SANSA VIII
"The day was only modestly warm, for once, and the pigeons of the castle courtyard were cooing from the tree tops and ramparts. Sansa sat out in the castle garden with her ladies on the marble stone bench as usual, as Septa Mordane was telling them of the Maiden's virtues while they worked.
"And in her pious gaze and heart, only she can temper the fiery heart of the Warrior, to make the wroth ones mild, to make the envious grateful, and to make the sinners repentful."
"Excuse me septa", Wynafryda interrupted. "But from what I have seen of men, the gaze of maidens does not turn them from envy to grateful. It is rather the other way around. How is the envious lust of a man quenched by seeing the very thing he desires but not yet having it?"
The Septa stared back at the insolent lady Manderly, as if thinking on how to reply courteously.
"If the man is truly worthy and honourable, and a good man in his heart and to the sight of the gods, he will be shown his reward in due time. A man that trusts in the gods, and in the Father's justice will know that he shall have what is owed to him within time."
Wynafryda thought about that.
"And what if he is not worthy? Or indeed honourable. What then? Can the Maiden only save those who are already blessed in their constitution? How does she make the sinful repent, if she wakes their lust?"
The Septa fully glared at Wynafryda now, seeming at a loss for words, before taking to word.
"And is this a great problem for you, Lady Wynafryda? Do you see yourself waking such lusts in men? And are you yourself a true maiden in your body, heart and soul?"
The question shot through the air of the early day, and Sansa could feel herself stiffen up to terrified tension, just as Jeyne and Marla beside her.
But Wynafryda did not flinch. She merely acted as if the entire question was small-plock.
"I don't tend to attract the best types of men", she said in a nonchalant tone. "On the contrary. Many of those who seem to me unworthy constantly crave my attention. I do my best to keep my virtues from them, but... In the end I am only a measly human. The demons of sin are constantly trying me."
The Septa looked, if possible, even more furious, as she put together her knittings and gave Wynafryda a hard, swift smack on her hands with her long wooden needle.
"Ow! Blasted snail-truck!" Wynafryda swore, in the mildest way she could.
"You had best keep your maiden mouth firmly shut, unless you want men to believe the worst of you!" Mordane scolded her, ill-temperly, as she sniffed and thrusted the air sharply in disapproval.
"I had expected far better of you, who are the eldest of our flock", Mordane said.
"I have been exposed to more sins than my younger sisters", Wynafryda said amiably, and shrugged her shoulders, trying now to sniggle her way out of the rudeness she had caused.
"Once again I tell you to be quiet, and by the Mother, child, you will listen!"
Wyanfryda finally became silent at that, as she sighed and went back to her needles. She was working on a piece of White Harbour, of her standing on the docks by the ocean, and her husband to be standing beside her.
She had still not filled out his head nor his sigil, only a faint outlining of his hair, which Sansa thought seemed to be long and dark. She thought of her cousin Willam, at Winterfell, and remembered what Wynafryda had said about becoming the lady of Winterfell once before, but did not ask further.
Sansa did not want for them to argue so much with the Septa. With Mother still gone from them, the Septa was doing her best to help them.
Sansa promised herself deep in her heart to never ever leave her side, and that she would one day take up a stand even to Wynafryda, although she was so much older. The thought seemed terrifying to her, but she was the princess. Not Wynafryda. Nor any of her other friends.
But they could not understand. Her ladies would never understand how she felt. Only Robb and Arya could possibly understand, and Arya was doing her stupid lessons with her "dancing master" as usual, training her best to become a Braavosi commoner. Sansa truly could not understand her sister's absurd actions.
...
As the afternoon came, they were finished with their sewing and Sansa went to see Robb in the courtyard. Ser Aron was teaching the boys about different kinds of attacks. Just now, he was telling them how to best combat an Essosi fighter armed with a spear and net. Joffrey and his knights were there as well, she could see. She did her best to not give him any unnecessary attention.
"Ser Aron! Robb!" Sansa waved to the master-at-arms and her brother.
"Good day, princess", Ser Aron Santagar greeted her with a bow.
