Challenge 15: Big Bang
Title: The Depths Below
Word Count: 5447
Rating: T
Original/Fandom: Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire
Pairings (if any): Stannis Baratheon/Sansa Stark
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/etc): none
Summary: After Lord Stannis saves her from drowning, Sansa can't help but view him as a most gallant knight.
Panicked voices echoed around her, and something warm and rough was moving against her cheek. Lady, Sansa thought blearily. Her direwolf was licking her cheek. Not an unusual occurrence, although it usually happened in bed chamber not in areas where she was surrounded by people. The voices were getting clearer as were the tones of panic and worry in all of them. One stood out above all the others, the deep voice of a man saying, “Lady Sansa.” The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it, and a hand was on her shoulder, shaking her. She thought the voice and the hand might be connected.
As her awareness increased, Sansa also noticed that she was wet and cold. She had grown accustomed to both states recently on their journey to King’s Landing by sea, but her entire body was freezing, and it seemed as though her entire gown was wet and laying heavily across her. Salty water filled her mouth, and she had the distinct urge to spit it out. Despite instinct telling her to get rid of it any way possible, her equally powerful desire to always appear the lady told her that doing so would be horribly rude especially as she seemed to be the company of a large number of people.
But now that she knew that her mouth was filled with salt water, she needed to get rid of it. The urge was omnipotent, and there was no way she could swallow it as she was already gagging on it. Giving in, she turned her head towards Lady as opposed to the side that the man was on and spit out the water.
Coughing, water poured out of Sansa's mouth, far more than she expected. The man grabbed both of her shoulders and pulled her up into a sitting position as she spat out the last of the water. Even with it all gone, a salty layer remained in her mouth, and she noticed that she was shaking, the pair of hands the only thing holding her up.
Lady was on top of her, sniffing her wet hair and licking her more. Weakly, she put a hand on Lady's head and that seemed to convince her that Sansa was fine. Leaning back into a proper sitting position, the hands dropped from her shoulders.
"Are you well, Lady Sansa?" the voice asked, one that she now recognized.
"I am, Lord Stannis," she said. She winced at the sound of voice, harsh from gagging on ocean water. Looking over her shoulder at him, she saw that he was as wet as she was.
He nodded curtly at her words and stood up. His damp clothing clung to his body, and blushing, she averted her eyes. His frequent companion, Ser Davos, stood behind him holding a cloak and a pair of boots, and Lord Stannis took the cloak from him and draped it over Sansa’s shoulders. She griped its edges gratefully and pulled it tighter around herself to protect herself from the harsh winds that buffeted the ship.
She had fallen into the ocean that much was clear although she couldn't remember exactly how it had happened. She and Arya had been fighting and she must have gone over the side. The entire journey they had been plagued by fierce winds and choppy seas, and Sansa could remember being near the rail when the argument had broken out, and somehow she had gone over, and Lord Stannis must have dived after her and saved her. Before she could say anything to him, he was walking away with Ser Davos following closely behind, the boots still in hand, and her father was there, gathering her up and Arya was lurking behind him looking uncharacteristically apologetic.
Her father all but pushed her through the crowd that had surrounded her and Stannis, and she was grateful for him ignoring those calling out questions about her health and simply forcing them through and below deck to the cabin that she and Arya shared with Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole. It was somewhat warmer below deck, but Sansa still felt cold all the way to the bone and even having Lord Stannis’s cloak draped over her did little to change that.
“Are you sure you are fine?” her father asked.
Sansa nodded. “I am. I’m just cold.”
Septa Mordane burst into the room, followed by Jeyne, and came to Sansa’s side. “You poor child! You must get out of those clothes or else you will get horribly sick. Lord Stark, you need not worry, I’ll look after Sansa from here on out.”
“Thank you, Septa,” her father said. His eyes were creased with worry. “Feel better, Sansa. Arya, come with me.”
Arya had been skulking in the corner ever since they had come into the room, and when their father called her, she reluctantly followed him out, mumbling a ‘get better’ as she left.
Once they were gone, Septa Mordane was ripping Sansa’s damp clothes off of and telling Jeyne to get dry ones out of Sansa’s trunk. In new clothes, she felt a bit better, but the cold seemed to have settled under her skin, so Septa Mordane set out to get her some warm food, or at least what passed for it on the ship. Even though they were part of the royal entourage, the food wasn’t that good on the ship. She had heard that what they eat was a fair bit better than the stuff that the sailors had, but the food remained bland and lackluster and always a bit cold no matter what or when they were eating.
As excited as she was to go to King’s Landing, she missed Winterfell, especially now. At Winterfell, the only thing she could fall into was the warm pools in the Godswood, and if she had, she would have been able to go to her room and curl up in her bed with a warm fire and warm food and Lady next to her and her mother to comfort her. Here, everything was cold and bitter and damp, but once they got to King’s Landing, everything would be better. She had heard that it was a marvelous city and even though it was autumn, it was still warm there. They hadn’t even had their first snows yet whereas it had been snowing for years in the North.
“What happened, Jeyne?” Sansa asked going to sit in her narrow bed. It was hard and tiny, and Lady could only barely fit on it with her. Most nights, she made Lady sleep on the floor with Nymeria, but now she was more than willing to let her into her bed. The direwolves seemed to be the one thing that was never cold, no matter how much the wind blew or how hard rain might pour down on them. Even when they were soaking, they were still warmer than most things.
“Oh, Sansa, you don’t remember?” Jeyne gasped.
“Only some of it,” she said petting Lady.
“Oh, it was horrible. You and Arya were fighting. Arya had one of her stupid ideas again. Something about wanting some of the sailors to teach her how to fight with daggers. You were telling her not to do that because good ladies don’t do that, but she wouldn’t listen to you. You were arguing horribly, and then Arya pushed you!” Jeyne seemed outraged and a bit surprised that Arya would do such a thing. Sansa was a bit as well. They had never truly gotten along, but they had been having fewer fights it seemed, and Arya had been acting less childish, but if that wasn’t childish behavior, she didn’t know what was.
