#ryswell

Sansa shrieked as it hit her face. Frantically she wiped it away, glaring at Arya as she started laughing. Glancing down, she realized her cloak–and all of her new embroidery on it–was covered in mud. Letting out a cry of dismay, she tried wiping at that too.

“Stop that,” her mother hissed at Arya. “And you too!”

“I’m not doing anything!” Sansa yelled.

“Stop rubbing away the mud,” her mother said more calmly, rushing over. “You will grind it in and then we won’t be able to wash it out at all.”

Hot tears gathered in Sansa’s eyes. She had spent months on this new design, and this boy had ruined it. She looked up to see him standing and talking to her father, who was seemed to be comforting him. Something hot and hard formed in her chest. The boy’s cheeks were bright red, and his clothes were caked in mud. He caught her staring, cheeks flushing even redder, and started turning towards her.

Sansa couldn’t bear it, bear him. She fled back into the castle with a cry. Servants startled as she hurried through the halls, tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t care if they saw her cry, and she didn’t care if she was being rude. Even if her mother took away her lemon cakes or if her father forbade her from going out riding, she would never treat that boy like a brother.

She loved her brothers, and she could never, ever love Gendry Waters.

ii.

“Oh, that was a good one!”

Sansa nodded in agreement with Jeyne. Her friend bounced on the balls of her feet, and Sansa knew she wanted to join in on the snowball fight fun. Only last year, they had been building their own fort and scheming about how to outwit Arya and Bran. They had both had their twelfth namedays, however. They were almost ladies.

Ladies did not participate in snowball fights.

Also, from the way that Jeyne was watching Robb, Sansa suspected the fun wasn’t the only reason her friend wanted to play. She looked to her eldest brother as well. He was building a fort with Bran, and next to them Jon was trying to build one with Rickon. She huffed under her breath and frowned at the reason her brothers were paired with their youngest siblings.

Arya and Gendry were having a grand old time, laughing as they piled up snowballs. Soon enough they had two dozen ready. As Rickon was more amused by knocking down his own fort than helping build it, her sister and Gendry started fighting each other instead of the other boys. Snowballs started flying, and then just snow, because Bran and Rickon were too impatient. A clump came her way, and Sansa yelped and leapt out of the way. Jeyne used the excuse to join in the fray.

Sansa just hovered on the sidelines, watching her siblings, Jeyne, and Gendry mess about. She liked being a lady, but the fight also looked...fun. She watched as Bran cornered Rickon, and then couldn’t help but laugh as her littlest brother charged him straight on and came out the victor.

Distracted, she didn’t notice the snowball headed her way. It hit the back of her head with a thud. She shrieked as snow fell inside her cloak collar, melting and dripping down her back in a cold trail. Turning around, she glared at her giggling sister.

“Arya!” She yelled.

Before she knew it, she was gathering snow in her hand and forming it into a ball. By the time she threw it, though, Arya was long gone. So Sansa gathered up more and ran after her, still yelling her sister’s name. She chased Arya around the yard, ducking others’ snowballs as she went. By the time she came close to cornering her sister, she was out of breath and her cheeks felt hot.

Arya dived behind an abandoned snow fort, and Sansa skidded to a halt.

“Show yourself,” she proclaimed. “Only cowards hide behind walls.”

Her sister let out a discontented cry, and Sansa grinned. Arya didn’t show herself, though, and she sighed. She should have known that her sister would not be fooled by easy tactics.

As she contemplated her next move, Arya popped up from behind the wall. She lobbed a snowball and ducked back down too quickly for Sansa to retaliate. The next time she thought she was ready, but Arya was fast. They continued exchanging shots, and finally, finally Sansa felt that the next time she would get her.

She waited, and as she sensed movement, she threw her last, very large snowball as hard as she could. Indeed, Arya was popping up behind the wall again, but then something–someone–ran between Sansa and the fort where her sister was hiding.

The large ball of snow and ice hit the side of the runner’s face with a loud thwack. He spun to the side, stumbled a step or two, then steadied. Sansa’s hand flew to her open mouth, realizing she had hit Gendry.

Arya was yelling at her, and Robb ran over to see what was wrong.

“I didn’t...I didn’t mean to!” Sansa garbled, as she moved swiftly to Gendry’s side.

