Chapter Text
Time future (Side B)
A dream-within-a-dream, Sansa mused at how the gods had allowed for her to be overjoyed these past two weeks. Mother’s getting better as each day passed, with her spells being few in incidence that Grand Maester Aemon permitted her to enjoy a bit of sunshine without. And so, Sansa and Jon decided to push through their trip to the River Gate that has been cancelled a fortnight before. That day went as smoothly as possible, Sansa recalled. Mother endured the short trip from her palanquin with the Queen Rhaella accompanying her, Ser Barristan, Great Uncle Brynden, and a few other guards riding beside them. Sansa’s leading the party where she was riding with her dear brother Rhaegar, at her wish; she’d silently thanked the gods then that Rhaenys wasn’t present for she would have thrown a tantrum that her father’s favoring her again than his own daughter—but then, Rhaenys knew how to ride and if she were here, she’d likely to ride her own steed and won’t be sour at me at all. So Sansa focused her attention to that day’s affairs and to her nephew Jon, riding his own pony with such ease she wished she’d be taught to ride one of her own come her eight nameday. The smallfolk parted a way for them, each with their own blessings and courtesies on their lips. Ser Oswell rode beside Rhaegar, keeping an eye on each of them while answering a few gallantries with choice words and jests that served to please and goad their revelry even more. Their retainers were trailing at each side so that their party was flanked by guards and servants, much to the royal family’s safety. And no commotion even came after they reached the port. There was a small dais and canopy set up at the farthest end where few of the crown’s fleet were hoisted, Admiral Jon Oakenfist awaiting them at the side. Rhaegar ordered for their party to stop and arrange a meal for them all before they set out to the ships and try fishing. Sansa watched as maids and pages see to their work, transforming the dais fit to hold the nobles. After lunch, Jon had begged Rhaegar to give them leave to start fishing but her brother had reproved his son’s impatience, remarking that the sun’s still high up in the sky. The master-of-ships even added that since they’re using one of the swan ships, they’d be helpless if they’ve already been becalmed high in the afternoon, just at the start of their cruise. Best wait for favorable winds, my prince, Admiral Oakenfist advised.
So they passed the time learning how to play the cyvasse from watching Mother and Queen Rhaella went at it. She’d found the game too consuming with setting up tactics on every game’s pieces but Jon seemed allured to it, though, she noted with much amusement at how every pieces’ tasks and moves kept slipping off Jon’s memory, confusing one for the other, but her nephew’s stubborn to acknowledge it when she pointed it out again and again that he kept eyeing her suspiciously as if she already learned the game well before him and feigning ignorance only. And Jon’s not quite wrong in his judgment, not really, for she had watched Rhaenys and Egg, Viserys and Dany play the game although she did just that—watch without ever trying to bother how to truly play it despite the countless times she’d seen it—after rules of the game were drilled on to them, Queen Rhaella asked if she could watch a game from the prince and princess and when she noticed their hesitance, she’d said: as a favor and a leeway, I’d even allow counselors to you both, each of your own choosing. And so when Jon eagerly named Rhaegar as his counselor Sansa thought it fair. She named Great Uncle Brynden her counselor for his prowess in stratagem during the War of the Ninepenny Kings and hoped they’d at least get a chance against her dear brother’s brilliant mind.
As the game went on, however, it seemed that chances were in abundance on Sansa’s side. It started easily enough, with Jon and his father’s plot for a direct approach, testing Sansa and her Great Uncle’s battle formation before setting out their course of action next when her Great Uncle urged for her to sacrifice a catapult piece for one that utterly outranked it, Jon’s elephant piece, that Sansa in a murmur, dismayed to lose one valuable piece but Great Uncle answered that it’s only a small price to pay so reluctantly Sansa moved the piece for the taking. Jon looked confused at her choice of movement for a few beats until realization clearly dawned on his long face and he moved a much valuable piece, his dragon, to the farther end of his side of the board, which Sansa thought would not be a casualty given their course of action… until Sansa looked at the board long and hard and deduced what Great Uncle Brynden’s been scheming. The prince and princess both jumped when in chorus Rhaegar laughed openly and Great Uncle spewed curses into the summer air. This got everyone’s attention, and suddenly a crowd of knights and servants gathered about them, hard-pressed to watch the spectacle unfolding. Sansa supposed she’d mind the heat and how the humid air made her skin feel sticky but what she could not spare thinking was suffering an easy defeat before everyone’s eyes. And so she took Great Uncle Brynden’s suggestions to heart, testing them all in her head and keeping the ones she thought best and would knock Jon’s defenses hard. Not before long, Jon’s pieces were falling one by one, much to her nephew’s frustrations until something flashed in Jon’s eyes at one whisper from Rhaegar. Sansa became cautious of her next actions and Great Uncle advised that they’re likely feigning their moves but when most of her spearmen and crossbowmen were toppled off by Jon’s seemingly innocuous heavy horses, Sansa could not stop the wail from escaping her lips. Jon had the grace to look shamefaced at least but she answered that with a huff of her own, echoing Great Uncle’s words, a small price to pay, and everyone within hearing distance and understanding of the game hooted and cheered. That’s our princess! That’s Targaryen blood for you. What now Prince Jon?! Your move, your next move should be decisive my princess! Rhaegar ruminated that he only learned from his wife Princess Elia, whose Dornish blood were taken to cyvasse as much as Targaryen blood were taken to fiery tempers. Sansa knew her cheeks burned at the light jab, but she knew too that her brother meant no true harm for he was insulting himself as well, so instead her eyes sought Mother and she was watching her with bright eyes and such pride it made Sansa’s heart burst into boldness, so she set her chin down to scout the board for any potential plot, with a resolve she’d found greater than the one she mustered that day she decided to take up Viserys and Rhaenys' challenge of going alone to the Round Room. It was then that Great Uncle Brynden, with his warm smoky voice whispered into her ear: Should’ve told you this earlier. But my first rule of war, princess, is never give the enemy his wish. Sansa made note of that and thanked her Great Uncle dearly as she lined the mountain tiles and set her remaining trebuchets and catapults below it while hiding the king deep within three fortresses, guarding it with her three remaining spearmen. Jon drew back harshly, cocked his head to the side and Sansa knew that he was expecting her to retaliate after her outburst and not arrange a defense on the board. Rhaegar even moved from his chair to carefully examine it as Sansa hid a smile from slipping out, because in truth, she doesn’t know what she’s doing anymore, only safeguarding the king with the pieces left to her, but if they could feign their ploy so could she—only there was never a ploy to begin with. Great Uncle must have known the farce she’s playing for simply knowing her that the knight burst into loud guffaws that set the others around into a chorus of buzzes, examining moves to be and must be taken. This made Jon’s brow knit together and Sansa could see the hesitance in his fingers as he move his spearmen and light horses forward only to be removed from the board by her catapults and trebuchets. A direct attack, really, for that was all that she could afford. She’s long lost her elephants and horses both light and heavy, all of her crossbowmen, three of her spearmen, and two of her dragons, but if Jon intended to cross her side of the board, he must cross her mountain tiles and only dragon pieces have no movement penalty. And the Prince of Dragonstone couldn’t take the risk for each of her trebuchets and catapults could remove his three dragon pieces easily. And so she moved her one last remaining dragon over the five fortresses guarding Jon’s king at each of her turns, removing them on the board, while Jon’s turns only served him to lose his pieces one by one, as they cross her side of the board just to reach her king. I believe this game is done; your king is trapped, my prince. Death in three. And then, everyone’s applauding, commending Sansa for her efforts, acknowledging her Great Uncle’s influence and offering consolations to Prince Jon, who seemed to be in a daze, his grey eyes bright in the afternoon light and mouth hanged open in stupefaction.