"Do you want to go to the godswood?" Sansa asked Robb.
"Now?" Robb scratched his ear, as she saw him turn around to look at his friends. Gerion gave a type of nervous laugh back, Quentyn looked down at his boots, and Joffrey looked annoyed.
"It is a cool day", she said. "I thought we could take a walk with them."
By 'them', Robb would know that she meant the wolves. Their two ones were the only ones that had made it all the way from Winterfell. Arya's wild beast Nymeria had still not returned to them ever since they left the Riverlands almost four moons ago. Sansa hoped that she never would, but at the same time, she did feel a little sorry for their small flock. She knew that Lady and Nymeria had loved each other, and even gotten along surprisingly well, perhaps more than Sansa and Arya did.
What she truly wished for, however, was for Mother and Bran and Rickon to return. Then they would come home with their wolves as well, and introduce them to King's Landing for the first time. Bran had named his Summer, and Rickon had called his wolf Shaggydog, not knowing better. If the name had not stuck until now, Sansa might rename him, if Rickon consented. She would find a better name for the beast.
It would have to be something regal, something majestic. Ser Blackpaw, perhaps. Knight or Night. Or even Good Night.
"May we go?" Robb asked and turned to Ser Aron. The slender Dornish knight frowned, as he stood planted broad-legged with his arms crossed.
"I think not, my prince. We had best keep practice up on these new forms. It is good that we take this day to master your skills, before the heat returns."
Robb looked over to Sansa.
"Maybe in an hour", he said glumly.
"All right. I will go ahead anyway", she said, as she curtsied politely to the others, giving special thanks to Ser Aron, despite him having just forced her brother to stay on, and then went her way. A princess must always remember her cordiality and her manners.
Instead, she brought her ladies down to the godswood instead. Wynafryda, Jeyne and Marla all wanted to come, along with little Haelda, who still had not gotten any attention from Arya today. Sansa would scold her sister the next time she saw her emerge from her lessons with her Braavosi brute of a swordfighter.
She said that the Braavosi waterdance, as it was called, was something elegant, something that Sansa would appreciate if she saw it for herself some time, but all she had seen so far was how her sister was chasing cats and birds around the castle just like usual, along with getting all kinds of sores and black bruises on her arms and face from falling over from the stairs, or worse.
Even Robb did not look as bruised when he had been hard at the training. Father should have put a stop to it, but he had asked Arya half a hundred times if she did not wish to stop her training to get some more time for recovery, day after day, moon after moonturn, but every time her stupid sister had stone-headedly said a firm "No", and that she wanted to become a warrior, just like Princess Nymeria of Dorne.
Sansa could not believe it. It was all so awful, so boyish, so stupid, so ridiculous, so unbecoming of a royal princess. Her little sister might as well go live as a wolf in the godswood herself, Sansa thought. She was far wilder than Lady and Grey Wind both, and had more mud and fleas on her long wolfish face than either of them.
She said as much to Jeyne and Wynafryda, who were ready to quickly agree and put their own spin on it. They all sat on the ivy-covered stone wall next to the hage. Sansa was stroking Lady's fur as her friend sat happily in front of her on all fours, but with her back arched straight and high up.
She was prettier and more wellbehaved than any dog Sansa had ever seen. And she listened to Sansa's every whim. Sometimes, she did not even have to say it, and Lady would read her thoughts. When she said for her to go to the fencing, she did it as soon as she had made the thought. If she went to stop after running and playing with her for a while, Lady immediately stopped with her. And she could always tell if she was feeling sad, and would try her best to comfort her.
It was quite the complete opposite with her sister, who usually did anything the opposite, to annoy her. Her lady friends were in agreement, thankfully, as they sat around and gave her advice.
"As to Arya... Yes... I think you maybe should have left her at Winterfell", Wynafryda whispered. "Or north of the Wall. She would certainly make a good wildling."
She laughed. Sansa did not.
"It is completely unbecoming", she complained to her friends. "And it is not only her, either. What she does reflects poorly on me. I am her elder sister, and as such I have a responsibility to teach her how to behave. To let her be inspired by my example. But how can I do that when she will not listen to me? She never listens to me."