He was just standing there, looking a bit dazed. Snow clung to his face, starting to melt and drip off his chin. He didn’t move to wipe it away, and eventually his gaze focused on her. Sansa watched worriedly as he just stared at her.

Then, calmly, he said, “Is this payback for getting mud on your dress? I suppose we could be called even now.”

Sansa let out a distressed cry. “No, no! I didn’t do it on purpose! Gendry, I promise! I would never! I’m so–”

“Sansa,” Robb said gently from behind her. “He is teasing you.”

She looked back into Gendry’s face, now seeing the amused twinkle in his eye. Her mouth popped open in surprise, and she was lost for words. She heard Arya let out a muffled laugh, and then the dam broke.

Sansa started laughing, and then Gendry joined in. Soon they were all laughing, and then someone threw a snowball, and the fight started up once again. Sansa took one last look at Gendry, who was looking at her as well. He wasn’t laughing any longer, just looking at her curiously.

Suddenly, Sansa remembered who she was, and who he was. She smiled at him, but it was polite, nothing more. Something flickered over his face, and then he smiled tightly back at her and turned to make more snowballs.

Walking through the flurry of siblings and snow, Sansa made her way back to the castle. The fight had been fun, but she was a lady, after all, and ladies did not spend their whole afternoon playing outside in the snow.

Ladies did, however, find it in their hearts to forgive, and Sansa was at the very least glad that she could say that although she did not love Gendry, she might just like him.

iii.

Her fifteenth nameday was everything she had hoped it would be. The celebration was full of her favorite food and music, and Sansa could not wait to resume dancing. She just had to wait for the right boy to ask for her hand.

Hearing Jeyne laugh nervously, she turned back to the women and girls seated around her.

“Who would make a lovely dance partner?” She asked, having missed the first part of the conversation.

Jeyne blushed, but Myranda Royce just laughed. “I was saying that old King Robert’s son would be a pleasing one.”

Sansa was so shocked she couldn’t find words to respond. It was not just that Myranda had referenced the dead king–who was certainly not to be called a king any longer, not with the Targaryen family back on the throne–or had called attention to Gendry’s connection to the Baratheon line. She had suggested that she would dance with him, in front of all of these lords and ladies. Sansa had moved past her childlike disapproval of Gendry years ago, and she felt for him greatly when he lost his father last year. However, it had barely appropriate for him to be in noble company when he was the bastard son of the current king. As the bastard son of a disavowed king, however, it would be a scandal for him to dance with any noble lady.

“He’s a little young for me, to be sure,” Myranda continued, either not noticing or ignoring Sansa’s astonishment, “but look at that face, and those eyes! He could make a woman very, very happy...and not just on the dance floor.”

Cheeks heating, Sansa stared at Myranda, who just laughed at her reaction. Then the woman turned to talking about a knight from the Eyrie, comparing his attributes to Gendry. Sansa glanced at Jeyne, who looked just as taken aback.

Sansa reached for a lemon cake to distract herself. As she picked off dainty bites, she found herself scanning the room for Gendry. He was seated at the lower tables with Jon and some of the guards from the visiting houses, as well as their own guards. He was laughing, but Sansa couldn’t help but notice a tense set to his shoulders.

That tenseness was there whenever she looked at him during the next few songs. In between dances, her gaze always seemed to land on him. Then, she couldn’t find him. She immediately looked for Arya, because those two were never far apart. Finally, in a dark corner, she saw Arya gesticulating wildly and yelling at Gendry. Quickly, Sansa skirted around the room and moved towards them.

As she approached, she heard Gendry give her sister a warning.

“Do not do anything,” he said through gritted teeth. “I am alright.”

“I am going to fill her mattress with horseshit!”

“Language, Arya,” Sansa said reflexively.

Her sister turned towards her, face screwed up in anger. “One of those southern ninnies refused to dance with Gendry and called him a –”

“Arya,” Gendry sniped. “Don’t. Girls have a right to refuse to dance. And I don’t care what they think of me.”

Sansa noticed his shoulders curved inward, as if he was protecting himself from some unseen attack. He still dressed in mourning colors–a defiance of the current queen that her mother disliked but her father allowed. Sansa couldn’t help but admit that she admired his bravery and loyalty...or that the dark clothes suited him, very well.