After several beats, her nephew scrambled to stand at once and nodded his head to her in acknowledgement, a smile on his face. “Well played, my princess.”
“Only because you’re a fierce opponent, my prince,” she’d answered with a smile of her own, heart fluttering madly at her victory.
Jon opened his mouth seemingly to argue a point when they heard the master-of-ships stated to Rhaegar that they’re ready to sail, if command was given. She and Jon shared a look and both turned to the crown prince expectantly. Sansa’s brother was already on his feet, gesturing for them to go and they both got out of the canopy tent in an instant. And that day passed in a whirlwind of activity—Great Uncle and Jon both taught her how to fish using a hook and a line and even though the sea water drenched her gown of blue and silver with foamy Myrish lace and seed pearls, the one Princess Elia gifted her at her seventh nameday, decidedly one of her favorite gowns, she hadn’t cared much then. Mother’s been regaling them of stories about the Battle of the Six Kings due to Queen Rhaella’s prodding and Sansa’s so exultant that things seemed to return to the days of old (where chatters center on pleasant things, even mundane stuff and not settling on grim and halting ones) that she’d found fussing over a ruined gown more a chore. Ser Oswell complained of the heat several times that Great Uncle had to cuff his helmet in a good-natured reproach, only its distinctive design of bat-wings tangled with his gauntlets that Great Uncle had a hard time prying it off of him, and the two cursed in as polite a manner as they could with the royalty and a few nobility about them, and eventually failing, to everyone’s amusement. The Queen then asked for some refreshments and entertainment, a song from their princess to sooth their nerves and Sansa happily obliged; Rhaegar went to her with his harp at the ready, the way they had grown accustomed to whenever one from their family begged for a song, ever since the two of them presented a song to the King on his nameday feast when she’s just five but could recall poems and songs with ease; she had to whisper to him that she’ll sing the song The Mermaid’s Lament, the one handmaiden Shae taught her, and her brother nodded knowingly. After their display, Sansa spied several maids hiding their eyes, bright with tears, while the male servants and some knights shuffled and shifted seemingly burdened with something. The Queen and two of her ladies-in-waiting, the Lady Janna Tyrell and Lady Allyria Dayne, who accompanied their trip, took to clapping then, praises spilling from their mouths. Lady Janna even remarked that with her auburn hair and gown of blue silk that brought out the color of her eyes, she truly looked like a mermaid reborn, enchanting them with her voice. Lady Allyria even added that it’s the reason why the men in this ship are seemingly transfixed as if they’re impaled with oars up their…, and she wouldn’t say anymore after that, but everyone who heard her took to grinning and howling while shaking their heads. Sansa heard her Great Uncle commented something offhandedly to no one in particular but she noticed how it made Jon look so flustered and wouldn’t look at her again in the eye that she’d half a mind to ask Great Uncle to repeat his words. But then a shout came from one of the male servants that a large fish caught Jon’s bait, the one he’s tasked to guard while the prince was served with refreshments, and Jon hastily took off after it to help the lad haul his catch. The two of them successfully heaved the fish into their ship and Great Uncle, Mother and Rhaegar went to their side so Sansa joined them. Gods above, the prince caught a trout! A large one at that! Great Uncle Brynden remarked. Odd, Mother commented and when she asked why that was so, it was Great Uncle who explained that her lady mother’s observation was more on the fact of the fish’s coloring—silver with a broad reddish stripe from its gills to the tail—an odd thing for trout living in the ocean generally have vivid colors and patterns. Mayhaps, it’s meant to leave the ocean? Uncle Maester once told me that there’s a study in the Citadel about ocean trout that wander to freshwater come spawning time, that they change their colors for reasons unknown, her brother recounted. And because it was the crown prince who has spoken so, with such intelligence in his deep violet eyes, they seized his words as fact. And later, Sansa would remember vividly how petrified she had felt, looking at the poor fish flapping on the wooden boards gasping for air, how uncanny its resemblance to Mother’s House sigil except for the red stripe across its body that looked like an angry fatal wound.
#
“My, you look pensive today, princess. Almost as if Jon the Glum passed his misery unto you.”
“Please don’t call your brother that,” Sansa chastised Egg and placed her needlework on top of the trestle table next to the fireplace mantel. She and her nephew were currently sitting in front of the fireplace, the latter one lounging and lying down next to her, making the long velvet settle cramped with his lanky build. She then eyed Jon across the hall, who was moving about as taut as a bowstring, one would never guess he was practicing dance moves from Dorne. His sister Rhaenys (to Jon’s relief, Sansa would bet) led the dance. The youngest prince, sadly, has never taken to dancing as he has taken to playing the harp. “It’s only a few days that you came back and already you’ve named him names.”
