(no subject)
The Eyrie, ancient home of the Arryns, nestled in the Mountains of the Moon. It’s an isolated spot. You couldn’t ask for a better place to hide the last Stark.
Only there is no more Stark. There is only Alayne Stone.
Sansa has been tries to remember this, but it is so hard. Alayne is silent and stubborn. And Milliways is never far....
*
“And we’ll be having roast boar tonight, Alayne--”
Sansa feels the blood drain from her face. Gretchel looks at her curiously.
“It’s a very rare treat at this time of year,” the maid adds.
Its eyeballs are missing, its flesh browned, its tail chopped off. Little lord Robin eats it with heaps of mashed apples. Petyr eventually asks why she’s not touched her meat.
“My tummy hurts,” she murmurs. After a moment, she remembers to add, “Father,” because Petyr is her father now. Another lie she has to tell.
*
“Sweet Robin, please!” Sansa is at her wit’s end. Her cousin (must remember, Sansa’s cousin, not Alayne’s) has been so wilful and distraught since his mother was murdered by an obsessed singer. Learned men are gathering to hear evidence, but they can never hear the truth: that Petyr pushed his wife out of the Moon Door. The six hundred foot drop killed her.
Sansa watched Petyr push lady Lysa out the Moon Door. Her aunt (must remember, Sansa’s aunt, not Alayne’s) was going to push Sansa. Her aunt was mad and Sansa can’t bring herself to feel great sorrow at her passing, though she knows she is (was) family.
“I don’t want this wretched porridge!” shouts Lord Robin. Such a thin, sickly child - at eight he had the whine of a five year old. “I want eggs! Great big eggs like great big suns!”
The Eyrie has no more eggs. All food is brought up the lift by Mya the mule girl, and she’s late. Hopefully not dead - the path to the Eyrie is treacherous. But little Lord Robin wants his eggs. If he is displeased, he’s apt to get shaking fits.
“If you eat your porridge, I shall promise you a story!” Sansa says desperately.
Robin wipes his runny eyes. “Your stories are stupid.”
Sansa tries to think of a new story. “Have you heard of the Star Maiden? She has a magical flying ship, and fights against the darkest evil-”
“Stories about girls are stupid! I want my eggs!”
*
Sansa has dreams of a man with a scarred face. Sometimes he has golden eyes, sometimes brown. Sometimes his hand lights with fire, sometimes he’s running from the flames. Sometimes he becomes a wolf, sometimes he becomes a dog. Always, he vanishes.
Sansa much prefers those dreams to the ones where she shares a cup of wine with Tyrion. She laughs at something silly he’s said. She gently rests a hand on his twisted leg - a gesture that is, if not wifely, not lightly done.
She goes up to Bar to get them another cup. Her mother looking at her, and because this is a dream Sansa accepts this as natural. Catelyn Stark slaps her daughter. But that is a trifle compared to the look of disappointment on her face.
*
If I ever meet Sam again, I must ask him his surname, Sansa thinks.
Why, so you can erase Stark and put his name beside yours? says her Alayne-self. Men of Milliways look at you and see a pretty - and little - girl. Only here can you be wedded and bedded. Sansa feels cold and lonely at those words.
I like Milliways better.
*
Petyr asks her to kiss him, sometimes. She pecks his cheek dutifully, as a daughter would her father - though he kissed her once before in a more than fatherly way.
Mal kissed her in a more than sisterly way, too. But she was cruel then. Petyr is shrewd, cunning, and plays the game of thrones - but he saved her life. He isn’t cruel.
*
Sansa watches the cook.
“Something else you need, m’lady?” the woman asks.
“How do you make bread?” Sansa asks.
The cook laughs. “Why, it’s not done some special way.” She turns back to working on the Eyrie’s supper.
Sansa doesn’t leave. “Can I just see how you make it?”
“Whatever for, child?” the cook asks, honestly bewildered.
Sansa feels colour rise to her cheeks. Her sister Arya knew how to deal with the smallfolk, not her. She leaves. Annie probably knows a much better way of making bread, what with her Earth machines. Surely she doesn’t need to know how it’s done here.
*
Sansa looks at the stars. Remembers a burning dress - a dress that is still gone. Imagines a ship flying through space. Imagines wargs (werewolves, they were called) running through a wood somewhere where there are woods. She remembers a clock, a talking doll, slumber parties, strange books, princes that don’t want love, sisters that try to kill their brothers, strange words and strange people. Dreams and nightmares.
Memories of Milliways keep away memories of Winterfell. For a time. Soon even Milliways is not enough.
Sansa surprises herself. She doesn’t always cry.
She has no one to ask if this is a good thing or a bad thing. Likely, she decides, it is a both thing. For some reason she imagines Mary Lennox telling her this, and it brings a smile to her face.
