Chapter Text
The wind and rain return with a vengeance, forcing the waves nearby to ascend and crash mightily against the cliffs. They’re almost high enough to reach their tower. Sansa wonders if she would even mind if she gets swept into the tumult.
As the weather grows worse, so does Sansa’s mood. Never before has she felt such bone-deep weariness towards her current situation. Petyr plans to murder, and probably has already murdered, for the sake of his desire to rule a kingdom alongside her. She feels absolutely disgusted…and overwhelmingly guilty…for she feels as though she’s partly to blame for this. She longs to warn someone of his planned treachery, but she knows no one would heed the words of an unknown young woman such as herself. The only way she does know to stop Baelish from succeeding completely is to escape from his grasp, but where would she even go? Would anyone even help her? Or is the world as dangerous and cruel as Baelish claims it is (like he actually is)?
Sansa gets her answers in the surprising form of her handmaiden. On the fourth day of this never-ending tumultuous weather, with the sounds of booming thunder and pounding rain masking their footsteps against the flagstones, Shae ushers Sansa inside her modest servant’s quarters and bolts the door behind them. “You cannot tell anyone else in this tower about this,” her accented voice whispers harshly, her expression the most serious she’s ever seen. Though bewildered, Sansa nods her assent, and Shae retrieves a purse expertly hidden behind a loose stone in the wall. When Shae hands it to her, Sansa gasps at its contents.
“Shae…how did you...?” she trails off, her wide eyes fixed on the amount of silver stags and gold dragons she sees inside. It has to be a small fortune’s worth, at least. She cinches the purse and hands it back, fighting the urge to glance suspiciously around the room in search of possible eavesdroppers. Shae turns to put it back in its hiding place.
“I’ve been saving it, from working as your handmaiden and…my last job.” Sansa notices how Shae’s shoulders tense up slightly, but before she can ask what’s wrong, Shae whirls around to face Sansa once more and says, “There should be more than enough for us to get away and start a new life somewhere else.”
Sansa’s breath catches. “You would help me?”
“Yes.” Shae squares her shoulders, her brown eyes glittering fiercely. “No one should be forced to do something they don’t want to do.”
Blinking back grateful tears, Sansa rushes forward to hug her. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Shae.”
Returning the embrace, Shae only says, “You’re a survivor, Sansa. Never doubt that.”
With renewed hope lifting her spirits, Sansa tries to occupy her time by helping around at the tower. She starts by mending any clothing that needs patching up, first hers and Shae’s (for surely it will be needed for later), and then anyone else’s who is willing to leave their items of clothing with her. But since the tower has so few residents, Sansa is able to accomplish her task in no time at all.
Her next task will not be as simple, for it requires going to the tower’s caretaker Grisel and asking if she needs any assistance. And unlike the other members of Baelish’s household staff, the old woman has never warmed up to Sansa. But Sansa puts on a brave face anyways and approaches her one early morning.
“I have things quite handled, Lady Sansa.”
Sansa had expected this answer. But still, she deflates slightly. “Oh. Mayhap I could help Kella with her duties?” she ventures.
If Grisel bristled at Sansa’s first suggestion, she now looks completely offended at her other one. “His Grace left specific instructions for you not to venture outside, and do you want to catch your death being exposed to this weather?”
“Of course not, Grisel.”
Grisel’s dark, beady eyes peer up at her, and though she’s almost a head taller Sansa feels very small and insignificant under her gaze. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you and your handmaiden gallivanting about that day. And I know that you hid that fact from the king, what with Umfred’s poor attempt at delaying him. Be grateful that I didn’t tell him then…but know that I can always change my mind and write a letter.” And without even a good day, Grisel leaves Sansa gaping after her.
In a fit of sheer obstinacy (or is it merely madness?), Sansa dons a cloak and makes the trek to Kella’s cottage, anyways. The woman in question looks equally confused and concerned when she finds a drenched Sansa on her threshold.
“Lady Sansa?”
“I’m sorry to intrude, but I was wondering if you needed help with your duties, today?”
Kella eyes her warily before speaking. “I thank you for the offer, miliady, but I’ll be tending to the sheep today, and we can’t have you ill.”
It’s exactly what Grisel just told her, only Kella seems apologetic in saying so. Sansa wrings her hands. She’s still too upset to go back to the tower just yet. But she can’t just ask Kella if she can lounge about in her home while she is working! However, when she hears the chatter of a child or two coming from within, an idea quickly forms. “Mayhap I could look after your children while you tend the sheep?”