Aegon Targaryen, her brother’s first-born son, laughed unapologetically, eyes fixed on the high arched windows along the south wall. “Oh, but I’ve named him names the first time I’ve met him, back at Dragonstone. With his grey eyes and long face and dark curls—he’s just Morose reborn! Jon the Sullen, Jon the Crestfallen, Jon the Dour, Jon the Dejected, Jon the—”
Sansa could not stop her eyes from rolling so she cut him off to keep him from being overheard, afraid that the music accompaniment from the minstrels for Jon and Rhaenys’ dance, as well as the heavy beat of the rain outside, not enough to drown their voices. “No, he isn’t.”
“You could not see it, truly?” Egg pressed, this time boring his eyes onto her as he looked up.
“He’s a bit timid and quiet most of the time—and well—”
Egg grinned in understanding. “I hear what you’re saying. Did you notice how Jon has father’s eyes?”
And when Sansa’s brows knit together, Rhaegar’s heir began to explain. “Not the color violet… but the deepness and lament in it. When I first saw him, looking every bit as his lady mother, I told myself that he’s a Stark through and through but when I looked hard enough, I see it. I see Father in him.”
“I can see it too… I think,” despite the need to defend her other nephew, the princess halfheartedly admitted. She has sometimes seen her brother’s ghost in Jon, in the way he slumped his shoulders in weariness, in the way he looked down to the side whenever he’s in doubt and in the way he’d gently look at her, trying to discern her thoughts.
“And yet you’re still torn,” Egg noted and shifted back his eyes to watch again the heavy rain pitter patter against the windowpanes of the hall. “I suppose it’s because they’re all smiles when they’re with you. And those are their truest smiles, mind you,” the prince paused for some time but then he shook his head and spoke once more. “But let’s get back to our first point of conversation and discuss why you’re feeling down.”
Sansa sighed and let her hands tangle with Egg’s fair hair. “I just worry about the rain, if it’ll keep raining hard this week just before my nameday and if it’ll keep Dany and Viserys from coming back just before the feast…”
“Oh, they’ve just been delayed. You needn’t worry much... else your face will stretch down and you’ll look as tart as Jon the—”
“Solemn? That’s much a better sounding title than the others.” It was Jon, popping behind the settle, catching them both unaware that Sansa yelped and Egg fell down to the carpet from her sudden movement. Rhaenys laughed as she plopped down next to her, imitating her brother’s former position on the settle, while earning snooping looks from the minstrels exiting the hall.
“We’re very sorry for interrupting your sewing circle, ladies,” the princess said, pointedly looking at Egg, black eyes shining with mischief. “But after quite a few dances and stepped-on toes, I’m finally convinced that Jon still has two left feet, so it isn’t much of a choice that I decided to stop the farce Jon’s playing and rather hear this talk of yours that’s proven to be quite the entertainment.”
Egg groaned and hissed at her sister. “You wonderful snitch.”
Jon, who was leaning still behind the settle propped his right hand under his chin, lower lip curled in a smirk. “Now, now, brother. It isn’t right to accuse a lady when you’ve no proof. I, on the other hand, happen to have two ears and a head on my shoulders to tell that someone’s been running off his mouth, deciding what’s the next best title for Jon after Prince of Dragonstone.”
Egg rolled on the floor, hands covering his face as he groaned long and hard. “I was trying to be subtle.”
“You need more effort in that, apparently.”
Sansa pressed her lips from breaking into a smile, let alone for a laugh to escape from her. Septa Mordane has always lectured about it being unladylike to do so in front of others but it was truly hard to stick at it whenever Egg and Rhaenys were around. And now, Jon even included among them—it seemed that his two eldest siblings had successfully planted a seed of devilry in him.
And then Egg stopped trashing at once, a sly smile forming on his lips as he peeled his hands away from his face so alike to Rhaegar. “I don’t suppose you’d agree on Jon the Brooder?”
Sansa turned to Jon whose face contorted into a thoughtful one, as if he’s considering his brother’s words. “Much too close to breeder, and I can’t have others thinking so. Besides, Jon the Solemn still has a better ring to it.”
Rhaenys and Egg answered that with a boisterous laugh and Sansa, convinced that the gods were playing with her, couldn’t stop herself from following their lead. Jon shared a smile with her, the one that looked shy and playful at the same time and made him look younger than his true age, that she didn’t mind acting improper then. That particular smile of Jon always had that odd calming effect, of making someone forget his offenses, the reason why Egg trailed another jest instead of apologizing for his transgression. And she supposed it’s how brothers of close age act—bruise each other’s ego and patch it all up with the help of the other. It was definitely different from Viserys and Rhaegar’s dealings where the former always had to do something challenging to prove himself to his older brother, who just about set high expectations for them all—Sansa couldn’t help but feel sorry now for Viserys and how she had missed his company albeit of late, his behavior towards her always felt like it’s bordering dismissal. She thought it has something to do with him reaching the age of ten and four, where he’s already considered a man grown while she’s still a child to his eyes. There were times the princess lamented being born late. If she’s close to Dany’s age, then her lord father might have granted her permission to leave court and travel with her siblings outside the capital. She might also have been given duties where she could take care of her lady mother and not be kept apart from her. And if she’s a maid grown then mayhaps… the dreams that haunt her so in the night, the ones that somehow left her feeling like cold steel was pressed on her skin, would lessen. Now that her thoughts shifted to Dany, she’d found that she’s sorely missing her as well—her warm embrace enveloping her after her nightmares where she’d come to her chambers and ask that she stay the rest of the night with her, how she’d brush her hair every night without fail after Mother’s disease began, how they’ve both traded letters with stories of their own-making to help her practice her handwriting—the heavy downpour’s what has kept Dany and Viserys both from coming back to the capital past the time they have indicated in their letters. And all of it made Dread boil in the pit of her stomach and before long Sansa could only hear bits and pieces of her nephews and niece’s chatter that when Jon grasped her hand, she jumped at the contact.
“What is it? You haven’t been paying attention…” Rhaenys asked softly, her coal eyes filled with curiosity.