Marla laid her hand on Sansa's, and tried to console her. Jeyne soon did as well. Wynafryda stayed seated at their left, on the upper edge of the brick wall, as she seemed to think on something else.
"Do you know why my little sister always behaves?"
"No. Why?" Sansa asked.
"Because if she misbehaves, she gets a smacking from our septa at White Harbour. Vyranna is firm. Hard and firm, but fair. Our Septa, meanwhile, has never smacked your sister. Not truly, at least. She has only given threats, and threats over again. In Pentos, they at least have whipping girls for it. You might suggest the idea to His Grace. Although I doubt Arya would care about anyone but herself."
"Arya is just a stupid child", Sansa said, eager to cut the conversation short. "She would not learn from it anyway. She will not learn in a thousand years."
Not until Mother comes back, if she ever does..., she thought, but did not say it.
She realized soon after that she had said it in front of Haelda, who was even a year younger than her little sister, but she seemed to not have any qualms about it. She was, if possible, more mature than anyone her age that Sansa had seen. Almost like a little old lady already, with dull somber eyes always looking down into her lap, although with skin as smooth as a baby still, and not a wrinkle on her. Sansa had just begun to see a small wrinkle on the side of her mouth at times, but Mordane had assured her that it was simply a beauty mark. A dimple, as it was called.
"Well... Anyway..." Wynafryda continued. "I think that Mordane should try and chastise her more. She is gone well back into her street urchin manners again. A princess or lady cannot be seen carousing with commoners like that. It's quite unbecoming, indeed, as you say, Sansa."
Sansa had heard enough. Her friend would not call her by anything other than 'Princess', unless she told her to, no matter how old she might be, and she would not clank down on Arya more than Sansa herself did. She took tone to herself, and raised her voice.
"Lady Wynafryda, would you be so kind as to stop speaking so lowly of my royal sister?"
Wynafryda looked as though she had gotten some unsuspected bird droppings plit on her head.
She soon shook herself from the sudden shift, however, and merely smiled back.
"Of course, Princess."
Sansa thanked her, and there was a quiet for a short while, as Sansa stroked Lady's fur and thought of what else to speak of. She did not have to think long, however, as Wynafryda began on another topic entirely and started to speak of boys.
"I got another letter from that insolent Frey", she said. "He does not even write to my father, but directly to me. He has his servant hand the letters to my chambermaid late in the night. It is quite improper of him, in truth. I have not told anyone yet, least of all father, but I consider it."
Rhaegar Frey, Sansa knew. He had approached Wynafryda, or the other way perhaps, on a tourney last year, and been mad with desire for her ever since. She had rushed up drunk on the hill just west of the tourney grounds to kiss him, along with his [friend/brother] [ ]. It had been late at night, on a magical night. Sansa herself had been asleep, but Wynafryda had told her of it afterwards.
"Does he honestly believe he is good enough for me?" She said, [ ]ly. "He has that red pimply face, and [ ]
"I would like an offer from another", Jeyne said.
Sansa already knew who she would say. Beric Dondarrion. The handsome lightning lord had put a great impression on her friend, though from what Sansa had gleamed from Wynafryda, he was already betrothed to a lady his own age, and with a far nobler name than Poole.
…
Robb came to meet her before too long, after having washed himself off and changed from his armor and sweaty silks into a fresh silver and white doublet. He smiled as he came down the pathway towards her, and then picked up his pace, wheeling up to her and raising her up into the air like she was a whicker-doll.
"No, Robb! Stop it!" She squealed, half in delight, half in embarrassment as her tummy tickled.
"I'm sorry, princess, but there is a winter storm coming!", Robb laughed as he span her around.
"Just as long as you don't crinkle her summer dress, my wintery prince", Wynafryda teased him.
"Winter winds have no time for cares of crinkles", Robb went on as he tickled her on her neck and on her thin arms and underneath her armpits, where the tickling sensation was all the most rivelling.