“The weather’s been horrible,” Jeyne continued, “and when she pushed you, a big wave came by, and the boat rocked, and you fell over. I was so worried, and Lady and Nymeria were both howling, and even Arya looked worried, and all of the others were too, and I didn’t know what to do, and I don’t think anyone, and then Lord Stannis appeared, and he just took off his cloak and boots as calm as could be and dived in. He saved you Sansa. If he hadn’t done that, I don’t know what would have happened to you.” Jeyne looked close to crying as she finished recounting the story, and Sansa’s throat was all tight as she realized how close she could have been to dying.
Now that she knew the truth of the matter, she understood why Arya had looked so apologetic. Even she would not want to actually kill her sister. A flame anger rose in Sansa’s chest. She couldn’t believe how foolish her sister had been. If she hadn’t been more careful, if Lord Stannis hadn’t been there, Sansa likely would have been at the bottom of the ocean now. Arya was such a child to act that way still, and beyond just saving her, Lord Stannis had probably seen their shameful actions beforehand that resulted in her near drowning. He was a lord of the realm and, more importantly, the king’s brother and heir after it had been revealed that Queen Cersei’s children were not King Robert’s but her own brother’s bastards.
From what little she had seen of him, Lord Stannis was a grim, dour, no nonsense man who likely thought she was just as much of a child as Arya was if he had seen their argument. It was little relief to her that she had not pushed Arya as well because regardless, he likely thought of her as a child now. She had hoped to make a good impression on all of the Southron lords and ladies and show that she was grown now and perfectly ready to marry and be a true lady, but this would likely taint that, and to have it all happen in front of a man who was a prince in all but name.
“He was very gallant,” Jeyne said. “Lord Stannis,” she clarified when Sansa looked at her askance. “Like a proper prince.”
“Lord Stannis hates it when he is called a prince,” Sansa said. At the very least, she knew that much.
“I know, but he is one, isn’t he? His brother is the king, and he is going to be one after his brother dies.” Jeyne neglected to mention the fact that the day Stannis took crown was far sooner than it probably should be. The elder Baratheon brothers had only a year separating them, but it looked far more than that. It was said that Robert had always had a taste for women and food and fighting and all of the other finer things in life and that those appetites had only increased following his wife’s execution. Sansa had been shocked when she had seen him. The only fatter man she had ever seen was Lord Manderly, and she thought that it was little more than a miracle that enabled Robert to still ride a horse unlike the lord. Although discomfort in the saddle would certainly explain why they were traveling by sea instead of by the Kingsroad.
If Robert did not look the regal part though, then neither did his brother. Stannis was far fat but was bald and had no time for fun and revelries. At all of the feasts that her parents had thrown for the royal party, Stannis had looked supremely unimpressed by all of them and had left as soon as possible. Sansa herself had heard the king call him a dullard, and she would be hard pressed to disagree.
Both she and Jeyne had been disappointed with the brothers and how utterly unregal they appeared. All of the stories and songs said that kings and princes, even ones who did not use that title, were supposed to be handsome and jovial. At the age of sixteen, Sansa knew that songs weren’t everything, but it was still a disappointment.
“That is true, but I’ve heard that he gets very upset when he is called a prince. You said he was very gallant though?” Sansa asked. Stannis was no prince of song or of her dreams, but to hear that such a high lord had acted gallantly towards her was still thrilling enough.
“Oh, he was the most gallant,” Jeyne said. “I’ve never seen anything like it! He was just so calm and strong. He knew exactly what to do. I wish you could remember it all Sansa.” Jeyne sighed in a way that was suspiciously dreamy. If anyone should be sighing dreamily, it should be her. Lord Stannis had been the one to rescue her after all.
Jeyne’s sighs aside, her words certainly made Sansa feel special. Cold, distant Lord Stannis had saved her. In his brief time at Winterfell, he had paid little attention to her or any of her other siblings. Not even Robb had managed to earn it despite being the oldest and now the acting lord of Winterfell with their father going south to be the Hand of the King. But despite all of that, he had saved her. Certainly, it could have just been his honor telling him to act, but being rescued in such a daring way was the very thing that songs were based on.
Not only had he saved her though, he had given her his cloak. She would have to return, but she thought it very sweet of him to give her his cloak when he was no doubt just as cold as she was. Despite his harsh demeanor, perhaps there was a true knight lurking under the surface of Stannis Baratheon after all.
The door to their cabin opened, and Septa Mordane appeared with food. “How do you feel?” she asked bringing the food to Sansa. It appeared to be actually warm for once.
“Better,” she said. “Thank you, Septa Mordane.”
“You’re welcome, child,” she said. Sansa managed to keep the frown off of her face. Septa Mordane still called her a child even though she had flowered four years ago and was more than ready to marry. The only reason she was even coming south was to continue teaching Arya, who despite now being a maiden as well was still as intractable when it came to ladylike arts. She could not sew, refused to learn an instrument, had dreadful handwriting, and even had little interest in the sill room. After their half-brother had left for the Wall, she had only grown worse in unwillingness to learn to be a lady instead begging to be allowed to fight and hunt as she had when she was a child. They had argued less but that may have only been because Sansa had given up on her as a lost cause and Arya had taken to being more sullen and bitter than usual.
“Jeyne,” the septa said, “come with me. It is almost time for the evening meal to be served. Once you are done, Sansa, try to rest. The cold and the wet produce dreadful illnesses, and it would not do for you to fall ill.”
“Yes, Septa,” she said and watched them leave. She picked at her food. Despite being a decent temperature, it still wasn’t that good, and she longed for meat that wasn’t packed in salt and fresh vegetables, and she dreamed of lemon cakes. Father told them that in a few days they would be stopping at Gulltown, and she hoped that Lord Grafton would host them for at least a night and give them a decent meal.