Her words are tinged with desperation and she’s sure Kella will quickly brush aside her offer, but a genuine look of gratitude crosses the other woman’s face. “Oh, that would be lovely, milady. That way I needn’t worry about any of ‘em drownin’ on their way to the kitchens.” And without further ado, she ushers Sansa inside.
Sansa spends a sennight going to Kella’s home to look after her youngest children while Kella and her oldest boys Finn and Josef work outside. The little ones don’t give Sansa any trouble. Jem prefers to sit by himself and play with his toy soldiers, and after one awe-filled look at Sansa’s hair, Sansa gets Millie to sit patiently while she styles the girl’s soft, wheat-colored hair into one that mimics her own. And when Kella and the boys return in the afternoon, Sansa makes her way back to the tower.
She doesn’t bother with hiding where she’s been from Grisel. After the first day at Kella’s, Sansa had confided in Shae about the other woman’s claim to write to Baelish. “She’s bluffing,” Shae had scoffed. “Have you seen any bird flying in this recently? Let alone a raven?” Sansa had agreed with her that it was an empty threat, but couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if the inclement weather improved.
She needn’t have worried on that front. “The winds are growing colder,” Umfred announces one morning. “Winter will soon be upon us.”
And he’s right. The very next day, the winds begin to blow ever fiercer, whistling through cracks in the stone walls and nipping at exposed skin. The pounding rain changes into sleet first, then snow. And the snow continues to fall…and fall…
Poor Bryen and Umfred are affected first; their old bones cannot handle the freezing temperatures outside, so they are forced indoors. Then Grisel sprains an ankle slipping on a patch of ice and becomes bedridden until it heals (and despite their mutual dislike of each other, Sansa prays that Grisel’s injury isn’t causing her too much pain). More logs are added to fireplaces in an effort to stave off the cold, and pathways are routinely shoveled out. There is an air of misery surrounding the place, permeating the walls and sinking onto the cold stone floor.
But not at Kella’s home. This is the first winter that all four of her children have experienced, and when the snowflakes finally taper off, they immediately set out to enjoy it. Sansa is enchanted as well. There is just something magical about the pristine white snowfall blanketing their surroundings and the peaceful stillness it has created. The weak winter sunlight makes the snow sparkle in some places, and out of the corner of her eye Sansa swears she can see the very air sparkle as well.
And there are so many fun activities to do with snow as well. Currently, Finn, Josef, and Jem are grabbing handfuls of the stuff and lobbing it at each other. Millie stays by Sansa’s side and together they make a snow castle. Sansa had built plenty of sand castles before when she was in the Westerlands, but never one made of snow. She decides quickly that she prefers it.
Just as they put the finishing touches on the turrets, Sansa spies a crow land not too far in front of them. It is the first bird she’s seen for weeks. It’s seemingly unbothered by the ruckus the boys are making, fluffing its black feathers and ambling around in the snow. It must need to rest its wings for a spell.
“A prince,” Millie’s voice startles her out of her observation. The young girl is gazing at their snow castle in contemplation. “It needs a prince,” she repeats.
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Every castle has a prince. Or princess,” the girl adds as an afterthought. “But this one should have a prince.”
“And what should the prince look like? Should he be fair haired like the ones in the songs?” Sansa asks teasingly.
Millie wrinkles her nose. “My brothers are all fair haired.”
Sansa laughs. “Fair point.” She looks over her shoulder. “Shae?”
Shae, who had decided to accompany Sansa this morning, looks downright miserable bundled up in many layers. She hasn’t been outside since the day Baelish visited, so she’s stubbornly taking her chance for fresh air now. “Hmm?”
“You’ve encountered more men than I have, right?”
“Yes…?” she answers, dark eyes peering at Sansa warily.
“What did the handsomest one look like?”
Shae purses her lips. “Attraction is all subjective. What I may find handsome in a man, you may not.”
“Oh…” Sansa rolls her eyes at the non-answer, and they land once more on the crow. She considers it, then turns toward Millie and says conspiratorially, “I think I know what kind of man I would find handsome.”
Millie leans forward eagerly. “Yes?”
“He would have dark hair…black like the feathers of a crow…and pale skin like snow.”
“And his eyes?”