"No, Robb, please! Don't tickle me! Put me down! Put me... Put me down! Please!" She screamed in between laughs, gasping for air as she tried to escape.
Finally, he relented, and put her down on the pathway again, doing his best to smoothen out her dress and hairband with a clumsy straightening of his hand or two. She brushed herself off, smacked him playfully on his hand and chastised him for the ordeal.
"Very well", Robb proclaimed. "Are you ready to go see them?"
"Yes", she replied, breathless with excitement, as she winked her ladies goodbye, and they all stayed put on the wall to watch them as they went into the godswood hage.
The grass was green but beginning to yellow in some places, and the same with the leaves of the heart tree and the alders and [ ] trees all around. They stepped over old acorns, yellow leaves and broken twigs as they went into the hage from the small, eastern entrance where the trees shaded the gate.
Lady and Grey Wind were both waiting for them, carruffing with joy as they stepped inside the pen. Robb laughed and greeted his furry brother, letting the wolf slabber with his great pink tongue all over his hands and face, as Lady gave a happy little lapping of her tongue and put her paws gently up onto Sansa's dress, taking care not to muddy it.
"Hello Lady!" She exclaimed, bending down to look her friend deep into her eyes. She loved her ever so much, and she could tell that Lady loved her back just as much, if not even more.
As they greeted eachother, Robb and Grey Wind were already sweeping around the hage, feet and paws leaping to outrace eachother, though Grey Wind was faster by a mile. The wolves had gotten longer and longer legs of late, even though Father and Pycelle both assured them that they were far from fully grown as of yet. Lady only ever ran when Sansa did, otherwise preferring to keep a steady pace, but now when they were for once both in the hage together, all four wolf siblings, she put up a happy bark and followed Grey Wind as soon as she had beckoned for Sansa to join in.
And so they ran. They ran and ran, chasing eachother, Robb after Grey Wind, and Grey Wind after Lady, and Lady running from Grey Wind, and alongside him, and then taking cover behind Sansa, to which she screamed only half playfully and half in alware as her giant grey brother came leaping for her with his fangs and tongue out. A slavering licking from Grey Wind was bad enough, as Robb's wet cheeks and hair could testify, not to mention the mud in his fur or the sharp of his claws on her dress as he would hop up and greet her.
Sansa squealed in terror and tried to cover her face and dress both as best she could, as Grey Wind leapt up towards her, and he licked her with his huge slabbering tongue, covering her in terrifying dreggerly wolf saliva, as thick as watered honey, and as stinking as old raw liver sausages.
"NOOO! Robb! Robb, help meee!" She screamed out as Lady licked Grey Wind from the side, trying to catch his attention and get him to leave, and while she waited for her human brother to catch up. Robb finally got up to them, laughing enormously, his entire face lit up by laughter, as he dragged Grey Wind to the side and gave a whistle to make him change focus.
"I would have thought you to be used to it by now!" Robb laughed, shouting back to her, as he traced Grey Wind's leaps around the northwestern corner of the hage, overlooking Wynafryda and the others on the wall.
"I'll never get used to that!" Sansa promised. "Never ever ever! You'll have to train him better!"
"He is a wolf!" Robb said, shrugging his shoulders as he half-ran, half-shuffled to a halt by the fence. "He does what he likes down south here!"
"Then you'll have to save me and Lady from him!" She yelled back, having already forgotten her cares about her friends on the other side of the hage. They could barely see her anymore behind the wooden fencing at any rate, plus she was with Robb now. She did not have to be as usual. The septa was not here.
"Fair game!" Robb called back. "Go up then! We'll play!"
Sansa squealingly clapped her hands together, as she and Lady ran for their life all the long way across the grass of the godswood yard and away to the small hillock that was close to the northern edge of the hage, shrouded by some brambles and blackberry bushes on either side.
"All right! I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and Lady is my noble cousin Lady Whent, and you are the Last Hero", she declared. "You have to save me from the Others and their giant ice spiders."