Sansa made to answer but Jon cut her off. “Didn’t you tell me your lady mother asked me to stop by her chambers this afternoon?”
She bit her lower lip, she had forgotten about that, and now she wanted to bite her lip hard enough to draw blood for having done so, for her wits escaping her—just the day before, she was so excited to tell Jon about it for it meant that her and her lady mother’s efforts (that has been almost a fortnight in the making) would now see the light of day. “Indeed! Sorry it slipped my mind.”
She stood up and curtsied to Egg and Rhaenys who were now exchanging looks of concern. “I’m sorry, but Jon and I have to be somewhere else.”
“Will you join us both at supper, at least?” Egg asked.
“We’ll have to spend it at Mother’s I’m afraid,” Sansa answered him as she glanced down her feet.
Jon tugged at their joined hands and she allowed herself to be swept away by him, not before Rhaenys asked her to send their warmest regards to her lady mother. When they got out of the Queen’s Ballroom, the prince arranged their hands so that it looked like she was clinging to him as how any noble lad would escort any noble lady—she’d found comfort in her nephew’s manners at least. When Jon first came to court, he had quite a rough manner in him—in the way he spoke and did his curtsies, and when she’d asked him about it, he shyly confessed that he’s never truly been around people of high birth (I only have Mother, Ser Arthur, Father and Maester Cressen for lessons) that even though he knew his manners, he had a hard time applying them—Sansa’s seen to that, keeping true to her words to Rhaegar that she’d help her nephew with court rules. And in return, it helped her get to know the exiled dragon prince (courtiers’ words spoken in a hush), to finally put a face and a breathing living person to someone she’s only heard stories about and always been referred to as Prince Jon. When she first met him, it was quite a disappointment. He didn’t look like anything she’d pictured him to be: silver hair and violet eyes, but she’d found that it’s a comfort, a relief that Jon favored his lady mother’s features, for they were the same in that aspect and just by that Sansa felt a pull towards Jon, nothing like she’s had with any kin, not with Egg, Rhaenys, even Dany and Viserys (and it may be proven confusing since Rhaenys favored her lady mother’s Dornish features as well yet she’s never taken to Rhaenys as she did Jon). She spied Jon’s eyes. It was true indeed, Jon has Rhaegar’s eyes and maybe that pull has something to do with her brother’s intense and grave eyes. After Mother, she’d loved Rhaegar most of all—even more than her own lord father King Aerys II, for her brother was the one always paying attention to her and teaching her and never failing to take care of her notwithstanding his duties to the realm that Sansa thought sometimes that she’s stealing Rhaegar to be a father to his own children. Rhaenys has said so, and even though Egg who seemed to favor her more, and wouldn’t say anything unpleasant within her hearing, could see it reflected in his eyes whenever Rhaegar chose to teach her how to play the harp first or those times he had permitted for her to sleep with him in his chambers the first few moons that she was barred from visiting Mother’s sickbed. So she’d set to help her dear brother and his youngest son, the exiled dragon prince, return to court and be reunited with the rest of his kin; she would save someone like in the songs and when she told as much to Great Uncle Brynden, the knight stated: of course, oh of course! Princes always come for the princesses not the other way around,and something glinted in Great Uncle’s bright eyes as he narrated a plan, by which, had allowed Jon to step back into the capital.
As the prince led her to the gardens using the route with the archway stretching towards the pavilion, the one where Mother’s balcony was facing, he had scrubbed his neck thrice in a row. He had pursed his lips several times as they wander aimlessly, the rain trying its hardest to reach and lash at them. He had opened his mouth as well only to close them right after, and when Sansa saw his hand reaching for the back of his neck once more she blurted, a bit incensed, “Oh, out with it!”
Jon frowned a little as he looked at her. “Well… what’s wrong?”
Sansa looked up at the dark sky then. “I don’t know, really.”
“I’ve heard bit of your talk with Egg…” the prince pushed.
She bid her time. With Jon it’s easy to stop and think for herself, easy to spill out the truth just as it was easy to stay silent (Egg and Rhaenys could be unrelenting with their questioning and she’s thankful that Jon spirited her away from them then); he was always unassuming even if he wanted something from her, and this one shouldn’t concern him even for he wanted to hear about her burdens yet again.
“I kept saying to myself it’s because Dany and Viserys have been delayed… but somehow, there’s something deeper that’s causing me to fret. And that’s just it. I don’t know what it is, why it is so but it’s there…”
Sansa had expected for Jon to say something but he remained silent and instead pulled her to him, his thumbs circling about her hands, repeating that time when she’d confessed to him about her fear of dragons, how he had calmed her down by it.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“It isn’t your fault.”
“Still—”
“Oh Jon, it’s bad enough that I’m worrying, much more if the people around me start as well. It’ll pass… I hope so.”
Her nephew pursed his lips again and before Sansa could catch herself, her right hand shot up to brush his left cheek. The prince was clearly startled at the contact, his grey eyes widening. “There… wiped away some dour look about you.”
She disentangled from Jon’s hold and made to smooth her gown and when she looked back at him, the prince was smiling amusedly at her.
“Not you too,” he said, lips curled in a wry grin.
“I’d say it’s one of your charms,” she rebuked as she tucked her arms in front of her chest.
The prince gaped at that and Sansa almost broke into a giggle if not for the fact that if she did, Jon may have thought that she was making fun of him when she’s really telling the truth so she pressed her lips instead. Jon wouldn’t just be Jon without his earnest somber face, she’d come to appreciate.
“Come, it’s not proper for Mother to wait for us any longer.”
When they got to the chambers there were several handmaidens about that made Jon pause for a beat. He may have noticed that Mother’s solar wasn’t that crowded from his previous visits and this may have alarmed him in a perplexing way but of course he would have no way of telling how much surprise he was in. Sansa shared a secretive smile with Great Uncle Brynden (who has been let in on the plan) when Mother made a light note on Jon’s garb, how his clothing could undermine his princely stature, and Jon asking with a muddled voice it does, my lady? just as two of the handmaidens immediately locked their arms on each of Jon’s while the others pushed him forwards and whisked him inside Mother’s inner chambers. They heard several grunts from the prince just as the door was locked before them.