“Hmm…” Sansa looks up in thought. “Gray eyes. Like an oncoming winter’s storm.”
Millie sighs dreamily. “He sounds perfect.”
“Your dream man sounds handsome, indeed,” Shae agrees. She had moved while Sansa was speaking, and settles herself in the snow next to her. “It’s a good thing that bird was over there to inspire you. And the snow. And the clouds above us,” she murmurs in Sansa’s ear.
Blushing, Sansa lightly shoves Shae’s shoulder. “Oh, hush.”
Shae giggles. “You have such a vivid imagination, my lady.”
They help Millie gather the snow to make her snow prince, but the sudden noises of cawing and of flapping wings have Sansa stop what she’s doing and look up. Her crow is flying away. She watches until it becomes a distant, dark speck in the sky, and she says a silent farewell to it. Did something startle it? she wonders. Sansa looks around, and her eyes land on some shrubbery about twenty paces away from where she is sitting. Through the snow laden branches, a pair of red eyes stares right back.
She gasps.
“My lady?” Shae asks, concerned.
Sansa blinks, and the red eyes have vanished.
“It…it’s nothing,” she says to reassure Shae…and herself. Shae had just said she has a vivid imagination. Mayhap it is getting to her.
Sansa should know better.
She sees those scarlet eyes again precisely two days later on her walk to Kella’s. In one moment, she is trudging along on the deserted shoveled pathway. In the next, she grinds to a halt as she finds the two red orbs right in front of her. And this time there is no shrubbery shielding the rest of the creature from her eyes.
When Sansa had first arrived at The Fingers, her only friend besides Shae had been one of Bryen’s old guard dogs. The poor thing could barely walk, was toothless, and had cloudy, unseeing eyes. She had called him Symeon, after Symeon Star-Eyes. Symeon had immediately latched onto her, and she to him. He had been a great comfort in a strange and gloomy place. When he had died barely a moon later, oh how Sansa had wept and wept…
The creature standing in front of her now is nothing like Symeon. Its long, thick fur is the exact same shade of white as the snow beneath their feet. Its snout appears to be much longer than Symeon’s, and instead of having floppy ears like him, this creature’s ears point straight up. And it is enormous; it must be close to the size of a pony, with its head reaching Sansa’s shoulders. Symeon had barely reached her hip.
She should be paralyzed with fear, and yet strangely…she is not. This…wolf…(for it must be a wolf to have a snout like that) has made no move to harm her even though it has had ample opportunity to do so. In fact, Sansa thinks it is just as curious of her as she is of it. In their regard of each other, they have become two frozen statues in the snow, the only sign of life between them being the occasional cloud of mist forming from their breaths.
The stillness is broken by the wolf; its ears twitch one way and then another and it sniffs the air…has it heard something? It turns away from Sansa, and as quickly and silently as it had appeared before her, it is gone.
“How was your day, my lady?”
Sansa pauses in between brush strokes and considers Shae’s query. I met a giant white wolf today, is her first thought. She desperately wants to tell her, but she suspects that Shae would think Sansa is trying to spin a tall tale. Instead, she replies, “I don’t think Kella needs my help anymore. She and her family are all staying indoors as much as possible to keep warm.”
“Will you be visiting Grisel’s sickbed and beg for something to do?”
Sansa laughs without amusement. “No. I’ll work on my embroidery…and take walks nearby if I need fresh air.” And see that wolf again, she adds to herself.
She sets the brush down on the vanity and turns in her seat to look at Shae, who is currently busy with the task of turning down her bedclothes. “And how was your day?” she asks. “Did you find out anything new?”
Shae has been discreetly asking around for any information about the nearby village: how many people live there, if it receives any travelers, anything that could be of use to their plan to escape. Shae finishes with the bedclothes and straightens, brushing aside a few locks of her curly, dark hair from her face. “We would need to hire a guide, and as you and I have both guessed, not many people leave or pass through this place.”
Sansa sighs. “And I’m sure there have been no newcomers recently.”
Shae bites her lip and shifts uncomfortably. Sansa notices. “What is it?” she asks, rising from her seat.
“There are currently three staying at the inn right now. They got lost in the storm, apparently,” Shae confesses. Seeing the questioning look on Sansa’s face, she plows on. “But they are men of the Night’s Watch. I thought it would be too risky…”
Sansa inwardly curses for getting her hopes up so quickly. Even a person far removed from outside society such as herself has heard of the Night’s Watch’s less than stellar reputation. She tells Shae despondently, “You’re right. They could be criminals or rapers. It is too much of a risk.”