Once she had had her fill, she gave the rest over to Lady who licked everything clean, and then placed the empty dishes by the door. Someone else could bring them back to the galley, or they could wait until morning. She hoped no one tripped over them on their way into the room, unless it was Arya. After what she had done, she deserved to stub her toes at the very least.
She wondered what her father was doing to Arya. He hadn’t seemed particularly upset with her when he had called her after him, but her father was hard to read sometimes. His lord’s face her mother had called it, and that face could hide almost anything. Certainly, he was angry with Arya. Both of their parents had gotten tired of their fighting years ago, and if they heard even the slightest harsh word between either of them, both were punished. In this case though, it was surely Arya and Arya alone who deserved to be punished. Sansa had never almost killed her sister. But she had been arguing just as much as Arya had, so maybe her father would punish her as well, but Sansa had been in the right. Arya had been acting the fool, and she had been only trying to stop her. High born ladies had little place in learning how to fight, and especially not from rough men like the sailors who manned the ship.
Thinking about her father would react once he saw her again had her stomach roiling. She forced herself to stop thinking about Arya and her family and about something a bit more pleasant. Memories of Lord Stannis, some based more on Jeyne’s words than actual memory, floated up to the surface of her mind. Such a gallant, bold man. She fell asleep to images of him saving her over and over again, although in her dreams his hair was a bit thicker and his mouth smiled a bit easier.
When Sansa woke again, both Jeyne and Septa Mordane were already up and working on their sewing, and Arya and Nymeria was gone. Lady had left her bed as well and was as sprawled out as possible on the floor. They spent an unfortunately large period of time in their tiny cabin. There was not much space on the ship and even less for high born ladies to practice their arts it seemed. Of course, Sansa and Arya were the only ladies on board. The king had only taken a small retinue with him on his journey to Winterfell, and the only additions to it were her family and her father’s men.
Lady was the first to notice she was awake, and the heavy thumping of her tail drew the attention of their companions.
“How do you feel this morning?” Septa Mordane asked, setting aside her needlework to come see her.
“Better,” Sansa said. The coldness that had seeped into her bones the night before had largely disappeared. “What time is it?”
“We will be taking our midday meal soon,” the Septa said.
“I slept so late?” Sansa asked in shock. It was in her nature to wake early, and even on those mornings when she did not, a servant would always wake her, and she was surprised that Septa Mordane had not done the same. She always said that a good lady began her day with the sun.
“Sleep is a powerful healer, and after your shock yesterday it seemed best to let your body do as it willed.”
Sansa nodded, running a hand through her tangled hair. “Where is Arya?”
“She ran off early this morning, and your father felt it was best to let her be.” Septa Mordane’s lips pursed as she spoke. Clearly, she had disagreed with Sansa’s father over the best course of action. Her father had always been a bit more lenient with Arya though, and the ship was not so big that she could become lost. There were few places she could be, even fewer with Nymeria at her side, and she was sure that if her father had not already found her, then he and some of his men were looking for her.
Despite usually believing that Arya needed as much help as possible, she was glad this morning that she would not be with them.
“Would you like me to brush your hair?” Jeyne asked, perhaps a touch too eagerly. Sansa understood her desire though. Sansa loved needlework, but the rocking of the ship made it impossible even for her to do, and it made her hate it, and Jeyne as well. For once, Sansa could see why Arya hated it.
“Of course,” she said, and it wasn’t just to free her from the unpleasant task of sewing. When she had been younger, her mother had often come to brush her hair at night and listen to her prattle on about whatever inanities had filled her day. As she had grown older, her mother had stopped doing that as often, in part because she had started to protest being treated like a little girl, but whenever she was sick, her mother still came and brushed her hair out. Despite being six-and-ten, Sansa still found that the most comforting thing in the world, but no one else could compare to the gentleness with which her mother brushed her long locks or her soothing strokes.
Jeyne’s strokes were a bit rough and pulled at her hair, but Sansa ignored the pain, and eventually the brushing evened out. Not even her mother could have made combing her hair enjoyable and comforting today though. Between her dip in the ocean and sleep, her hair was a horrid mess, all knots and tangles, and even when Jeyne managed to shape it into its usual pattern of waves, it still felt unclean. Salt and who knew what else must have attached itself to her hair once it had dried. When twisted into a simple braid though, no one would likely notice any lingering filth, and if it rained again today as it had been fond of doing so recently then perhaps it would wash her hair clean.
Once her hair was finished and she was in a warm dress, a dreary grey one that perfectly matched the color of the sky on most days, Sansa said, “We should go for a walk before we eat.”
Septa Mordane frowned and set down her own stitching. Her work had been far less effected by the waves than any of the girls’ had. “It is a miserable day again, Sansa. It would be better for you to stay down here and rest than go above in the rain and the wet and risk illness or another fall.”
Sansa frowned slightly. Miserable day it might have been, but it was better than staying inside her cabin all day. The sight of endless rolling grey waves and rain hammering down was better than staying inside in her tiny cabin. Being stuck in there was suffocating in a way she had never experienced before. If it was summer and the sea was calmer, then perhaps she would enjoy the journey far better, but it was winter, and for them that had meant endless storms at sea and being crammed under deck for far too long. The one respite she had been granted was that she had not fallen ill upon stepping foot on deck like many of her father’s men had. Father himself had been fine, but almost everyone else, even Arya, had been sick at least once in the first few days. After that, most had grown used to the waves, but a few still fell ill. Even if she were likely to retch over the side of the ship, she would rather do that than stay under. It was so dull, and dreary, and not at all like she had imagined when she had learned that she was to go south with Father. Winterfell was the same day in and day out, but it was a comforting sameness, not like this, and the rain would be something a bit better than wobbly stitches and four brown walls and Lady acting restless.
“But Septa,” she said, “the fresh air is sure to do me good. There is no air in this place, but above there will be, and even if it is raining, I can wear a cloak. It would serve me better to be above, and it would be horrible if people thought I had grown fearful of going above after my fall.” It would be. In her own way, she hated being called a craven as much as her bolder siblings did, and she would hate to gossip about her swirling so soon and for that to be her introduction to King’s Landing.