“Do you think that was done poorly…? I suppose it could have gone on much better,” Mother uttered, turning towards Sansa and Great Uncle Brynden with a concerned look on her eyes.
“It’s perfect,” Great Uncle answered her with a satisfied grin. “Poor prince didn’t know what hit him.”
“I don’t think Jon would hold a grudge against us. Not much at the very least,” was all Sansa could reply and Great Uncle laughed that warm smoky laugh of his and hauled her to his arms and walked to the door to Mother’s bedchambers and knocked on it.
“Is our prince ready to present his comely self before us?” Great Uncle Brynden boomed.
“Not yet!” two voices answered loudly. One decidedly was from handmaiden Shae, the other embarrassed and panicking voice, from Jon. Sansa may have felt pity for him then.
“Just asking!” the knight called back.
After a few of this exchange was made in a course of several long beats, Sansa heard the bolt of the door being turned and the door itself was being gently pushed aside that she tapped her fists on Great Uncle Bryden’s plated chest to snap his attention back at it. Great Uncle walked a few paces back as Jon emerged from the door with a face split into nervousness and bashfulness, one hand already at his nape scratching it while brooding. Sansa winced at the thought, dismaying at Egg’s words finding their way into her mind. Mother walked towards them from her chair opposite the door to join them in silently surveying Jon in the clothes the two of them had both worked hard for.
Eventually it was Jon who broke the silence with, “This… this is the true reason why Grand Maester Aemon examined me for health issues a fortnight ago, wasn’t it?”
“It was the only way we could get your measurements without you raising any questions,” Mother answered gently.
“And have you examined for your health! Really hitting two birds with one stone if you ask me,” the knight added.
Jon’s lips quirked a little upwards at Great Uncle’s statement.
“Do you like mine and Mother’s gift to you Jon?”
“Gift?” Jon looked at his new doublet and breeches in the color of both his houses, red and grey stitches on black, and seemingly seeing them for the first time. “I couldn’t possibly…”
“Oh you could, and you very well should take it my prince,” Mother inched closer to Jon and stood before him as she spoke, so stern and gentle that it left no room for any argument, “I’d have you know that the Princess Sansa and I, as well as a few handmaidens, labored over it and you wouldn’t leave our efforts to waste now, would you Prince Jon?”
Jon’s eyes bulged and his head shook sideways as he chanted, “No, no I wouldn’t, my lady.”
“Good. I hoped you liked the design on your doublet. It’s fashioned from one of Sansa’s gowns that I made for her, the one with the godswood pattern.”
“The godswood?” and this time Jon turned to her with a hazy look over his eyes.
“From the first time we met,” Sansa answered him. “I noticed how your eyes trailed after the pattern and recognizing it for what it is so I asked Mother if we could have it on your doublet as well. I did notice how most of your clothing don’t have any patterns on them and mayhaps it’s your personal choice…”
And Great Uncle Brynden may have sensed the uncertainty in her voice, the reason why he spoke after her, “But a godswood is a place of importance to Northeners and you’re half-Northerner. You keep to the old gods, the princess said. I think it’s a fine choice for a pattern. You also have a wolf stitched on the grounds of the godswood and a red dragon soaring above it, by our princess’ own design.”
“I have had Mother’s help!” Sansa protested.
“It was your own-making my dear. I helped you with the stitches, didn’t I?” Mother countered.
He may not like it; it may be silly on a boy’s clothing. Why did I ever think it was a good idea? Jon walked to her then; he was looking up at her for she was perched on her Great Uncle’s arms, his grey eyes weren’t clouded now but instead bright with elation. “The pattern’s perfect. It’s true that I loved it the first time I saw it on your gown. Nothing could have perfectly depicted my roots but your design. Thank you, princess.” The prince turned to Mother and to the handmaidens lurking at the door from the inner chamber and thanked them all. “I truly do love my new clothing; made by the hands of lovely maidens, I’m honored to wear such a fine piece.”
“Spoken well by a prince,” the knight nodded at Jon, his free hand ruffling Jon’s curls in fondness. And Jon’s smile only grew wider.
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Sansa awoke from someone tapping her right cheek and from the little noises being made at the foot of her bed. When she opened her eyes, she saw hooded figures that she taught one of her nightmares had come alive, only to realize a beat later that the figures were Dany and Rhaenys dressed in their black cloaks, hovering over her; huge smiles were plastered on their faces, their white teeth illuminated by the oil lamp that Rhaenys was holding above Dany’s shoulders.
“What is it? And be careful with that lamp please,” she’d said as she rose from her bed.
Sansa felt Rhaenys rolled her eyes in the dim light, and she’s certainly heard her puff of annoyance. “Honestly, you just woke up and already you’re being snooty.”
“Hush,” Dany interjected. “Don’t we all get testy when we just woke up? And I won’t have you two arguing, most especially not today.”
Rhaenys seemed to perk up at that and she mumbled an apology quickly just as she turned her back on them, walking towards the door. “Come then! Have you fetched Sansa’s cloak?” she’d asked Dany in a rush.
It was then that Sansa cut in after splashing water on her face from the small wash basin, Dany pouring water for her from the ewer next to it. “I don’t understand… where are we going?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” and Rhaenys smiled that infamous secretive smile of hers.
Dany’s lithe form moved to and fro in her bedchamber, familiar with the layout of her room she’d immediately found her cloak hanging on a series of hooks next to her vanity table. And just when she was about to put Sansa’s red cloak on her, she’d cursed and mumbled that the color’s too bright and easily noticeable.
“Don’t you have another?”
“The blue and black ones are in the wash… although I may have kept Mother’s old cloak in my trunk.”
“Not another red one… but if it’s in a deeper hue it might work. That’ll be the last option we’ll have. We can’t go back to mine and Rhaenys’ chambers, there’ll be guards patrolling the halls then,” her sister said.
“No… It’s grey, I think,” and Sansa pushed her feet towards one of her largest trunks and began rummaging for said cloak. Rhaenys began to stamp her foot in impatience as she begged Sansa to hurry. She had just pulled the grey cloak from the deepest part of the trunk when a voice from the solar broke in that made all three of them jumped from surprise.