“We can always try to go out on our own…” Shae offers, not sounding too thrilled at the suggestion.
Sansa isn’t thrilled, either. That option, in itself, is also a risk. They could get lost, caught in another storm, tracked, or all three. “Let’s wait a little while longer,” she decides. “We may get a surprise chance.” Sansa thinks of the wolf again, and adds softly, “Anything is possible.”
She can practically taste the promise of snow in the air. Sansa knows the signs now. With how low and dark the clouds appear, it’ll probably be a blizzard. She would need to find shelter when it happens, but not now. Sansa will not be deterred from her task. She reaches the spot in the path where she last saw the white wolf, and retrieves from within the folds of her cloak some dried meat she pilfered from the kitchens. She begins tearing the meat into chunks and tossing it on the ground before her. She forms a small trail, starting from just off the path and leading to a lone spindly tree. Satisfied with her work, she sits underneath the tree, and waits.
If asked, Sansa knows she couldn’t explain why she’s so determined to see the wolf again. Any other person would have counted their blessings that they got out of such an encounter with everything intact and not take another risk. So why can she not do the same? Is she just bored? Yearning to experience something like in the songs she still loves?
No. She thinks there is more to it than that. And when she sees those glowing red eyes again, she’ll know exactly what it is.
As if summoned by her thoughts, her white wolf appears. It’s found the food she’s laid out; its head is low to the ground to sniff out and gobble up its prize. Sansa observes it as it meanders her way, and she slowly rises to her feet as it reaches her.
This time, the wolf doesn’t stand apart from Sansa and regard her silently. It lopes right up into her personal space, almost like it is eagerly reuniting with an old friend.
“Hello,” she greets it, reaching out with her gloved hands to give the white-furred head a friendly rub. It sits on its haunches and closes its red eyes in pleasure.
Though it may not look like Symeon in any way, the wolf behaves extraordinarily like him. “You’re familiar with humans, aren’t you?” she asks, scratching it lightly behind its ears. In response, it shuffles closer to her, eager for more scratches. Sansa giggles and easily complies, scratching down the length of its neck. “Yes, yes, I believe I like you, too.”
When the wolf becomes satisfied with her scratching, it bends its head toward her torso and begins sniffing at the area eagerly. “I brought no more food, sorry.” It stops its sniffing immediately, and Sansa swears she hears it let out a disappointed huff.
“Well, you can’t eat it, but I did make this.” She reaches within the folds of her cloak again, this time bringing out a scrap of fabric: her newest embroidery project. Sansa hasn’t added any details yet, but she already has a clear outline of a wolf’s head. A specific wolf, to be exact. “It’s not finished yet, but it’s supposed to be you. How did I do?”
The wolf regards her work silently, as it seems to do in all things. Then, faster than she could blink, it snatches the cloth between its teeth and takes off running. “Hey, wait! You can’t take it! Come back!”
Sansa gives chase. When the wolf disappears into a dense section of cordgrass, she doesn’t even hesitate in going after it. The tall, dead grass is rough and unaccommodating; it keeps grabbing at her cloak and skirts and she can feel her skin getting pricked through the layers. At least the snow isn’t so deep here. Small mercies. In her struggles to keep up with the four-legged thief, Sansa doesn’t even notice the icy pinprick of a snowflake hitting her cheek. She doesn’t even know if she’s going in the right direction. She spots a line of trees not too far ahead, and decides to go in that direction, praying that she’s made the right choice.
Finally, Sansa wrenches herself free from the cordgrass. She is just able to catch sight of the white wolf’s tail as it enters the wood. Instead of feeling triumphant, all she feels is rising panic. In going through one obstacle, Sansa has walked unknowingly into another. She definitely notices the snow now, which is falling more steadily around her. And she has no idea where she is. Stupid, stupid, stupid! She looks around desperately, and recognizes nothing. She doesn’t even see her spindly tree she was sitting under. How far has she gone?
She has no other choice but to continue going after the wolf. Mayhap it can lead her back to the tower. It’s the least it could do, for taking something that belongs to her and leading her out here. She sets off once more.
The wolf is probably long gone by now, but Sansa easily finds the pawprints it left behind. The falling snow will soon cover the tracks if she doesn’t hurry, however. She continues walking a few minutes more.
