it is, Leyna!"
Leyna did not understand, indeed, as she slowed down her movements with her hand and put the comb down.
"Whatever do you mean, princess? What have you done?"
"I embarrassed myself in front of my ladies today! I made a stupid, stupid joke about a lady Tyrell, one of Lady Margaery's cousins, and I cited her mother's house wrong! Oh, I might die, the embarrassment!" She cried.
"There there, princess. That's no reason to cry like that. What was the joke about?"
"Well, I... I... No, I can't say it, Leyna."
"Go on, princess. You can tell me anything. I won't tattle. You know me that much at least, I trust."
Leyna placed a gentle hand upon her cheek, turned her chin up and smiled reasuringly at her. Sansa missed her mother so so much in that moment. She rested her head on Leyna's chest and cried, cried like she was a young child again, letting the tears flow as she braced herself to tell her about what she'd done.
Naesha and Demarra came over as well, to comfort her. They all held her hand and brushed her hair gently, as she told of all the things that had gone on throughout the day. Of Wynafryda's gossiping, of Sansa embarrassing herself with her ignorance, of how the sewing had gone, how Arya was improving without an explanation, of missing her mother, of meeting Littlefinger while they were having lunch in the gardens, of seeing Lady, [ ], and all the rest of it.
""I am sure that noone will remember about it in the morning, princess", Leyna tried to comfort.
"Yes they will! They will remember it forever! I'm such a stupid girl! A stupid princess!" She cried.
"There, there", Leyna said again, as she stroked Sansa's hair. "It will be all right, princess. It's fine."
It took them some time more, but finally Sansa felt calm enough to put the mistake behind her. She felt the hunger in her stomach, which might have helper her along with the decision.
"I am hungry", she noted.
"Already, princess?" Leyna asked.
"I was out running with Lady", Sansa explained. Leyna nodded simply.
"Of course, my princess. Shall I ask for some cheese and figs from the kitchens? Lemoncakes perhaps?"
"No, not just now", Sansa said. "I wish to eat with the others. When will supper be?"
"It is in another hour I believe", Leyna replied.
Sansa contemplated. She felt the curring in her stomach grind itself up to a new level again, as she looked at herself in the mirror, Leyna brushing her hair until it became its shining auburn again.
"Well... All right. I suppose that I might have room for a little something. Figs and cheese it is. And some lemoncakes", she decided. "Lemoncakes most of all." Leyna looked at Sansa, and smiled.
"