"All right!" Robb replied with a smile, doing his best to keep Grey Wind at bay with both whistles and in other ways, for as long as the start of the game required. He put himself in place at the bottom of the hill, with his back protecting Sansa, and her and Lady stood atop the small hill, overlooking the southern majority of the hage, as Grey Wind lapped with his tongue and smiled at them, eager to chase after them again.
"We are standing at the Fist of the First Men", she declared. "No, wait, Winterfell. No... Wait. Moat Cailin!"
"Will you make up your mind?" Robb laughed. "The ice spiders are on their way!"
"All right. The Fist. We're at the Fist of the First Men. And you are the Last Hero. … Go!"
"Grey Wind...", Robb said, angling his eyes to get a better look at his furry other half. "Forth!"
RRRR-RROUGHFFF! Grey Wind barked, as he leapt up and began to scratch and tear at Robb's doublet, scrambling to get above his shoulders as Robb did his best to fight back with only his arms and a thick oak branch that he had picke up for his sword.
"You need a shield!" Sansa said. "The Last Hero needs a shield!"
She searched frantically behind her, and it was almost as if Lady could sense what she was thinking, for she seeemed to turn to look as well, but Sansa found it only an instant before her wolf self.
"Here!" She said, extending her arm to show Robb a large flake of bark half the size of his arm.
"My grateful thanks...!" Robb said, as he grabbed the shield, "to the children...!"
"The children bless you with the sacred powers of the forest!" Sansa said, "You cannot fail us now!", as Lady paced back and forth on the steep side of the small hillock, with only Robb's strong body frame to protect between her and Grey Wind. It was all so terrifying, Sansa thought, but so so fun... So so exciting...
She could not have had this amount of fun playing with Arya. Well, not now at any rate. Perhaps when they had been younger. A couple of moons ago, when they had been on their way up to Winterfell perhaps. But not now. If her sister had been with them in the game, Sansa was certain that she would have smeared her dress with blackberries from the bushes, or pushed her down the hill. She hated the way her sister always acted. She'd never ever let Arya see her like this. Only Robb. Yes, Sansa decided. IT was different with Robb. With him, she was always safe.
He could be rowdy and wild as well, sure, as all boys were, but he always listened to her at the end of the day, and never truly tried to hurt her. No, not Robb. He never could. He had only good inside him. He was like the sun, but when it came peeking out from behind the white clouds, on a windy and playful day.
Not even Ser Arys or Father or Ser Barristan made her relax as her big brother Robb could. If Mother or Father were not around, he always knew what to do. Only with Robb did she ever feel this safe, as if the world could not possibly crumble above her, not for as long as he held guard with his strong back and eager sword and steadfast oaken shield."
...
...
They returned to the castle a small eternity later, as it was soon time for dinner. As they went up the stairs, they chanced upon Lord Tywin, looking regally adorned yet morose in his crimson red and black Lannister doublet, and wearing the golden pin for the Hand of the King. Robb bowed down slightly for the Hand, and Sansa curtsied.
"My lord Hand. Good evening", she said.
"Prince Robb. Princess", he nodded stiffly, and did his best to try and meet their gaze.
Sansa hoped that her sudden fear was not visible, but she had truly been overcome with surprise as she and Robb came laughing from the godswood to see his stern visor.
She did not need to fear, she knew, but all the same she did. Lord Tywin was still a stranger to her, even though four moons had come and gone. He mostly kept to the Tower of the Hand, where Sweetrobin, Lysa, her uncle Brynden and Lord Jon had lived before, even when Joff and Tyrion and all the other Westermen were out about roaming the castle. He was often busy with overseeing the charts, Joff had told her once, and Father said the same.
Lord Tywin was tall, elegant and majestic, but he was awfully dreary, very austere, and he still looked to be filled with hate most of the time. She still wondered at why Father had named him to be Hand after old and kind Lord Jon. Mother had suggested her uncle Ser Brynden, she knew, but Father had not taken to the idea for some reason or other.
Lord Tywin had been Hand long ago, before Sansa was even born, to the Mad King. Some said that he had loved him as a brother, others said he loathed him like his enemy. Sansa only knew that Father seemed to have forgiven him for whatever role he played – or didn't play – in the war. Forgive, if you can, and if the man is deserving of it, but never forget. The North remembers. Always you remember that. His words echoed in her, and in Robb as well, she knew.
