Chapter Text
Chapter 6
Sansa didn’t have her favourite set of coloured fountain pens with her, so she had to make-do with her on-the-go set, which contained ink rollerball pens with prints of various breeds of dogs on the cap. Her favourite was the dark grey pen with huskies on the lid, and the light blue that was represented by corgis. Hopefully Sandor wouldn’t pick either of those to represent himself, for they had always been Sansa’s colours. There were other nice colours and canines to be had.
She untied her leather bound notebook and turned to a clean, crisp page in the middle. Pressing down with both hands to make the pages splay more naturally, she looked up at Sandor and said, ‘Do you have any plans of action to mind?’
It’s best to let others voice their opinions first, Mother had always been fond of saying, as it’s only polite. Just make sure that you are the one gently steering them to the correct conclusion.
To her detriment, she hadn’t heeded that advice with Joffrey; she’d let Joffrey speak first and do the steering.
Now, she turned the cap on the husky pen round and round, and waited for Sandor’s response.
Instead of sharing his plans with her, he barked a laugh and said, ‘How many of those bloody colouring pens do you have?’
‘They’re not colouring pens! They’re rollerball pens, and I’ve got eleven,’ she said. They fit perfectly in the silver tin she used to carry them in. ‘There’s a pen for every colour in the rainbow, and then there’s pink, a goldish brown, a dark silvery grey, and one in black.’
‘You were going to draw a timetable with those, were you?’
‘Yes,’ she said, picking up the metal ruler which also lived in her tin, along with a silver mechanical pencil that held a nice weight in her hands. She used the pencil now to draw the outlines of the table on the creamy paper of her notebook. Oh, she did love her stationary! She’d never even told Jeyne, but the first happy love song she’d sold wasn’t actually about Joffrey at all; it was an ode to her favourite fountain pen.
She was penning in the days of the week when she realised anew that Sandor had shared no opinions with which to do the steering. Taking a dainty bite out of her raspberry waffles and clearing her throat, she said, ‘Are you sure you don’t have any plans to share?’
‘I’ve lived my whole life planning for what I should do when I find myself engaged overnight to a pretty little bird with eleven coloured pens,’ said Sandor. ‘Written a whole book of plans for it, I have. It’s going to take days to go through it all. Hells, where do I even start?’ Was he making fun of her? Or was he making fun of their situation? Because it was all a little ridiculous. But still, they must make the best of it. She always made the best of things. It was all you could do sometimes. ‘Guess you’ve got plans,’ he said. ‘You’ve got a notebook. People with notebooks are good at plans.’
‘I was thinking…’ she said. Her heart hammered away. How long had it been since she’d spoken these words about anything other than her music? When she was young, she’d always gone along with whatever Mother had suggested; her needs and wants had shrivelled in the face of Robb’s. And later, their nanny, Mordane, had always praised her for being far less wilful than Arya. Such an easy child. What a perfect little lady. And after that… Well. ‘I was thinking,’ she said, ‘since we are engaged, but not really, maybe we can limit the number of nights I stay over to twice a week? But we can always eat dinner together after we pick up Nori. Perhaps? If you’d like? I’m no good in the kitchen though. I mean… I can make pasta, and I make jacket potato in a microwave… But I’m guessing you can make food? The food at Nori’s birthday party was lovely. And in return, I thought… I can do the food shopping? If you’ve got a menu planned, then we can write it into this table and I can get the groceries?’
She was spinning her husky pen cap so fast now that it accidentally popped off and fell on top of her lemon cake. She snatched it away as quickly as she could, hoping that Sandor hadn’t noticed, only to brush her arm full of the sauce on top of her eggs benedict. Oh gods. Why had she ordered so much? It hardly all fit on the table with her notebook and pens. Sansa bit her bottom lip and hoped that he’d not see too many problems with the first part of her plan.
‘About the groceries,’ he said. ‘The budget…’
‘Oh!’ The budget? The budget had been the least of her worries. She budgeted, of course, for the bigger purchases in life, such as her flat, but she’d never considered budgeting for food – unless you were to have caviar smothered in truffle and saffron on a daily basis. Father had always said that wealth didn’t come from saving on food, for you needed to eat well to keep yourself healthy; true wealth came from earning and investing wisely.
Speaking of which, she still needed to work that meeting with the Mormonts into her schedule; the Bear Island Hot Springs Resort sounded like a promising investment opportunity. And there’d been talk that Manderly’s was planning a southern invasion; the first of her father’s old friend, Wyman’s coffee chain had opened just under a year ago right outside the Red Keep, and now they were talking about opening another three in King’s Landing. They’d also redesigned their logo so that the green merman looked even more zoomed in than before. Now you could hardly see the fish tail, and it was all face and beard.