“What’s keeping you lot? Break of dawn wouldn’t last that long!” It was Egg, popping his head inside her bedchamber.
“We’re just about to go out. And your voice’s too loud dimwit! Didn’t Jon tell you to practice your subtleness?” Rhaenys hissed back as she wrenched the door open for them to spill out.
Egg just grunted and snatched the oil lamp from her sister’s hand and proceeded to lead them outside. Dany meanwhile began to wrap Mother’s cloak on Sansa; the younger princess couldn’t help but whimper as it engulfed her whole frame. Her sister easily saw her plight and she could hear a laugh trying to wound its way out of her pretty thin lips but Dany always had better control of herself and so she only resorted to saying, “Of course it’d be big for you. I’ll just hold the ends of the cloak so you can walk. Now let’s hurry,” and she’d pushed Sansa out the door to follow Egg and Rhaenys.
There was a pattern as the four of them half-ran, half-walked the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, gone was the dim light that the oil lamp provided for them to better blend in with the walls and the dark—Egg would be the first to move, moving his head side to side until he deemed the way clear for them to pass through, then Rhaenys would occupy the previous spot where Egg had been moments ago as she stood on guard, always South of Dany and Sansa’s position, just in case someone walked in on them from the direction they’re coming from. All of it made Sansa’s heart tight with stirring, the thrill of what they’re doing just before the first light came, sent tingles on her toes and forearms. They’ve almost been caught by Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Jonothor Darry as they rounded the corner towards the passageway that would eventually lead to the exit of the holdfast, for the two knights were in deep conversation just beside the towering sculpture of their ancestor Maegor I when Egg stubbed his toe on a pool of cloth from one of the largest tapestries in the keep Sansa knew to be the one depicting Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives Rhaenys and Visenya on their dragons, overlooking Westeros. That was when a loud cat shriek startled the two knights into moving and muffled Egg’s expletives. That sounded like Princess Rhaenys’ cat, Ser Jonothor had said. Balerion, is it? But shouldn’t it be inside the princess’ chambers? I heard a few noises at the end of the hallway as well, Ser Jaime added. Best check it out, wouldn’t want to leave anything to chances—keep that in mind Jaime. And to that the young knight chuckled as he answered, I make my own chances, ser. Then the two walked away from their spot and rounded the corner at the end of its connecting hallway. Breath of relief could easily be heard from the four of them as they all approached the huge oaken door next to Maegor I’s statue; the door to the gallery where Sansa came to learn was the place for them to meet Jon and Viserys... only, they didn’t use the door and didn’t enter the gallery as she’d expected. Rhaenys began to crouch on the floor and seemed to be pulling something, a lever of some sort, that was hidden beneath the floor where the figure of Maegor I stood. Just then, a stone slab opposite the huge door of the gallery glided slowly upwards, revealing a secret passageway as well as Jon and Viserys’ hooded figures awaiting them.
“Come, come!” Sansa’s brother urged.
They all immediately piled in. Once the stone slab fell down, enclosing them, a dialogue broke out.
“By the gods, I thought we were done for!” Egg piped as he freed his head and hair off the hood of his cloak.
“That’s because you weren’t being subtle!” Rhaenys admonished.
“Right! Because we all agreed to have Ser Jaime and Ser Jonothor be at that place at the exact time—Not! Didn’t Uncle Vis here suggest Father to change the time of the knights’ rotations and the guards’ patrol for us to sneak successfully?”
At the mention of his name, Viserys turned to the two siblings, a sneer on his face at Egg’s incriminating tone. “I did. It’s why you lot managed to come that far from Sansa’s chambers without anyone noticing. It’s beyond my control if knights chose that place for an idle chat, however.”
“And we did ask you and Jon to stay at the squints so you’d know when we’re close,” Dany chimed.
“We did as you ask Dany,” Viserys rolled his eyes. “Else we wouldn’t be able to see Egg spectacularly fall flat on his face.”
“I did not!”
“You almost did if not for Rhaenys’ grasp on your cloak.”
“Speaking of which,” Rhaenys cut in, “I heard Balerion. Every one of us did… and he sounded like in pain.”
And to that Viserys laughed loudly just as Rhaenys glowered at him. “Oh, it’s not your Beloved Balerion. It’s my nephew over there,” and the prince pointed to Jon who turned his head away from them all, the oil lamp he was holding allowed them to see how his cheeks colored in embarrassment. “We were watching from the squints alright. And when Jon saw Egg start to lose his balance, he just uttered this very loud screech that threaten to bleed my ears dry, I’d thought it’s how he expresses his shock and concern, and then he made all kinds of noises to the wall as he walked along the right of this passageway and to just about the farthest end. That’s when I realized what the boy’s doing—he’d set Ser Jaime and Ser Jonothor away from you lot.”
“That was very clever of you Jon,” Sansa said, and it being her first time speaking since they entered the secret passageway, all five of them turned their heads to her as if on cue.
“Dearest sister,” Dany remarked with a wistful smile. “Seeing you swamped in that grey cloak that’s clearly too big for you it’s hard to say you’ve turned a year older…”
Sansa gasped as the thought struck her. “It’s today… oh, it’s today!”
All of them broke into wide smiles as they nodded at her.
“But let’s all go to the best part, please!” Egg exclaimed. Viserys then nodded at him as he gave out oil lamps for each of them to carry just as Rhaenys moved ahead to lead them away. Sansa heard Dany ask Jon, so you can do cat impersonations. I wonder what other animal sounds you can mimic? and when the prince only groaned, both Dany and Egg broke into laughter. Soon, all six of them fell into a deep enjoyable conversation as they navigate their way, about each Houses in Westeros, great and small, the animals portrayed in each of their coat of arms and an imagined scenario where instead of the horn’s usual booming sound that would announce one House’s arrival, it’d be replaced with the sound of that House’s animal sigil. It then turned to a game among them where each took turns into mentioning a House and imitating the sound of said House’s animal sigil. Viserys was reluctant to join at first but he relented at the end due to Sansa, Dany and Rhaenys' combined and insistent prodding. They were still at the height of their excitement over their invented game when Rhaenys called out, I see the door! and when she broke into a run, it was only a matter of time before all of them followed suit. Jon helped Egg carry the ends of Sansa’s cloak for her to be able to push her feet with more ease and by the time they got out, the first light has come. The secret passageway opened to a cliff overlooking the sea and the sight of it made Sansa’s eyes water in admiration. She’d spied a stairway made of stone protruded from their left; the princess knew then that the passageway was meant as an escape route for the royal family if the time ever came that they would be in need of it.