Robb hurried her onwards, and Sansa did her best to keep up, as they saw the back of the Old Lion descend down the stairs alongside the dragon murals on the walls. She shivered.
"He looked as if he were mad at us", she told Robb. "You don't think he thought us childish, do you?"
"To him, everyone younger than Father is a child", Robb said, trying his best to laugh off the question, though she could see that the question grueled him deeply all the same. He spoke up.
"When Father had me attend the council, he spoke against Father more than anyone. I felt as though they were to start a war with the anger that was between them." He silenced off... "But... Father said that we need to make peace with our old enemies. The Lannisters are our friends and allies now. We must continue to do our best to show our hospitality and kindness to them, like we did at Winterfell. Uncle Benjen and Lady Cersei are proof of that. One day, we'll be as happy as them."
She saw that he only half believed his words.
"Are you friends with Joffrey now? How is he?" She was intrigued to know.
Robb shrugged.
"As best as we can, I suppose. … He is not the friendliest type. He and Gerion don't get along. They're always fighting."
"Aren't you supposed to fight in the courtyard?" Sansa joked.
"It's more than that. … He's just... "
Robb searched long and hard for the right word.
"Angry?" Sansa suggested.
"...a prick."
They both laughed, only a little, to try and lift some of the tension from the moment.
Soon, however, Robb became serious again, as they stood staring out the painted glass windows, red and green in diagonal criss-cross patterns heralding what would soon come on the morrow. They were to travel down to Lord Robert at Storm's End. Father wanted to meet the Baratheons again, as if he had not gotten enough from the tourney almost a fortnight ago.
"Father invited him, Lord Tyrion, Joffrey, all of them, to come with us to Lord Robert," Robb said. "But Lord Tywin declined, saying that he still has much of paperwork after Lord Jon to go through, and that he would rather do so undisturbed than to go out on the road once again."
"I don't want to travel again either", Sansa said. "I hate that old wheelhouse. We're home now."
"I don't think that Father wanted to invite him to come with to Robert at Storm's End simply to be polite", Robb warned, with severity in his voice, as he stared off into the blue horizon outside the tall frame of the castle windows.
"What do you mean?" Sansa asked.
"Think about it. If we should go to visit at Storm's End now, all of us, that means that we will be leaving King's Landing and the castle entirely in the Lannisters' hands while we are away."
"I had not thought about it that way", Sansa admitted. "I had not thought about that at all. But... surely that is the way it should be. The Hand of the King is sworn to serve and obey the king. He is always loyal to the king. … Is he not?"
"The last time that Tywin Lannister held sway over King's Landing was when Father took the throne from the Kingslayer. Lord Tywin's army had just sacked the city. They killed innocents, even the ones who did not fight them back, until Father stopped them."
"What? They did not stop their soldiers from doing sins? All of them? Even Lord Tyrion?"
Tywin Lannister, the Old Lion, was as feared and respected as he was, all knew, and Joffrey was a prick, and she had even seen him shooting the pigeons from the courtyard to her heart's ache and sorrow, but the little Lord Tyrion... No, she found that she could not see him acting in quite the same way. He was... different, somehow. He had tried to stop Joffrey from attacking Arya again at [Darry/[ ]]. He was always very courteous. Sansa did not think he had it in him to be a killer.
"Tyrion could not be a part of it. He is the Imp. He only drinks, and... He is kind, otherwise."
"Lord Tyrion did not order any killing, no", Robb agreed. "He was only a boy at the time. Twelve. As old as you are to be now."
"What?"
She could not believe it. That would mean that he was still no older than Father. Perhaps no older than Prince Viserys... That was strange. Perhaps it was his white hair, or the strangely articulated way in which he spoke and moved, but Sansa had always thought him to be simply a small but old little dwarf, peculiar and occasionally foul of mouth or gaze, and yet wise. Almost like a short little version of Grand Maester Pycelle perhaps, or Maester Luwin at Winterfell, but with sharper eyes, and a wittier tongue. She had giggled, and almost laughed at his quips several times, especially when he succeeded in annoying Joffrey with them. She found that irresistible to silen by.