She hears something. The low murmurings of a voice. A man’s voice. Sansa inwardly curses as she hides behind a tree. She forgot about the village. It must be close by. The man sounds like he is right on the other side of her hiding place. Staying as quiet as possible, she crouches low to the ground and peeks around the trunk.
She sees the white wolf sitting on its haunches and behaving extraordinarily like a trained dog. And standing in front of it is the man Sansa must have heard moments ago. The first impression Sansa has of him is dark. He’s dressed all in black: black boots, black trousers, black doublet, black cloak…in this forest blanketed in snow, he’s like an inkblot on white parchment. He must be one of the men of the Night’s Watch staying at the inn. Sansa almost lets out a gasp at the realization.
The man starts speaking again. “What have you got there, boy?” he asks the wolf, holding his gloved hand out. Sansa watches as the wolf relinquishes her embroidery with nary a protest. As he observes her work, Sansa observes him. His hair and beard are almost as dark as his attire, but not quite. He looks young, possibly only a few years older than herself, though it’s hard to be certain. His face is long and solemn-looking, but when he breaks out into a grin after looking at her embroidery Sansa’s breath catches a little. He’s handsome, she thinks.
“Did you make a friend and not tell me?” he jokes. And the wolf, the absolute traitor, twists his head around and settles his red eyed gaze directly on her.
The man sees her, too. They stare at each other, her in petrified terror, him in…hopeful disbelief? “Sansa?” he calls to her, stumbling a step forward.
She takes off running. She hears the man cry out in surprise, but she doesn’t stop...
Until she’s forced to. Sansa trips on something underneath the snow and goes sprawling. She hears the footfalls of the man running after her. He’s too close now. What did she trip on? A root? She digs around. No, it was a rock. She can use it as a weapon. She dislodges it from the ground, and waves it above her head just as he reaches her. “Stay back! You hear me?” she warns.
He’s as out of breath as she is. His dark curls are in disarray, and his pale cheeks are flushed from running. “Sansa…gods, it is you, isn’t it?”
She brandishes the rock higher. “How do you know my name? I don’t know you!”
He holds his arms up cautiously, trying to calm her. “My name is Jon. I’m your – I was there when you were born.” He looks around in disbelief. “Have you been here this entire time?!”
“No, I-I haven’t…” She trails off, unwilling to reveal anything more.
“Your family will be so relieved to know you’re all right.”
Sansa’s heart stops. “I have a family?” she whispers.
Relief crosses his features. He nods emphatically. “Yes. You have a mother, father, and siblings who love you and want you home.”
“They didn’t give me up?” Her voice sounds impossibly small. Baelish always told her…but why had she believed him? He’s a liar and a criminal, she knows that.
“No, sweet girl, you were taken. Right after you were born. They have been searching for you all these years.” He takes a chance and steps toward her. “Do you believe me?”
She absolutely shouldn’t. This man…Jon…is a complete stranger to her, and a black brother besides. But she remembers the white wolf, and her question of why she wanted to see him so badly. This could be her answer. In meeting the wolf again, he in turn leads her to this man. With that in mind, Sansa lowers the rock and lets it slip through her fingers. “I…yes. For some reason, I do.”
Jon smiles at her, but Sansa can do nothing but stare back. Her mind is rushing with so many questions. She doesn’t know where to begin. She can feel herself starting to shake, and she doesn’t know if it’s from the cold or from all the excitement she’s just experienced.
“Ghost, get back here!”
Ghost. It’s a fitting name, for such a quiet wolf. Sansa lets him approach her, and she gives him a scratch behind the ears. She’s no longer mad at him, she finds. “It’s alright. I umm…was actually chasing him.”
“You were? Why?”
“He stole a bit of my embroidery.” Ghost licks her cheek in apology.
Jon withdraws said object from his trouser pocket. “You mean this? I’m sorry about that.” He steps toward the pair, hands her the embroidery, pets Ghost, and says to him quietly, “Good boy.”
With the fabric now clutched in her hands, the questions she has finally burst free. “Where are they from? What are their names? And you said I have brothers and sisters?”
Jon doesn’t seem startled by her barrage, but he does look concerned when her teeth start chattering. “You’re shaking. Perhaps we should talk about this somewhere else.”
Sansa hesitates, but nods all the same. She trusts him. Like she does with Ghost.