Septa Mordane still frowned and looked more likely to deny Sansa than to grant her her wish. She could be as stubborn as any Stark when she wanted to be.
Grasping for any reason to be allowed on deck, Sansa’s eyes landed on the black cloak Stannis Baratheon had given her the day before. It lay out on the chest where all of her clothes were stashed; clearly it had been placed there to dry along with her own green gown. His simpler cloak stood out like a sore thumb among her brighter, frillier clothing, and it was just what she needed.
“And, I might be able to return Lord Stannis’s cloak. He was so kind to give it to me yesterday, and I simply must return it as soon as possible to him, and he hardly ever takes meals with us.” Despite the fact that Lord Stannis was frequently seen walking the deck and inspecting the ship, he hardly ever joined them at meals, preferring to dine in the relative comforts of his cabin unless his brother forced him to socialize. His man, Ser Davos, usually did eat with all of them, but Sansa would prefer to return the cloak to Stannis himself.
Despite the frown remaining entrenched on her face, Septa Mordane ended up agreeing to her request but did tell her, “Only until we eat, and then we are to return to here. It would not do well to have you overexert yourself and fall ill, and you do have to fix your gift for Bran’s name day.”
“I know, Septa, but I still have months and months to finish it,” she said, cheer in her voice after having gotten her way. It would be Bran’s twelfth name day this year, and she was making him a fine cloak and pair of gloves for it, both lined in fur and done in the colors of both Houses Stark and Tully. He was their Uncle Edmure’s squire now, and she had heard some say that he stood to inherit Riverrun. Uncle Edmure had yet to marry despite being three-and-thirty now, and some said that he had no intention of ever doing so, despite the many who had offered their daughters’ hands to him. Lord Frey in particular wanted Edmure to marry one of his daughters, and even after so many rejects had yet to give up, although he had turned to the Starks as another way to rid himself of unwanted children and grandchildren. He had offered spouses for both her and Robb, but Mother had seen it fit to turn him away on that front even if she had taken in two wards from his house, Big and Little Walder Frey. Both were horrid little boys.
“That is what you say now,” Septa Mordane said with a sigh and put away her needlework.
Lady led the way as they left the cabin, dashing towards the ladder that led to the deck and scrambling up it. Sansa was always a touched amazed at how easily the direwolf could propel herself up. They followed her at a more sedate pace, one more befitting ladies. Usually Lady would have walked slowly at their sides, but she hated being stuck on the ship.
Lady was waiting for them at the opening to the deck. Rain fell heavily from the sky, and she had been drenched in the few minutes she had been above. Sansa sighed and tugged her own cloak tighter around her once she was on deck. Stannis’s once dry cloak was already wet, and she hoped that he had brought another cloak with him or else was staying below while she had it.
Septa Mordane clicked her tongue once she stepped out into the rain. “Come girls,” she said, “if we are to be out here then there is no point in simply standing around.”
“Yes, Septa,” they both said and hurried after her. At least her hair was getting clean in the rain.
There was nothing much to see on the deck. Besides the sailors, they were the only ones there as far as Sansa could tell. Yesterday, there had been a brief lull in the storming so everyone had stormed the deck and taken the chance to see the sun, but today no one had taken the chance to come above. Her father and King Robert were probably together, the king already drinking, and her father’s men trapped miserably below, also drinking if they managed to find any alcohol, and beyond that there weren’t that many others. A few knights, but no one interesting or handsome, and no ladies for her and Jeyne to meet.
The rain and the wind bit deep into Sansa, and, shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself. Lady pressed against her side, but there was little that she could do to warm Sansa up when she was just as wet. It was eerie being on deck with so few others, and the sounds of the sailors talking echoed queerly around ship and were half blown away by the wind. Sometimes she could hear half a man’s sentence only to have the wind blow and hear nothing else.
“Sansa, look,” Jeyne murmured pointing up ahead at a pair of men standing by the railing.
She squinted through the rain at them, and her heart did a funny little jump when she saw that one of them was Lord Stannis. It was foolish for her to act that way towards him. Certainly, he had saved her, but he was far from the gallant knight of songs. Old enough to be her father, a widower for at least ten years, and his looks did nothing to make up for those faults, and yet even still her heart beat fast and somehow even in the cold her face burned as she gazed at his distant figure.
“I believe that is Lord Stannis,” Septa Mordane said catching sight of him. “Come along, Sansa, we can return his cloak to him, and then we can go under and eat.”
Her feet seemed to move without her will, and she clutched his cloak closer to her the closer they got to him. At some point, he grew aware of the fact that people were coming towards him, and he turned away from looking out at the sea to look at her and her companions. Ser Davos was the man with him, and there was little surprise regarding that.
“Lady Sansa,” he said when she had drawn up close enough. “You look well.” A surprising comment coming from a man who did not believe in frivolities or anything remotely similar to them although it was delivered in same clipped manner that he usually spoke in, and his jaw was clenched.
He did not appear to have another cloak, or at least he had decided not to wear it when he had gone above. His clothing was soaked through, and the clinging fabric revealed some of the firm muscle that lay beneath. She blushed harder as she noted that he was a rather fit man and looked at his face.
“Lord Stannis, I wanted to thank you for saving me yesterday and to return this,” she said handing him his cloak. Her tongue tripped over half of the words, and she must have sounded like a fool, or a silly, little girl.
“You are welcome,” he said stiffly and took his cloak from her.
Sansa considered saying something else, but quickly decided against it. He was a man with little desire to engage in pointless talk, and there was nothing that she could say to him that would mean anything, so she simply said her good days to both him and Ser Davos and left them. She wanted to run back under, but she didn’t want to ruin herself in his eyes any more than she already had, so she walked at a slow, lady-like pace, and all the way she thought she could feel Lord Stannis’s eyes on her. He must have thought her an idiot, and as soon as she was gone, he was sure to comment on what a tongue-tied idiot she was and lament the fact that he had saved her.