"Don't tell anyone about this", Robb made her promise when she was done overcoming her strangeness of thought. "It is best that noone knew what Father has told me, or you and I both."
"I promise to not tell anyone", Sansa promised.
"Best that you do", Robb said. "'These walls may be ours now, but they still have ears.' Littlefinger told Father that once, after council. I still remember it."
"I can't believe that Littlefinger will meet with Uncle Brynden before we do", Sansa complained. "If Father had only chosen him to be his Hand, we would never had to worry about things like this."
"But he did not", Robb said. "Uncle Brynden is good at a lot of things, but he has never ruled, nor even sat down at a desk for longer than it takes to drink a mug of ale. I don't think he would like it."
"I would not like it either, but I would do it if the King asked it of me", she said.
Robb smiled at her.
"Go on. Let's get some dinner. We will be needing our forces if we are truly to travel tomorrow."
"I'm not going in the wheelhouse with Arya again", she said. "Never. She can ride. Or else I'm staying behind."
"I don't think she's too keen on it either", Robb said. "Meeting Eldyn and Steffon again."
"Steffon is no problem", she said. "It is Eldyn who is always mean to her."
"Love starts with fighting, and ends with marriage", Robb teased.
"Tyrion said something else", she confided. "An infatuation begins with an impression of the eye, as white as snow, and often ends with an infection of the heart, as black as blood."
"Are you sure that's all he said?", Robb was suspiciously questioning. "He has a foul mouth."
"That is all", she promised him. "Nothing else. It almost sounded... Well... Romantic..."
Now her brother laughed out loud, as he hunched/p[ ] her lightly in her back.
"Stop it!" She said, again, and again, as they headed down the stairs for the [small dinner hall/[ ]].
...
Dinner was a regular affair, as Arya told Father and them all of her new lessons with Syrio, and Sansa did her best to not listen. She sat next to Robb for once, and was glad for it, while Arya and Father were on the other side of the table. From time and time, Robb would shoot her a glance, or nudge at her with his elbows with a smile, and she would smile back at him. It seemed to make Arya slightly annoyed to see, while Father was staring off in his own thoughts, which was wonderful to see as well.
"Were you out with the wolves earlier?" Arya asked them, as the dessert of lemoncakes was served.
"Perhaps", Sansa mumbled.
"Haelda said that you were when I asked her", her sister said triumphantly. "She tells me everything."
No, she doesn't, Sansa thought. Only what she has to. She will abandon you before long if you keep doing that to her on account of your stupid dancing master.
Haelda herself was eating demurely, trying to not look up as they spoke of her from a few feet away. She was just outside the hearing range, but Sansa knew that she could hear them anyway.
"So good that you have such a loyal friend", she said coldly. "I only hope you don't hurt her."
"Why would I hurt her? She is my friend. Tell her, Haelda."
Haelda looked up, slightly terrified, as she tried to chew and answer at the same time.
"You don't need to answer to that, Haelda. My sister is being rude as always", Sansa said.
Robb nudged her in her arm, meaning for her to stop it before they truly began fighting. For once, she took his advice and steered the conversation to someting else entirely. Robb did not want for them to fight, she knew. And with Mother gone, only he could keep them from it. Sansa would do her best to keep the peace. Especially for Robb's sake. If she was truly truly good to her sister, even to stupid Arya, and if she continue with her prayers as well, then maybe Mother and Bran and Rickon would all return soon.
Father barely heard what Arya had said anyway, being off in his own thoughts still, with his grey eyes fixed on some stray raincloud or other behind them. He had barely said a word all dinner.
She hoped that he was thinking of Mother, but most like it was something dreary about reckoning charts. Or perhaps he thought about Lord Tywin... They would all be leaving on the morrow, and had still barely spoken of it.
...