“He is right, Arya,” she said carefully. “A girl has the right to refuse, but it should be done respectfully. There is no reason to be rude, or insulting.”

Something unwound in Sansa’s chest as she saw Gendry’s shoulder relax slightly. And whether it was that feeling, or the extra goblet of wine she and Jeyne had snuck off to drink two songs ago, she turned towards Gendry and said, “Ask me to dance.”

Arya snorted, and Gendry turned pale. “Wh-what?”

“I said, ask me to dance.”

“I do not need to be pitied,” he said hotly.

“Gendry,” Sansa exclaimed. “By the seven, just ask me to dance!”

He bowed stiffly, then held out his hand and asked. It was awkwardly done, and he had a reluctant look on his face, but Sansa accepted graciously nonetheless.

It was not the best dance she ever had. Gendry was not particularly graceful, and Sansa couldn’t help but turn a little red at feeling all of the room’s eyes watching them. Still, he did not step on her feet at all like Lord Vance’s son, and they found themselves sharing more than one smile during the dance.

The song ended, and Sansa dropped into the final curtsey. As she rose, she found herself looking at her parents. Her mother clearly disapproved, but the expression of pride on her father’s face eased her nerves.

By the time she looked back to Gendry, he was already retreating back to his table. So Sansa retreated back to her seat as well. She found Jeyne gone, but Myranda was there.

She leaned over, and commented, “I see that I may have overstepped earlier.”

“What do you mean?” Sansa said, genuinely confused.

“When I spoke about the king’s son, I did not realize that a claim had already been laid on him.” She raised her eyebrows pointedly.

Sansa gaped at her. “Gendry and I? No, no. He is just...I was just. No!”

Myranda looked at her smugly, and Sansa shook her head.

“I do not love Gendry Waters,” she stated plainly. “I could not...would not. I would never!”

Myranda just shrugged, then stood and moved away in search of more wine. Sansa huffed, reaching for another lemon cake.

What a ridiculous notion, she thought. As if I would ever fall in love with Gendry Waters.

iv.

Sansa stared up into the crimson leaves, seeking out the pale sun beyond them. The white branches of the heart tree waves in the gentle breeze. Above the sound of the rattling branches, she heard soft footsteps moving through the dead leaves coating the ground of the godswood.

She ignored them and kept staring up at the heart tree canopy.

“Sansa,” her mother called out.

Sansa closed her eyes and leaned farther back into the roots of the heart tree. She wanted to melt into the wood and avoid the forthcoming conversation. She did not want to hear about a lady’s duty or family loyalty. She did not want to defy her father, or argue with her mother, and most of all, she did not want to marry Gendry.

“Sansa,” her mother sighed.

Reluctantly, Sansa opened her eyes. Her mother stood over her, a tired expression on her face.

“Mother, I cannot.”

“You can, and you will.”

“But why? Why me? Why can’t he marry Arya? They could go live in the woods together like they used to talk about when we were little, or better yet, they could go abroad! Arya has been threatening to do that on her own for years now. It would be a dream come true, for the both of them.”

“Arya...she needs to find her own path before she joins it with another’s. And we aren’t saying the marriage has to happen right away. We are only discussing plans for a betrothal.”

“But why now? And why him?”

Sighing, her mother sank down to sit onto the large tree root that curved up next to Sansa’s shoulder.

“Your father believes it will be a good match.”

Sansa latched onto the sight of her mother’s jaw tightening. “Is that what you think?”

With a knowing glance, her mother continued, “I trust your father’s judgement, always.”

Annoyed at the show of solidarity, Sansa looked away, glaring at the still water of the pool in front of them. “But he’s a...he’s not a lord. How can that be a good match for the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark?”

Her mother muttered something under her breath, then sighed again. “Sansa, please.”

“There are plenty of northern lords with eligible sons! And if he wants an alliance with a southern house, then why not a crown-favored one, like the Tyrells?”

A picture of Loras Tyrell came into Sansa’s head, bedecked in his fine armor at the tournament she had attended the previous year. It had been glorious, and she had dreamed of the young Tyrell knight ever since.

“The crown’s favor can change sharply,” her mother commented tightly. “And have you considered that if you marry Gendry, you will not have to leave home?”