Word Count: 5447
Rating: T
Original/Fandom: Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire
Pairings (if any): Stannis Baratheon/Sansa Stark
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/etc): none
Summary: After Lord Stannis saves her from drowning, Sansa can't help but view him as a most gallant knight.
Panicked voices echoed around her, and something warm and rough was moving against her cheek. Lady, Sansa thought blearily. Her direwolf was licking her cheek. Not an unusual occurrence, although it usually happened in bed chamber not in areas where she was surrounded by people. The voices were getting clearer as were the tones of panic and worry in all of them. One stood out above all the others, the deep voice of a man saying, “Lady Sansa.” The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it, and a hand was on her shoulder, shaking her. She thought the voice and the hand might be connected.
As her awareness increased, Sansa also noticed that she was wet and cold. She had grown accustomed to both states recently on their journey to King’s Landing by sea, but her entire body was freezing, and it seemed as though her entire gown was wet and laying heavily across her. Salty water filled her mouth, and she had the distinct urge to spit it out. Despite instinct telling her to get rid of it any way possible, her equally powerful desire to always appear the lady told her that doing so would be horribly rude especially as she seemed to be the company of a large number of people.
But now that she knew that her mouth was filled with salt water, she needed to get rid of it. The urge was omnipotent, and there was no way she could swallow it as she was already gagging on it. Giving in, she turned her head towards Lady as opposed to the side that the man was on and spit out the water.
Coughing, water poured out of Sansa's mouth, far more than she expected. The man grabbed both of her shoulders and pulled her up into a sitting position as she spat out the last of the water. Even with it all gone, a salty layer remained in her mouth, and she noticed that she was shaking, the pair of hands the only thing holding her up.
Lady was on top of her, sniffing her wet hair and licking her more. Weakly, she put a hand on Lady's head and that seemed to convince her that Sansa was fine. Leaning back into a proper sitting position, the hands dropped from her shoulders.
"Are you well, Lady Sansa?" the voice asked, one that she now recognized.
"I am, Lord Stannis," she said. She winced at the sound of voice, harsh from gagging on ocean water. Looking over her shoulder at him, she saw that he was as wet as she was.
He nodded curtly at her words and stood up. His damp clothing clung to his body, and blushing, she averted her eyes. His frequent companion, Ser Davos, stood behind him holding a cloak and a pair of boots, and Lord Stannis took the cloak from him and draped it over Sansa’s shoulders. She griped its edges gratefully and pulled it tighter around herself to protect herself from the harsh winds that buffeted the ship.
She had fallen into the ocean that much was clear although she couldn't remember exactly how it had happened. She and Arya had been fighting and she must have gone over the side. The entire journey they had been plagued by fierce winds and choppy seas, and Sansa could remember being near the rail when the argument had broken out, and somehow she had gone over, and Lord Stannis must have dived after her and saved her. Before she could say anything to him, he was walking away with Ser Davos following closely behind, the boots still in hand, and her father was there, gathering her up and Arya was lurking behind him looking uncharacteristically apologetic.
Her father all but pushed her through the crowd that had surrounded her and Stannis, and she was grateful for him ignoring those calling out questions about her health and simply forcing them through and below deck to the cabin that she and Arya shared with Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole. It was somewhat warmer below deck, but Sansa still felt cold all the way to the bone and even having Lord Stannis’s cloak draped over her did little to change that.
“Are you sure you are fine?” her father asked.
Sansa nodded. “I am. I’m just cold.”
Septa Mordane burst into the room, followed by Jeyne, and came to Sansa’s side. “You poor child! You must get out of those clothes or else you will get horribly sick. Lord Stark, you need not worry, I’ll look after Sansa from here on out.”
“Thank you, Septa,” her father said. His eyes were creased with worry. “Feel better, Sansa. Arya, come with me.”
Arya had been skulking in the corner ever since they had come into the room, and when their father called her, she reluctantly followed him out, mumbling a ‘get better’ as she left.
Once they were gone, Septa Mordane was ripping Sansa’s damp clothes off of and telling Jeyne to get dry ones out of Sansa’s trunk. In new clothes, she felt a bit better, but the cold seemed to have settled under her skin, so Septa Mordane set out to get her some warm food, or at least what passed for it on the ship. Even though they were part of the royal entourage, the food wasn’t that good on the ship. She had heard that what they eat was a fair bit better than the stuff that the sailors had, but the food remained bland and lackluster and always a bit cold no matter what or when they were eating.
As excited as she was to go to King’s Landing, she missed Winterfell, especially now. At Winterfell, the only thing she could fall into was the warm pools in the Godswood, and if she had, she would have been able to go to her room and curl up in her bed with a warm fire and warm food and Lady next to her and her mother to comfort her. Here, everything was cold and bitter and damp, but once they got to King’s Landing, everything would be better. She had heard that it was a marvelous city and even though it was autumn, it was still warm there. They hadn’t even had their first snows yet whereas it had been snowing for years in the North.
“What happened, Jeyne?” Sansa asked going to sit in her narrow bed. It was hard and tiny, and Lady could only barely fit on it with her. Most nights, she made Lady sleep on the floor with Nymeria, but now she was more than willing to let her into her bed. The direwolves seemed to be the one thing that was never cold, no matter how much the wind blew or how hard rain might pour down on them. Even when they were soaking, they were still warmer than most things.
“Oh, Sansa, you don’t remember?” Jeyne gasped.
“Only some of it,” she said petting Lady.
“Oh, it was horrible. You and Arya were fighting. Arya had one of her stupid ideas again. Something about wanting some of the sailors to teach her how to fight with daggers. You were telling her not to do that because good ladies don’t do that, but she wouldn’t listen to you. You were arguing horribly, and then Arya pushed you!” Jeyne seemed outraged and a bit surprised that Arya would do such a thing. Sansa was a bit as well. They had never truly gotten along, but they had been having fewer fights it seemed, and Arya had been acting less childish, but if that wasn’t childish behavior, she didn’t know what was.