At the hour of the bat, they found themselves once again by the stairway as Father spoke to Porkeyn Dustin, the lord castellan of the Red Keep. Robb gave Sansa a meaningful look. She knew what he meant by it.
"You can trust in me to have care over the castle as always, Your Grace", lord Porkeyn was saying with a serious look.
He was a strong, stout man, somewhat grown to portly during the last couple of years, with greyish brown muttonchops, short grey-brown hair and grey eyes like Father's.
"I trust in your judgement", the king said, to his lord castellan and one of his oldest bannermen and friends.
Lord Porkeyn and Lady Falinda Dustin, whom he had been married to up in the North even before Father became king, had seven children so far, out of eight in total, whereof one, [ ], had died of sickness when Sansa herself was four or five. The surviving Dustin siblings were Roderick, who was nineteen and serving among the royal household guard, Fanny, who was eighteen, tall, slender and beautiful, Jeyne at seventeen, Lysanna at a wise and soulful sixteen, Alys at fourteen, Maria at eleven, the same as Sansa for another fortnight or moon, and little Willam at five.
They lived in the wing-flight apartment of the northern tower, keeping an outlook over the gatehouse and courtyard below, and thus, for that, and for their slightly older age, Sansa did not see them for as much as she would like. But they would come to dinner at times, or else be seen about the castle in time and untimely moments, for the lack of sleep that they always seemed to have, as Lord Porkeyn was training all of his children to try and be as steadfast and ready at all hours of the dayne for whatever troubles may threaten the castle.
Yes, Sansa thought, when she saw Father and lord Porkeyn conversing in hushed tones; the Dustins would surely keep a lookout of the castle while they were away for some few days, just as they had when they had gone to Winterfell.
...
She and Robb stayed up in the library reading, for once, as Gerion and Quentyn went their separate ways to their bedchambers early to rest. They continued talking about the Lannisters, and then about the wolves, and then about Mother and Bran and Rickon. Robb said that they would be back soon. He had seen it in a dream. He promised her that it would not take long now. Grey Wind could feel it too, he said. His furry brothers wanted to meet their kin down south, and come with.
Sansa thought that she had dreamt something similar once, when she was thinking of Lady, and she told him so. [ ]
That night, as she went to bed, she dreamt again of Robb and the wolves, of her and Robb running along a field with Lady and Grey Wind, laughing, screaming in excitement, and then Mother and Bran and Rickon were suddenly with them, and their wolves as well. Summer and Shaggydog came running down the hills and pathways of the Kingsroad, with the Red Keep in their sight, and Joff screamed in terror as she saw the two giant direwolves adding themselves to the flock. Sansa smiled in her sleep. It would be a good day when that happened.
...
The next day they all made ready to embark on their journey south to Storm's End. It was not quite as big of an operation as it had been when they left for Winterfell. The journey would only take a good four or five days, perhaps, with them staying on for four days at Lord Robert and Lady Cressina, and then another three or four days back. The ride back usually took faster for some reason.
Sansa did not wish to go at all, but Robb convinced her that it would not be all that bad. He promised to spend more time with her and less with Gerion and Quent as well. When they had been on their way to Winterfell, he had felt so sorry for Quentyn on account of the cold that he had watched over him as if he were his brothe in truth. The warm, lush forests of the Kingswood should not be as troubling to the Dornish prince, they hoped, but they could not be entirely sure of course. The homely Quentyn was always finding his way to become sick one way or another.
…
As they began their journey, they rode on in the [ ]. The weather was cool enough, and even better, Arya was out riding half of the time with Father. Sansa and Robb did their best to converse with Haelda as well, while Sansa felt sorry once again for her, and promised to include her in her own party of ladies if Arya should continue to be so irresponsible with her commitments. Mother would not approve, she knew. She always told them, in her mind, if not in words, of their duties to entertain and [ ] with their friends and ladies-in-waiting, no matter how dreary or different from themselves they may be.
That blessed ability, the ability to make friends and uphold them to their best graces even when oneself was lacking in the spirits, was the mark of a true lady and queen, something that Arya would never understand, Sansa thought."