Sansa felt her stomach drop. Slowly, she glanced sideways at her mother. She saw the softness in her face, the love and the worry in her eyes, and the determined set of her mouth. Just like that, all of her hopes of evading this match died.

She was not the empty-headed girl some thought her to be. Sansa knew that the Targaryen queen had suffered an assassination attempt a few months ago. While it was largely believed that the exiled Lannisters were the culprits, such incidents always threw attention–and even worse, suspicion–on the last surviving son of Robert Baratheon and by extension, her family. She knew that there were some who believed that her family wanted to restore him to the throne. She knew that there were some who wanted to harm her family, based only on such rumors and suspicions. She knew that leaving home might put her in the way of such harm, and she knew that her mother would do absolutely anything to keep that from happening.

The only reason that Catelyn Stark would allow her firstborn daughter to marry an illegitimate son of a deposed king with no lands or lordship to his name would be if it somehow guaranteed her the safety and security of her family’s home and hearth.

Swallowing tightly, Sansa deployed her last tactic to avoid this betrothal. “But Mother, I do not love him.”

Her mother smiled at her wistfully. “Oh, Sansa.”

“How can I marry someone I do not love?”

“Your father and I did not love each other when we married. We built it slowly over the years, stone by stone, for you, for your brothers and sister, for all of us.”

Sansa stared at her mother, astonished. She could not fathom a more loving marriage than her parents’, and yet there was a tone of serious truth in her mother’s voice that she could not deny.

“Love doesn’t just happen, Sansa, and you and Gendry will have a better start than most. You know who your intended is, what kind of man he is. Your father and I would not give you to anyone who would not treat you well.”

“But–”

“Sansa,” her mother sighed one last time.

She fell silent, realizing that fighting would be futile. Her mother seemed so resolved, and so she did not say another word. She just let her mother kiss her on her forehead and walk away. Left to her own thoughts, Sansa remained in the godswood the sun finally began to sink below the horizon and the darkness forced her to go inside.

She may not love Gendry, she realized, but she might have to acclimate herself to building a life with him.

v.

As the ladies talked around her, her hands shook as she tried to take her hair down. With a soft hushing noise, her mother swept over and began to do it for her. What had taken hours to put together came down in minutes. Sansa felt her pulse begin to race.

“Can I...can I have some tea?” She croaked, looking at her mother.

“Jeyne, can you–”

“No, mother, please, can you bring it? The one you used to make for me when I was little?”

Her mother gave her a careful look. “Of course, sweetling.”

As soon as her mother left the room, Sansa turned to the other women and girls. Her gaze shot past Jeyne and straight to her new good-sister, Margaery.

Shrewdly, Margaery knew there were questions she had been waiting to ask and readily provided some much needed answers without prompting. As she finished, though, Sansa gathered her courage to ask one last question.

“But can I...will I...I don’t–buthowcanIdothisifIdon’tlovehim?”

A few of the ladies tittered, and Jeyne look equally curious and baffled. Margaery paused for half a beat before her lips twisted into a sweet, indulgent smile.

“Dearest Sansa, I think the two of you will be just fine.”

That set off another round of laughter from the ladies, and Sansa mustered up a weak smile. Her good-sister’s words had calmed her a bit, but even so, she looked to the door and wished for her mother. A few moments later, her mother did appear, and Sansa truly relaxed. She continued to fuss over her hair and not think about how the ladies would all be leaving soon to escort Gendry up to her chamber.

She was almost done with her tea when a knock sounded on the door. The room quieted, and finally Sansa’s mother stood to answer it.

“Hello,” Gendry said, quietly.

The pressure inside Sansa’s chest released a little when she realized he sounded nervous–very nervous.

“Early, are we?” Margaery murmured. The ladies giggled.

Sansa’s mother shot them a stern glare. Her expression was no less fierce when she turned back to Gendry, but it softened at his next words.

“Lord Stark strongly recommended that I slip away from the feast early...and I agreed.”

Her mother asked him to wait a moment and then closed the door. She approached Sansa, hugged her, and whispered in her ear, “You are so loved, sweetling.”

Then she pulled away, and the ladies left, and it was just Gendry and her.

“My lady,” he said.