“The weather’s been horrible,” Jeyne continued, “and when she pushed you, a big wave came by, and the boat rocked, and you fell over. I was so worried, and Lady and Nymeria were both howling, and even Arya looked worried, and all of the others were too, and I didn’t know what to do, and I don’t think anyone, and then Lord Stannis appeared, and he just took off his cloak and boots as calm as could be and dived in. He saved you Sansa. If he hadn’t done that, I don’t know what would have happened to you.” Jeyne looked close to crying as she finished recounting the story, and Sansa’s throat was all tight as she realized how close she could have been to dying.
Now that she knew the truth of the matter, she understood why Arya had looked so apologetic. Even she would not want to actually kill her sister. A flame anger rose in Sansa’s chest. She couldn’t believe how foolish her sister had been. If she hadn’t been more careful, if Lord Stannis hadn’t been there, Sansa likely would have been at the bottom of the ocean now. Arya was such a child to act that way still, and beyond just saving her, Lord Stannis had probably seen their shameful actions beforehand that resulted in her near drowning. He was a lord of the realm and, more importantly, the king’s brother and heir after it had been revealed that Queen Cersei’s children were not King Robert’s but her own brother’s bastards.
From what little she had seen of him, Lord Stannis was a grim, dour, no nonsense man who likely thought she was just as much of a child as Arya was if he had seen their argument. It was little relief to her that she had not pushed Arya as well because regardless, he likely thought of her as a child now. She had hoped to make a good impression on all of the Southron lords and ladies and show that she was grown now and perfectly ready to marry and be a true lady, but this would likely taint that, and to have it all happen in front of a man who was a prince in all but name.
“He was very gallant,” Jeyne said. “Lord Stannis,” she clarified when Sansa looked at her askance. “Like a proper prince.”
“Lord Stannis hates it when he is called a prince,” Sansa said. At the very least, she knew that much.
“I know, but he is one, isn’t he? His brother is the king, and he is going to be one after his brother dies.” Jeyne neglected to mention the fact that the day Stannis took crown was far sooner than it probably should be. The elder Baratheon brothers had only a year separating them, but it looked far more than that. It was said that Robert had always had a taste for women and food and fighting and all of the other finer things in life and that those appetites had only increased following his wife’s execution. Sansa had been shocked when she had seen him. The only fatter man she had ever seen was Lord Manderly, and she thought that it was little more than a miracle that enabled Robert to still ride a horse unlike the lord. Although discomfort in the saddle would certainly explain why they were traveling by sea instead of by the Kingsroad.
If Robert did not look the regal part though, then neither did his brother. Stannis was far fat but was bald and had no time for fun and revelries. At all of the feasts that her parents had thrown for the royal party, Stannis had looked supremely unimpressed by all of them and had left as soon as possible. Sansa herself had heard the king call him a dullard, and she would be hard pressed to disagree.
Both she and Jeyne had been disappointed with the brothers and how utterly unregal they appeared. All of the stories and songs said that kings and princes, even ones who did not use that title, were supposed to be handsome and jovial. At the age of sixteen, Sansa knew that songs weren’t everything, but it was still a disappointment.
“That is true, but I’ve heard that he gets very upset when he is called a prince. You said he was very gallant though?” Sansa asked. Stannis was no prince of song or of her dreams, but to hear that such a high lord had acted gallantly towards her was still thrilling enough.
“Oh, he was the most gallant,” Jeyne said. “I’ve never seen anything like it! He was just so calm and strong. He knew exactly what to do. I wish you could remember it all Sansa.” Jeyne sighed in a way that was suspiciously dreamy. If anyone should be sighing dreamily, it should be her. Lord Stannis had been the one to rescue her after all.
Jeyne’s sighs aside, her words certainly made Sansa feel special. Cold, distant Lord Stannis had saved her. In his brief time at Winterfell, he had paid little attention to her or any of her other siblings. Not even Robb had managed to earn it despite being the oldest and now the acting lord of Winterfell with their father going south to be the Hand of the King. But despite all of that, he had saved her. Certainly, it could have just been his honor telling him to act, but being rescued in such a daring way was the very thing that songs were based on.
Not only had he saved her though, he had given her his cloak. She would have to return, but she thought it very sweet of him to give her his cloak when he was no doubt just as cold as she was. Despite his harsh demeanor, perhaps there was a true knight lurking under the surface of Stannis Baratheon after all.
The door to their cabin opened, and Septa Mordane appeared with food. “How do you feel?” she asked bringing the food to Sansa. It appeared to be actually warm for once.
“Better,” she said. “Thank you, Septa Mordane.”
“You’re welcome, child,” she said. Sansa managed to keep the frown off of her face. Septa Mordane still called her a child even though she had flowered four years ago and was more than ready to marry. The only reason she was even coming south was to continue teaching Arya, who despite now being a maiden as well was still as intractable when it came to ladylike arts. She could not sew, refused to learn an instrument, had dreadful handwriting, and even had little interest in the sill room. After their half-brother had left for the Wall, she had only grown worse in unwillingness to learn to be a lady instead begging to be allowed to fight and hunt as she had when she was a child. They had argued less but that may have only been because Sansa had given up on her as a lost cause and Arya had taken to being more sullen and bitter than usual.
“Jeyne,” the septa said, “come with me. It is almost time for the evening meal to be served. Once you are done, Sansa, try to rest. The cold and the wet produce dreadful illnesses, and it would not do for you to fall ill.”
“Yes, Septa,” she said and watched them leave. She picked at her food. Despite being a decent temperature, it still wasn’t that good, and she longed for meat that wasn’t packed in salt and fresh vegetables, and she dreamed of lemon cakes. Father told them that in a few days they would be stopping at Gulltown, and she hoped that Lord Grafton would host them for at least a night and give them a decent meal.