The Alayne part of her calls this unfeeling strength. For why should Alayne be sad about Winterfell? Winterfell was Sansa’s life. And Sansa is dead.
Only there is no more Stark. There is only Alayne Stone.
Sansa has been tries to remember this, but it is so hard. Alayne is silent and stubborn. And Milliways is never far....
*
“And we’ll be having roast boar tonight, Alayne--”
Sansa feels the blood drain from her face. Gretchel looks at her curiously.
“It’s a very rare treat at this time of year,” the maid adds.
Its eyeballs are missing, its flesh browned, its tail chopped off. Little lord Robin eats it with heaps of mashed apples. Petyr eventually asks why she’s not touched her meat.
“My tummy hurts,” she murmurs. After a moment, she remembers to add, “Father,” because Petyr is her father now. Another lie she has to tell.
*
“Sweet Robin, please!” Sansa is at her wit’s end. Her cousin (must remember, Sansa’s cousin, not Alayne’s) has been so wilful and distraught since his mother was murdered by an obsessed singer. Learned men are gathering to hear evidence, but they can never hear the truth: that Petyr pushed his wife out of the Moon Door. The six hundred foot drop killed her.
Sansa watched Petyr push lady Lysa out the Moon Door. Her aunt (must remember, Sansa’s aunt, not Alayne’s) was going to push Sansa. Her aunt was mad and Sansa can’t bring herself to feel great sorrow at her passing, though she knows she is (was) family.
“I don’t want this wretched porridge!” shouts Lord Robin. Such a thin, sickly child - at eight he had the whine of a five year old. “I want eggs! Great big eggs like great big suns!”
The Eyrie has no more eggs. All food is brought up the lift by Mya the mule girl, and she’s late. Hopefully not dead - the path to the Eyrie is treacherous. But little Lord Robin wants his eggs. If he is displeased, he’s apt to get shaking fits.
“If you eat your porridge, I shall promise you a story!” Sansa says desperately.
Robin wipes his runny eyes. “Your stories are stupid.”
Sansa tries to think of a new story. “Have you heard of the Star Maiden? She has a magical flying ship, and fights against the darkest evil-”
“Stories about girls are stupid! I want my eggs!”
*
Sansa has dreams of a man with a scarred face. Sometimes he has golden eyes, sometimes brown. Sometimes his hand lights with fire, sometimes he’s running from the flames. Sometimes he becomes a wolf, sometimes he becomes a dog. Always, he vanishes.
Sansa much prefers those dreams to the ones where she shares a cup of wine with Tyrion. She laughs at something silly he’s said. She gently rests a hand on his twisted leg - a gesture that is, if not wifely, not lightly done.
She goes up to Bar to get them another cup. Her mother looking at her, and because this is a dream Sansa accepts this as natural. Catelyn Stark slaps her daughter. But that is a trifle compared to the look of disappointment on her face.
*
If I ever meet Sam again, I must ask him his surname, Sansa thinks.
Why, so you can erase Stark and put his name beside yours? says her Alayne-self. Men of Milliways look at you and see a pretty - and little - girl. Only here can you be wedded and bedded. Sansa feels cold and lonely at those words.
I like Milliways better.
*
Petyr asks her to kiss him, sometimes. She pecks his cheek dutifully, as a daughter would her father - though he kissed her once before in a more than fatherly way.
Mal kissed her in a more than sisterly way, too. But she was cruel then. Petyr is shrewd, cunning, and plays the game of thrones - but he saved her life. He isn’t cruel.
*
Sansa watches the cook.
“Something else you need, m’lady?” the woman asks.
“How do you make bread?” Sansa asks.
The cook laughs. “Why, it’s not done some special way.” She turns back to working on the Eyrie’s supper.
Sansa doesn’t leave. “Can I just see how you make it?”
“Whatever for, child?” the cook asks, honestly bewildered.
Sansa feels colour rise to her cheeks. Her sister Arya knew how to deal with the smallfolk, not her. She leaves. Annie probably knows a much better way of making bread, what with her Earth machines. Surely she doesn’t need to know how it’s done here.
*
Sansa looks at the stars. Remembers a burning dress - a dress that is still gone. Imagines a ship flying through space. Imagines wargs (werewolves, they were called) running through a wood somewhere where there are woods. She remembers a clock, a talking doll, slumber parties, strange books, princes that don’t want love, sisters that try to kill their brothers, strange words and strange people. Dreams and nightmares.
Memories of Milliways keep away memories of Winterfell. For a time. Soon even Milliways is not enough.
Sansa surprises herself. She doesn’t always cry.
She has no one to ask if this is a good thing or a bad thing. Likely, she decides, it is a both thing. For some reason she imagines Mary Lennox telling her this, and it brings a smile to her face.
The Alayne part of her calls this unfeeling strength. For why should Alayne be sad about Winterfell? Winterfell was Sansa’s life. And Sansa is dead.