His tone was so formal that she could help but let out a little laugh. He grinned sheepishly in response, and that seemed to make things easier.

They talked of the ceremony, and the feast, and the dancing, and finally, finally, he was standing a breath away from her. She tipped her head up, he leaned in, and then she was kissing him, and he was kissing her, and she let herself fall into the moment.

And not too much later, Sansa started to believe that her good-sister might just have been right.

vi.

Amongst the early morning bustle of the great hall, Sansa sank into her seat at the high table. She hummed happily at the sight of rolls and cakes piled high on the serving plates in front of her. Just as she was about to reach for one, an arm reached around her to place something on her plate.

A flower, bright white with full petals.

She couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on her face. Turning, she glanced up to look at her husband. He was just looking at her, calmly, but she didn’t miss the mischievous twinkle in his eye. Gendry was quite thoughtful, and throughout the first half-year of their marriage, he would often make small gestures such as this.

Arya teased him about, and Bran always rolled his eyes, but Sansa thought it quite sweet.

“So that’s where you went this morning,” she said evenly.

“That, and I promised your sister that I would train with her.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “When is she not training, I wonder.”

After much badgering, and lots of wheedling, Arya had finally gotten her way and began training as a fighter. Whether their father would actually let her serve as such was another story, but for now, Arya was satisfied.

Sansa did not necessarily mind that her husband spent so much time with her sister, but she found that she had begun to miss him greatly on the mornings he left their chambers early.

She swallowed at that thought, suddenly wondering what it might mean. She re-focused on Gendry, who was looking at her in puzzlement.

“Are you alright?”

“I am well,” she replied, flashing him another smile.

With a reassuring touch to her shoulder, he left the great hall. She watched him go, wondering why her head felt so light and her chest felt so very, very warm.

She cared for him, that was all, she told herself. It was not anything more than that.

vii.

“It’s time.”

Sansa stood staring out the window of their bedchamber, watching the sunlight play on the light dusting of snow. The floorboards creaked as Gendry moved closer.

“Please,” he murmured. “I promise–”

“Don’t,” she said, whipping around. There her husband stood, dressed for war. Impulsively, she reached out for him, then caught herself. She wrapped her arms around her middle, heart in her throat.

“Do not make me any promises,” she finished. “Especially ones you know you cannot keep. No one can know what happens in war.”

Gendry’s expression fell, and he moved rapidly towards her. Sweeping her into a tight hug, he just held her against him. Sansa tried to keep the tears at bay, but they crept out, as did her next words.

“Do not go.”

She knew it was unfair to make such an impossible request. She knew that he had no choice in the matter, but even if he did, she knew who Gendry was. He would not stay home when there was a battle to be fought, not even for her.

He embraced her more tightly, and she breathed him in, savoring the feel of him, the rhythm of his inhales and exhales.

She kept that in her memory as he rode out of Winterfell’s yard, but it did not stop an aching hole from forming in her chest. As she watched his shape disappear on the horizon, Sansa realized exactly why his absence had left that gaping, jagged, ripped up space inside her.

Gendry had taken her heart with him, and if he did not return, she might not ever get it back, because she loved him, irrevocably.

+i.

The scouts had arrived at dawn, and Sansa had not left the great hall ever since. The Lannister invasion had been defeated, her husband was being lauded as a hero, and they were almost home.

As soon as she heard the shouts from the guards on lookout, she hiked up her skirts and bolted for the courtyard. She did not care if the servants were staring, or if she was acting more like Arya than the lady that she was expected to be. Her husband was returning home after over a year away, and she could not wait another moment to see him.

And when she finally did see him, he looked weary and far older than when he had left. His beard was uneven, and his clothes were road-worn, but Sansa did not care. With a cry, she ran straight for him, launching herself into his waiting arms. She did it with such force that he stumbled and fell back onto the ground.

He let out a groan, and she gasped, immediately trying to lift herself off. He would not let her up, however. Gendry placed his large hand on the back of his head, pulling her face close to his. Sansa stared right into his eyes, those warm brown eyes she had missed so much.

“I missed you,” she murmured. “I love you.”

He kissed her, roughly, and as her heart beat quickly, happily, she repeated those words to its rhythm.

I love you, I love you, I love you.