Once she had had her fill, she gave the rest over to Lady who licked everything clean, and then placed the empty dishes by the door. Someone else could bring them back to the galley, or they could wait until morning. She hoped no one tripped over them on their way into the room, unless it was Arya. After what she had done, she deserved to stub her toes at the very least.
She wondered what her father was doing to Arya. He hadn’t seemed particularly upset with her when he had called her after him, but her father was hard to read sometimes. His lord’s face her mother had called it, and that face could hide almost anything. Certainly, he was angry with Arya. Both of their parents had gotten tired of their fighting years ago, and if they heard even the slightest harsh word between either of them, both were punished. In this case though, it was surely Arya and Arya alone who deserved to be punished. Sansa had never almost killed her sister. But she had been arguing just as much as Arya had, so maybe her father would punish her as well, but Sansa had been in the right. Arya had been acting the fool, and she had been only trying to stop her. High born ladies had little place in learning how to fight, and especially not from rough men like the sailors who manned the ship.
Thinking about her father would react once he saw her again had her stomach roiling. She forced herself to stop thinking about Arya and her family and about something a bit more pleasant. Memories of Lord Stannis, some based more on Jeyne’s words than actual memory, floated up to the surface of her mind. Such a gallant, bold man. She fell asleep to images of him saving her over and over again, although in her dreams his hair was a bit thicker and his mouth smiled a bit easier.
When Sansa woke again, both Jeyne and Septa Mordane were already up and working on their sewing, and Arya and Nymeria was gone. Lady had left her bed as well and was as sprawled out as possible on the floor. They spent an unfortunately large period of time in their tiny cabin. There was not much space on the ship and even less for high born ladies to practice their arts it seemed. Of course, Sansa and Arya were the only ladies on board. The king had only taken a small retinue with him on his journey to Winterfell, and the only additions to it were her family and her father’s men.
Lady was the first to notice she was awake, and the heavy thumping of her tail drew the attention of their companions.
“How do you feel this morning?” Septa Mordane asked, setting aside her needlework to come see her.
“Better,” Sansa said. The coldness that had seeped into her bones the night before had largely disappeared. “What time is it?”
“We will be taking our midday meal soon,” the Septa said.
“I slept so late?” Sansa asked in shock. It was in her nature to wake early, and even on those mornings when she did not, a servant would always wake her, and she was surprised that Septa Mordane had not done the same. She always said that a good lady began her day with the sun.
“Sleep is a powerful healer, and after your shock yesterday it seemed best to let your body do as it willed.”
Sansa nodded, running a hand through her tangled hair. “Where is Arya?”
“She ran off early this morning, and your father felt it was best to let her be.” Septa Mordane’s lips pursed as she spoke. Clearly, she had disagreed with Sansa’s father over the best course of action. Her father had always been a bit more lenient with Arya though, and the ship was not so big that she could become lost. There were few places she could be, even fewer with Nymeria at her side, and she was sure that if her father had not already found her, then he and some of his men were looking for her.
Despite usually believing that Arya needed as much help as possible, she was glad this morning that she would not be with them.
“Would you like me to brush your hair?” Jeyne asked, perhaps a touch too eagerly. Sansa understood her desire though. Sansa loved needlework, but the rocking of the ship made it impossible even for her to do, and it made her hate it, and Jeyne as well. For once, Sansa could see why Arya hated it.
“Of course,” she said, and it wasn’t just to free her from the unpleasant task of sewing. When she had been younger, her mother had often come to brush her hair at night and listen to her prattle on about whatever inanities had filled her day. As she had grown older, her mother had stopped doing that as often, in part because she had started to protest being treated like a little girl, but whenever she was sick, her mother still came and brushed her hair out. Despite being six-and-ten, Sansa still found that the most comforting thing in the world, but no one else could compare to the gentleness with which her mother brushed her long locks or her soothing strokes.
Jeyne’s strokes were a bit rough and pulled at her hair, but Sansa ignored the pain, and eventually the brushing evened out. Not even her mother could have made combing her hair enjoyable and comforting today though. Between her dip in the ocean and sleep, her hair was a horrid mess, all knots and tangles, and even when Jeyne managed to shape it into its usual pattern of waves, it still felt unclean. Salt and who knew what else must have attached itself to her hair once it had dried. When twisted into a simple braid though, no one would likely notice any lingering filth, and if it rained again today as it had been fond of doing so recently then perhaps it would wash her hair clean.
Once her hair was finished and she was in a warm dress, a dreary grey one that perfectly matched the color of the sky on most days, Sansa said, “We should go for a walk before we eat.”
Septa Mordane frowned and set down her own stitching. Her work had been far less effected by the waves than any of the girls’ had. “It is a miserable day again, Sansa. It would be better for you to stay down here and rest than go above in the rain and the wet and risk illness or another fall.”
Sansa frowned slightly. Miserable day it might have been, but it was better than staying inside her cabin all day. The sight of endless rolling grey waves and rain hammering down was better than staying inside in her tiny cabin. Being stuck in there was suffocating in a way she had never experienced before. If it was summer and the sea was calmer, then perhaps she would enjoy the journey far better, but it was winter, and for them that had meant endless storms at sea and being crammed under deck for far too long. The one respite she had been granted was that she had not fallen ill upon stepping foot on deck like many of her father’s men had. Father himself had been fine, but almost everyone else, even Arya, had been sick at least once in the first few days. After that, most had grown used to the waves, but a few still fell ill. Even if she were likely to retch over the side of the ship, she would rather do that than stay under. It was so dull, and dreary, and not at all like she had imagined when she had learned that she was to go south with Father. Winterfell was the same day in and day out, but it was a comforting sameness, not like this, and the rain would be something a bit better than wobbly stitches and four brown walls and Lady acting restless.
“But Septa,” she said, “the fresh air is sure to do me good. There is no air in this place, but above there will be, and even if it is raining, I can wear a cloak. It would serve me better to be above, and it would be horrible if people thought I had grown fearful of going above after my fall.” It would be. In her own way, she hated being called a craven as much as her bolder siblings did, and she would hate to gossip about her swirling so soon and for that to be her introduction to King’s Landing.