‘I’m the one asking for room and board,’ said Sansa. ‘Just leave the groceries with me.’
Sandor opened his mouth, as if to protest, but instead shook his head and took a bite of his bacon instead.
‘You know I’d have refused if it were just me?’ His voice rumbled so soft and low that she hardly caught his words. And for a moment, that she hoped he wouldn’t catch, she froze. She should have been more careful. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that there were still two strangers dancing around each other, tugging at the armours that they’d built around themselves.
Hadn’t she felt far less than pleased when Joffrey had made himself her only source of income. Not that he’d ever lacked for money. This was different though. Wasn’t it? And hadn’t there been something else when she’d finally filled her own back account with the money from her first song? Something other than relief, other than freedom? Pride. Yes. That’d been what had made it so much better than anything else.
She didn’t know what to say to make things better, so she said, ‘There was a good school near Winterfell, where I come from, so my Mother sent all of us there. When I was twelve, several girls in my class found out about my family. My parents are… well, I guess you can guess. They’re pretty well-off. So those girls started saying how I should buy them lunch, and at first I didn’t really mind, because I liked making people happy, but then… Lunch became more things. Clothes they’d seen me wear, that they thought suited them better. Then jewellery. In the end, I stopped buying lunch for people, and… the groceries… I know you’re not… And… What I’m trying to say is… yes, I eat out a lot, even when it’s just me, but it’s honestly been so long since I’ve eaten anything other than a microwaved meal at home. So please let me get the groceries, as long as you don’t mind feeding an extra mouth. I’ll help with the tiding up as well!’ Actually, she’d meant to suggest her cleaner, but scrapped that off her list. ‘And we’ll just stick at it long enough for it all to blow over.’
The unburnt corner of his mouth twitched. ‘Until it all blows over then.’
She nodded. For that, she’d thought of a part two to her plans. But she allowed themselves a few quiet moments, filling in her timetable with mac and cheese and one-pot chicken stews. He picked the yellowish gold to with Malinois dogs on the cap represent him, and she lined the boxes around the days of the week she’d spend with him.
She drew up her shopping list for the day too. In fact, she was doodling a cow jumping over the moon when she muttered a line from the second part of her plan.
‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘not necessarily now… But one day, if you’re happy for me to, I can put Nori to bed and house sit for you some time, so you can have some evenings off?’
Her parents, as much as they loved them all, had appreciated those evenings. Date nights, they’d call them. And Sandor would need them too, to find someone real who’d one day replace her.
For a moment, there was a spark in his eyes, but it disappeared all too soon. She wanted to see it again. What was it? Hope? Hope that he’d soon be rid of her?
‘That would…’ he said. ‘Let’s talk about that some other time.’
Yes. They’d have to. It was nearing nine thirty, and she had to change out of her dress to make her next appointment.
Hot Pie scurried over, bill in hand.
‘Can we try to summon Arya for next time?’ said Hot Pie, as she tucked a few notes in the brown fake leather case that contained the bill.
That really would take a miracle. Her sister was currently undergoing intense training in the sabre water dancing category for the Oakenseats coming up in four months’ time. She’d phoned Arya three days ago, only to be greeted with a wobbly video phone image of Arya doing lunges and squats.
‘If it’s urgent, tell me before my legs die!’ Arya had said. ‘If not then let me die in peace.’
‘We can always try,’ Sansa said to Hot Pie in the present. Sharna gathered round too, and Sansa placed her phone in the middle of the table.
‘Mmmmmrnnn.’ Hot Pie groaned and waved his hands over the phone, as if trying to gain control of a spirit from a Ouija board.
‘Mmmmmrnnn.’ Sharna joined in.
‘Mrnnn,’ said Sharna’s husband, Husband, half-heartedly from somewhere behind the counter.
‘Come on Husband, you can do better than that,’ said Sharna.
‘Mmmmmrnnn.’ Husband tried anew.
Sansa’s phone buzzed.
Incoming call: Arya
‘Oh m gods!’ said Hot Pie. ‘I’ve gained a new skill!’
Sansa snatched up her phone. ‘Arya?’
‘Sansa! My favourite sister!’
And the only sister. They only used that line to each other when they wanted something.
‘What do you want?’ said Sansa.
‘Don’t tell Mother. She’ll go ballistic.’
That didn’t sound promising. ‘Did you injure yourself or something?’
‘Not quite… I… Um… I don’t have a coach anymore.’
‘What happened to Jaqen H'ghar?’
‘I fired him.’