“Mother said it’s good luck if one woke up and saw the first light touch the edge of a body of water,” Rhaenys said with a beam. “Especially if it’s done on one’s nameday, so on my tenth nameday, she brought me here.”
“And ever since, we’ve done it as a tradition of sorts. Uncle Vis had done it when he turned ten-and-one, Dany when she’d turned ten as well, and the same goes for me. But we see no reason to delay it on you any longer,” Egg elaborated.
“This is…” overwhelmed and trying her hardest to swallow back a sniffle, Sansa could only finish with, “Wonderful—so sweet of you all…”
Dany then pounced on her and hugged her tightly and kissed both her cheeks as she greeted her a happy nameday. Rhaenys and Viserys did as well while the remaining princes took to placing kisses on her hands, the former three mocking their display of gallantry all the while. Egg just answered with a lopsided smile that if there’s anything Sansa loved best after lemon cakes, it’d be chivalry to which they had laughed about—Sansa included, harmless teasing was beyond her when she’s feeling elated—as if she’s a goblet being filled with such sensation.
And the goblet that she was felt full to the brim as the day wore on and her nameday feast began. Mother had personally seen to her bath and with the help of the handmaidens dressed her in a striking gown (in which Mother had presented to her as her nameday gift, one that she’d discussed with the royal family’s dressmaker, designed and stitched on her own, which made it all the more lovely in her eyes). It was a black satin dress, with a full skirt and full bell sleeves and a silver belt studded with little ruby stones. It also has silver trimmings embroidered with fire patterns in red threads on the hemline. Her Lord Father had even commented about its beauty when he came to fetch her in Mother’s solar to personally escort her to the Great Hall. Not even in the brink of maidenhood but my little princess’ blooming fast. And what an exquisite dress! It fits you perfectly, King Aerys said. My lady mother’s nameday gift for me, Your Grace, Sansa told him. Is it? Lady Catelyn’s sewing is a peerless talent in the realm it seems, but I think something’s amiss… and my nameday gift to you will solve that problem I’m sure, and the King had gestured for a servant to come forward and Sansa’s breath was stolen from her when she’d looked at a coronet placed on a small pillow—her small crown was made to fashion after the ninth king on the throne, Baelor I Targaryen, a band made of gemstones designed to look like flowers and vines. Oh, Your Grace! This is too much! and to that her Lord Father answered with, Nonsense. I gave coronets to your brothers and sister when they reached the age of eight, each fashioned after the very crowns of the rulers of this land, to replace the usual metal band of black and red for young princes and princesses of this house. I’d have you wear it today Sansa, your siblings will surely don their own in the feast. Sansa could only bow her head in curtsy as she agreed, As it please you, Your Grace.
The gifts kept on pouring after. As invited courtiers and the royal family with their close friends and kin enjoyed the dishes served in the feast—eight special ones in Sansa’s honor: baked salmons, stuffed capons with potatoes and chestnuts, suckling pigs with apples in their mouths, cooked boars with sweet and spicy sauce, beef soup with wine, carrots and spices, almond milk pie, toasted bread in wine sauce, and the cream of the crop, a lemon cake eight feet tall adorned with dragon figures made of sugar—one by one, people came to present their gifts to her. Queen Rhaella had started the demonstration, with both Viserys and Dany at each of her sides. She’d asked Ser Willem Darry, their master-of-arms, and his brother Robin Darry, their master-of-horse, to come forward; with them was a small young red steed gracefully trotting its way along the aisle towards the raised dais where most of the nobles were about. Sansa’s hands shot to her lips in an instant as it covered an exclamation threatening to burst out. A horse for me! she’d thought. The Queen then smiled, spying her reaction, and spoke: it is indeed for you our dear princess. Viserys and Dany both told me that you’ve always asked to learn how to ride a horse. And I’d say it’s high time you properly learn horse-riding, what better way to start than to have your own, riding it in practice? So when the Princess Elia went to Dorne for Prince’s Doran’s nameday feast I’d asked her to bring back their famous ‘sand steed’. Is it to your liking? The princess nodded eagerly while looking at the young steed’s long neck and narrow beautiful head, very much so Your Grace. Thank you for this wonderful gift. Queen Rhaella asked Sansa some more, what will you name her then? The princess did not miss a beat as she answered I’d name her Dame, and everyone tittered at hearing her so, much more when Great Uncle Brynden shouted from his seat, A fine name if I ever heard one!
The next one to present a gift was the Crown Princess Elia, her children Egg and Rhaenys standing beside her as well, their hands tied to their back. Rhaegar’s fair wife presented a chest full of hair ornaments, much like what Rhaenys has on her vanity table—it consisted of one jeweled hairnet, a beaded circlet that looked to drape across her brow and a chained pearl headband. They’re lovely, Your Grace and I thank you for it, Sansa murmured as she clasped the crown princess’ hands in hers. No more lovely than to see your pretty face being delighted by them, Princess Elia returned in kind as she swooped down to kiss Sansa’s cheeks. It was then that Rhaenys and Egg stepped forwards and revealed what they seemed to be hiding from her: two potted plants. And this time, Sansa couldn’t stop the sound of happiness from escaping her lips, please tell me it’s what I think it is! Both siblings laughed and Rhaenys pushed the one potted plant she’s holding to Sansa’s hands as she responded, it is what you think it is. The princess hugged the plant to herself then, murmuring my own lemon tree! Princess Elia interjected that it would be apt to call it a lemon yard since they’ve brought dozens of lemon saplings to be planted on the plains of Rosby so that they could grow their own lemons, albeit a small one compared to Dorne, in the Crownlands. Afterward, Sansa went back to the dais for her and Mother to look at the gifts she’d received. There was a new picture book about Riverrun from Great Uncle Brynden (made by one of her favorite artists that Sansa knew her Great Uncle had commissioned into making), a book of songs from Grand Maester Aemon (that he’d promised she’d never read before), an attractive gown of silver with blue Myrish lace, with a red belt studded with sapphires Uncle Edmure had sent from Riverrun together with a gorgeous doll set (of knights and maidens) from her Lord Grandfather Hoster, and just when Sansa made note that she hasn’t yet received Rhaegar’s gift nor Jon’s a murmur of excitement echoed along the Great Hall. Musicians and their instruments were brought in, and trailing after them were Rhaegar and Jon, holding their own harps and conversing with the entertainers as if they were part of the band. When the minstrels had settled themselves in a curved line just before the attendees of the feast and the raised dais where most nobility were about, Rhaegar and Jon moved a few steps forward from the group and started to address the court.