Septa Mordane still frowned and looked more likely to deny Sansa than to grant her her wish. She could be as stubborn as any Stark when she wanted to be.
Grasping for any reason to be allowed on deck, Sansa’s eyes landed on the black cloak Stannis Baratheon had given her the day before. It lay out on the chest where all of her clothes were stashed; clearly it had been placed there to dry along with her own green gown. His simpler cloak stood out like a sore thumb among her brighter, frillier clothing, and it was just what she needed.
“And, I might be able to return Lord Stannis’s cloak. He was so kind to give it to me yesterday, and I simply must return it as soon as possible to him, and he hardly ever takes meals with us.” Despite the fact that Lord Stannis was frequently seen walking the deck and inspecting the ship, he hardly ever joined them at meals, preferring to dine in the relative comforts of his cabin unless his brother forced him to socialize. His man, Ser Davos, usually did eat with all of them, but Sansa would prefer to return the cloak to Stannis himself.
Despite the frown remaining entrenched on her face, Septa Mordane ended up agreeing to her request but did tell her, “Only until we eat, and then we are to return to here. It would not do well to have you overexert yourself and fall ill, and you do have to fix your gift for Bran’s name day.”
“I know, Septa, but I still have months and months to finish it,” she said, cheer in her voice after having gotten her way. It would be Bran’s twelfth name day this year, and she was making him a fine cloak and pair of gloves for it, both lined in fur and done in the colors of both Houses Stark and Tully. He was their Uncle Edmure’s squire now, and she had heard some say that he stood to inherit Riverrun. Uncle Edmure had yet to marry despite being three-and-thirty now, and some said that he had no intention of ever doing so, despite the many who had offered their daughters’ hands to him. Lord Frey in particular wanted Edmure to marry one of his daughters, and even after so many rejects had yet to give up, although he had turned to the Starks as another way to rid himself of unwanted children and grandchildren. He had offered spouses for both her and Robb, but Mother had seen it fit to turn him away on that front even if she had taken in two wards from his house, Big and Little Walder Frey. Both were horrid little boys.
“That is what you say now,” Septa Mordane said with a sigh and put away her needlework.
Lady led the way as they left the cabin, dashing towards the ladder that led to the deck and scrambling up it. Sansa was always a touched amazed at how easily the direwolf could propel herself up. They followed her at a more sedate pace, one more befitting ladies. Usually Lady would have walked slowly at their sides, but she hated being stuck on the ship.
Lady was waiting for them at the opening to the deck. Rain fell heavily from the sky, and she had been drenched in the few minutes she had been above. Sansa sighed and tugged her own cloak tighter around her once she was on deck. Stannis’s once dry cloak was already wet, and she hoped that he had brought another cloak with him or else was staying below while she had it.
Septa Mordane clicked her tongue once she stepped out into the rain. “Come girls,” she said, “if we are to be out here then there is no point in simply standing around.”
“Yes, Septa,” they both said and hurried after her. At least her hair was getting clean in the rain.
There was nothing much to see on the deck. Besides the sailors, they were the only ones there as far as Sansa could tell. Yesterday, there had been a brief lull in the storming so everyone had stormed the deck and taken the chance to see the sun, but today no one had taken the chance to come above. Her father and King Robert were probably together, the king already drinking, and her father’s men trapped miserably below, also drinking if they managed to find any alcohol, and beyond that there weren’t that many others. A few knights, but no one interesting or handsome, and no ladies for her and Jeyne to meet.
The rain and the wind bit deep into Sansa, and, shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself. Lady pressed against her side, but there was little that she could do to warm Sansa up when she was just as wet. It was eerie being on deck with so few others, and the sounds of the sailors talking echoed queerly around ship and were half blown away by the wind. Sometimes she could hear half a man’s sentence only to have the wind blow and hear nothing else.
“Sansa, look,” Jeyne murmured pointing up ahead at a pair of men standing by the railing.
She squinted through the rain at them, and her heart did a funny little jump when she saw that one of them was Lord Stannis. It was foolish for her to act that way towards him. Certainly, he had saved her, but he was far from the gallant knight of songs. Old enough to be her father, a widower for at least ten years, and his looks did nothing to make up for those faults, and yet even still her heart beat fast and somehow even in the cold her face burned as she gazed at his distant figure.
“I believe that is Lord Stannis,” Septa Mordane said catching sight of him. “Come along, Sansa, we can return his cloak to him, and then we can go under and eat.”
Her feet seemed to move without her will, and she clutched his cloak closer to her the closer they got to him. At some point, he grew aware of the fact that people were coming towards him, and he turned away from looking out at the sea to look at her and her companions. Ser Davos was the man with him, and there was little surprise regarding that.
“Lady Sansa,” he said when she had drawn up close enough. “You look well.” A surprising comment coming from a man who did not believe in frivolities or anything remotely similar to them although it was delivered in same clipped manner that he usually spoke in, and his jaw was clenched.
He did not appear to have another cloak, or at least he had decided not to wear it when he had gone above. His clothing was soaked through, and the clinging fabric revealed some of the firm muscle that lay beneath. She blushed harder as she noted that he was a rather fit man and looked at his face.
“Lord Stannis, I wanted to thank you for saving me yesterday and to return this,” she said handing him his cloak. Her tongue tripped over half of the words, and she must have sounded like a fool, or a silly, little girl.
“You are welcome,” he said stiffly and took his cloak from her.
Sansa considered saying something else, but quickly decided against it. He was a man with little desire to engage in pointless talk, and there was nothing that she could say to him that would mean anything, so she simply said her good days to both him and Ser Davos and left them. She wanted to run back under, but she didn’t want to ruin herself in his eyes any more than she already had, so she walked at a slow, lady-like pace, and all the way she thought she could feel Lord Stannis’s eyes on her. He must have thought her an idiot, and as soon as she was gone, he was sure to comment on what a tongue-tied idiot she was and lament the fact that he had saved her.