‘…’
‘Just now. It was… His teaching was getting a bit too mystical. A bit too like a cult. He wanted me to throw away Needle, because it’s not a real sabre!’ Ah. Of course it was about Needle. As inappropriate as a real Valyrian steel sword was as a present for a young girl, no matter how small the sword, Jon’s present had always been Arya’s most prized possession. In fact, it was Needle that had first ignited Arya’s passion for water dancing. ‘It’s apparently supposed to make me commit one hundred percent to the sabre. I had to leave. I’m about to get on a plane now. Can I come and stay at your flat for a while?’
‘You hate my flat.’
‘So do you. As any sane person would. But the beds are pretty comfy. Can I please come and–’
‘You know you can. What time do you get here?’
‘Oh my gods! Arya’s coming!’ squeaked Hot Pie.
‘Is that Hot Pie in the background?’ said Arya.
‘Yes, I’m having breakfast at the Red F–’
‘Traitor! Hot Pie, ready your cheesy loafs. I’m coming to get them,’ shouted Arya. ‘Oops, the girl at the check-in counter is giving me a dirty look. I’ll see you later.’
‘What time?’ Sansa asked again.
‘Flight lands at two, so three?’
Three was school-run time. She couldn’t let Nori and Sweetrobin down. Fumbling for a solution, she said, ‘Can you come and meet me in front of a school instead?’
*
By the time she’d made her way to the yoga studio in her dark blue leggings that depicted the night sky and her light blue vest top, an outfit she’d put together for her visit to her new gym seemingly a lifetime ago, Sansa was praying to the Maiden and the Mother that fertility yoga would not only help her befriend Walda Frey, but also help her relax, help her quieten her mind from this morning’s unexpected news. Surely fertility yoga couldn’t be all that different to normal yoga? Just with a little more emphasis on hip opening, perhaps.
She took a deep breath and strode through the door, plastering a warm smile on her face.
‘Hello!’ she said, and winced at how cheerful she’d made her voice sound.
‘Hello, you must be Sansa?’ The woman who’d spoken had her luscious black hair tied in a messy ponytail, and had a handsome, striking face. Except Sansa was too stricken by the studio to take another look.
There were pink, lacy drapes lining the side walls, with a series of gold and blush beads trailing down the wall featuring the full-length mirrors. Which was still well enough. Except at the far end of the room, behind the woman who’d spoken, was a huge painting of a naked female figure in a pose that made Sansa blush. She’d seen the figure on coins Arya had brought back from across the Narrow Sea. It was some sort of a Lysene love goddess.
And worse, the walls behind the lacy drapes were covered with her in various poses.
It was a squeaky ‘hello’ that snapped her out of her reverie. She spun around and stared into the face of Walda Frey.
Walda was even larger than her photo on Facelessbook had suggested, and had an infectious smile that made Sansa want to give her a hug. She was dressed head to toe in pink, which brought out the pink in her cheeks, and had a red ribbon sticking out of her wispy straw-blonde hair. Sansa tried to keep her eyes on Walda’s face, for Walda’s pink t-shirt was printed with an image of the Lysene love goddess. Walda hadn’t worn that out on the streets of King’s Landing, had she? Once again, she sent a prayer to the Maiden and the Mother, this time begging them not to let the t-shirt be the yoga studio’s uniform.
‘Hi,’ Sansa said with a little wave, then realised that Walda had been greeting the black-haired lady, who was most likely the teacher, who had, in fact, spoken to her, but she had yet to reply. Turning back to the teacher, she said, ‘Hi, I’m Sansa.’
Hadn’t the lady asked if she was Sansa? Oh gods, she used to make conversation so easily. The years she’d spent with Joffrey, forbidden to make new friends and cut off from her old ones, had not done wonders for her conversational skills.
The lady didn’t mind, and simply smiled at her. ‘Ellaria. I teach this class. We spoke on the phone. I have given birth to four daughters.’
‘And I’m trying to bear by darling Roose a child as soon as possible!’ Walda squeaked. ‘Oooh, such a lovely ring you have there. It’s beautiful! How many children are you planning to have with your fiancé?’
‘We’re… trying to take things one step at a time,’ said Sansa.
‘Well, this is a very good first step,’ said Ellaria. ‘Now that both you and Walda are here, let’s get started.’
Wait. Wasn’t there only one space available? ‘Where’s everyone else?’ said Sansa.
Ellaria shrugged. ‘If you have friends who want to be fertile, bring them. There’s always a space available.’
‘Until there’s not!’ said Walda.
‘Exactly.’
And before Sansa could speak another word, Ellaria had pressed play, and the music that now drifted out of two speakers fixed to the top of the wall contained enough moaning to put that White Walker’s song intro to shame.
Sansa rolled out her yoga mat and drew in a deep breath.
Oh gods.
She’d rather be flayed alive than have Arya find out about this.