“My lords and ladies, I’m standing here before you all, just as my youngest son Jon does, in order to pay homage to the fair celebrant of this day. We’re here to present her a song, only a humble gift compared to others (and to that a lot snickered and chortled), in the hopes that she’d give us her favor, from this day onwards.”
Father and son both curtsied and the room fell silent at once as they held the harp to the right of their shoulder and began to play, the musicians at their back following suit, and Rhaegar’s harmonious voice instantly filled the hall as he sang:
Off to Crownlands to see the fair maid, heigh-ho, heigh-ho.
I’ll ask a sweet kiss in exchange for cakes, heigh-ho, heigh-ho.
I’ll make her my love and swear she’s obeyed, heigh-ho, heigh-ho.
Off to Crownlands to guard the fair maid, heigh-ho, heigh-ho.
No horrors shall come to her at the point of my blade, heigh-ho, heigh-ho.
Just her laugh or a smile and the debt’s overpaid, heigh-ho, heigh-ho.
Oh, just her laugh, her smile, and I knew I’m unmade.
The spectators took to ecstatic clapping and praising, and when Rhaegar and Jon walked towards Sansa and knelt in front of her, she’d squeaked and stood immediately at Mother’s directions. “You may rise, good sers,” she’d said, heart impossibly full of rapture, “And with such a lovely performance, a favor from me from this day onwards shall be bestowed on you both.”
The rest of the court stood and clapped harder as they showed deep admiration of the two royals’ display. Later, when the dancing arose and Sansa had danced to every man and woman possible who was present in the banquet, Egg would push her to Jon’s arms. They would dance for quite a while as the princess questioned him about the song, to which he’d readily admit it was an alternate version of an old song, that he helped Rhaegar in composing the lyrics just as they’d done weeks ago, that he’d hoped Sansa will treasure it forever, and the princess may have noticed how Jon appeared to be quite tipsy judging by his hooded eyes, the number of times he’d stepped on her toes (that he doesn’t even try not to step on them anymore) and babbling mouth, but she’d found it funny and didn’t mind the soreness in her toes the least bit. She’s happy and everyone she held dear in heart should be happy as well so she’d continued talking with him, and much much later she would describe to Jon how unbearably happy she’s feeling, like in the songs and stories, only this is much much much better because it’s real.
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Time past (Bonus Track 1)
“Lysa!” she shouted as she ran after her sister, passing the practice yard and the stables while servants and knights around looked on, words of cheer and concern slipping from their mouths as they headed outside the keep. Granted it was unladylike to do so, but her sister has Ned’s recently arrived letters and she needed to get to her fast before she completely break off the seal and read its contents before her.
She eventually caught up with Lysa who was panting hard and slumping on a heart tree, face red and hair disheveled. Catelyn Tully knew she mirrored her sister’s current state but it was the last thing on her mind as her eyes swept Lysa’s form to find her hands where she’s grasping Ned’s letters; she immediately snatched them back seeing the fight leaving Lysa’s body and went on to say, “What did the gods do to your wits to have done this?”
“Relax, sister,” Lysa responded placating her, “I was at the sept when Maester Vyman chanced upon me and ordered for me to deliver these letters to you. He couldn’t seem to find you—and I, well—”
“You got curious.”
“Yes.”
“And when I caught you in the act, you resorted to running away.”
“Yes, that too! But anyone would’ve run from you when you’re glowering like that,” and Lysa pouted as she plopped down on the grass. “Will you read the letters now?”
Catelyn could only sigh as she sat next to her sister and began to read the one that seemed to be the shorter of the two letters and whose seal has already been dropped along the way by Lysa’s tight clasp.
To Cat of House Tully,
After reading that four-page letter Ned wrote (don’t ask how, the seal’s not broken is it?) I feel it only a waste of good ink. But a lady of your intellect, I’m sure you’ve already deduced what Ned’s really talking about. And so congratulations are in order.
You’re part of the select few who can make Ned so miserable and happy (I’ve half a mind he’d soar the sky by falling from the Moon Door) at the same time and for that, you’ll always have my respect.
I love Ned as a true brother and soon you’ll be the sister I’ve always hoped for.
Signed,
Robert of House Baratheon
For a few beats, Catelyn’s mind seemed to spin until Lysa noticed something from her and shook her out of it.
“Cat? Cat, what’s wrong?”
Catelyn ignored her sister’s questions as she set Robert’s letter aside and began to read Ned’s letter in haste. He’d asked about her and the happenings in her lands after his last letter, and that he has a news to share: Jon Arryn officially adopted him as part of his House after gaining permission from Lord Rickard and had declared him his heir, he also expressed his wishes to come to the tourney at Harrenhal and Ned had thanked her for bringing the news to him for he and his siblings had arranged to meet at the said event. It has been a long time since he last saw them, most especially Lyanna and Benjen and he sorely missed their company, he wanted to personally share them the news of his adoption and mayhaps something about a feast if the gods were willing. He said he’ll come in a few moons to have a talk with Lord Hoster, said he’ll come for her.
“Cat! Is there something wrong?” Lysa nagged.
“There isn’t,” Catelyn replied as a huge smile threatened to break her face. By the gods, nothing’s wrong and nothing will ever be wrong from this. “With the Vale as his offer, Ned’s going to ask Father for my hand.”
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