Chapter Text
Chapter One
The rocking of the ship did not bother Sansa as much as her dreams did. She feared the silence before sleep, the whispers in her mind reminding her that she was unwanted by her family. That she was not worth even the query of a bargain for. That they would do nothing to save her. She saw Robb, telling her that she was a woman and could not wield a sword so was useless to his war; she saw her mother, saying she had been corrupted by the Lannisters and was not the lady she'd once hoped for. She saw her father, saying she deserved it for being the cause of his death. She saw Robb and Jon both--and Robb looked to her, saying that Jon was a bastard but at least he had never sold them out to the Lannisters.
The freedom did not yet touch her. It would not, until the ship docked. Not until then would she believe that this was anything more than a trap.
The letter was the death of all hope.
Joffrey had been snatched from her, but that had been almost a relief. The Tyrells had sent many ravens over the past months and due to some finagling by the Lannisters, Lady Margaery had been promised to Joffrey, taking Sansa's place. An enormous dowry, a very nice military alliance, and a name untainted by the traitorous blood of the Starks.
The news had been circulated that she was to wed Tyrion Lannister by order of his father Lord Tywin Lannister, and swiftly afterwards a raven had come bearing the mark of Robb Stark. It declared Sansa as out of the line of succession as Queen in the North or the future Warden of the North, etc. It also noted that many other ravens had been sent throughout the North and that Lady Sansa would find no welcome there, after her connection with the Lannisters. That she was no longer a Stark.
The Spider's little birds confirmed as much--and eventually, through Tyrion, she was told of its contents.
"It doesn't mean he doesn't love you, my lady," he said, trying to comfort her as best he could. He could see tears in her eyes threatening to fall; he could see her world collapsing further, "He likely felt he had to do this to protect the North from--me."
She just nodded mutely.
Speak not unless spoken to became her mantra. She spent her days avoiding Joffrey and Cersei, though at times she would be called to be beaten by Meryn Trant for some perceived slight or the other in regards to her brother's victories. It would not matter, Joffrey kept saying to her. She was nobody now, and who cared if the King had a smallfolk woman shown her place?
Whatever he demanded, she replied as he wanted. Whatever sins he thought she committed, she confessed to. The pain from the beatings soon ceased to render cries from her at all. But there was one advantage that followed that, at least. Eventually Joffrey grew bored of having "a statue" beaten and she was left to her own devices, absorbed into Tyrion's household. She had begun stitching his tunics for "something to do" and would sit in silence for hours doing either that or embroidery.
"She wilts," Shae would said to Tyrion after watching Sansa at this for the third day in a row, "Is there nothing to be done for her?"
"After that letter her brother sent, nothing--unless I can send her to Essos somehow. Lys, Volantis, Braavos, perhaps," he had replied, listing off the cities and then going on with, "I can't even smuggle her out of the city gates, let alone out the docks."
"It would be easy." Shae finished her work below his waist, and then look up to his eyes, "But you would need help. Is there anyone you would trust to do so?"
"Clegane," Tyrion huffed at the idea, saying it jokingly at first. But then he recalled the way Sandor defended the "little bird"...and then he thought of the use of wildfire planned for Stannis's attack. "And you, of course."
Shae had gone silent at that, silent for a long while. Even when she bounced on his cock later, there would be no words.
But in the morning, he would have a proposal to make and she would have to agree to it.
Sansa had only been informed of the plan one evening when Lord Varys came to visit Tyrion some days later, and she was asked to stay. They gave her instructions, made her repeat them so she would remember, and made her promise to follow them. She obeyed without a second thought. If this plan worked, perhaps there would be somewhere out there she could look forward to the morning in again. If it was a trap--there was very little she could suffer that hadn't already been done to her. Or that hadn't been threatened to her...the way Joffrey still looked at her gave dark hints to that.
If she was caught, perhaps they would kill her, or one of the soldiers would. If she stayed--she was no use to Stannis, nameless and friendless as she was. They had pounded that into her head very well. She would likely be serving as Lady Shireen's companion, or something of that nature. She had the blood, but it no longer meant anything. Not after the letter.
Tyrion told her that two people would be leaving with her, and she would see them the night of the battle. She had merely agreed.
There was no enthusiasm; at least not outwardly. If the plan came to naught, if they were caught, if they were killed...
Sansa's eyes opened suddenly, and she realized that the ship had come to a stop. The events of the past weeks stopped playing through her mind, and when the door to the cabin opened she saw the hulking form of Sandor Clegane walk through.
"We've arrived, little bird," he said. "It's cold out, so put on that warm cloak we brought along."
"Wh...where are we going to stay?"
They had money, she knew that much at least. Jewels, too, and they were as good as money. That had been part of the arrangement; a robbery had been staged during the battle. She didn't ask how much had been stolen...but some of her gowns had been packed away in a trunk and wrapped securely around the bulk of them. She had been given a bag of diamonds, which was carefully wrapped into her smallclothes. The Hound had insisted on that--said it wasn't safe for her to carry a jingling bag openly, even in Braavos.
The shock when she stepped off the ship and onto the stone, with the smell of fish and seawater around, hit her hard, and for a moment she stood trembling in place. Homesickness and anger and sorrow and all the lot of emotions together were wrapped together. She was unwanted, she was free, she was no one, she was anyone.
But that also meant they had to figure out where to live, where to get food, to...
"Best inns are down in the Purple Harbor," the Captain, coming up beside the Hound, said, "The Moon Pool has good lodgings as well, but I don't recommend you go there. Men wearing swords are free to be challenged by the more combat inclined Braavosi."
"Expensive?"
"Of course. But safer for young women and their husbands who'd prefer other men not touch what's theirs." Directions were given, and the trunk, handily wrapped in a netlike rope, was slung over the Hound's shoulder.
"Right. Thanks. Let's go, little bird."
"We should move quickly," came Shae's voice, "Keep your hood up and your head down."
Sansa only nodded. It was far too soon for excitement, but there was a strange lightening feeling. Joffrey, Cersei, Meryn Trant, they were all far, far away. And whatever followed this, she would i all likelihood never see them again.
*Shae*
Leaving Tyrion had been the hardest thing she had ever had to do. She hadn't wanted to, even knowing what his father had told him about the next whore found in his bed. But then--with a dead look in his eyes--he had told her of his first wife, and said that he would rather have a broken heart than see her abused in such a way. He said he would rather see her free and happy than all but enslaved to a pack of his father's guards.
He had said it with such earnestness that she could not but savor the bittersweet sense of love that poured out from him. He loved her, this littlest of Lions. He loved her so much that he would part from her to save her.
And, he said, he would no doubt be forced to marry some other unfortunate maiden, and he would not make her a servant to his wife and display before her what she could never have. He would not have her come second to a woman he cared nothing for.
The journey on the ship took too long for her liking, and the air of Braavos, however rank, was a welcome change from the stink of sweat and wine and ale from the sailors. She was able to persuade one of the sailors to carry along her trunk until they reached their inn of choice...and then, to a lesser degree than she could see Sansa had felt, the shock of it all settled on her.
But she was not one to wallow in that feeling of extreme change, she never had been. She always kept moving; she never looked back if she could help it.
Once they were settled into the room they'd paid for, she sent for a meal to be brought up to the room, and sat facing Sansa. The Hound stood near them, looking as irritated and upset as always.
"What kind of skills do you have, Sansa?"
The poor girl! She looked so lost, so completely desolate. But she did manage to respond, in a soft, low tone, "Sewing and embroidering. I...mother said I always had a lovely voice, too, so I...I suppose I could sing."
"And I," Shae replied, "I have my own talents. We will do well, the three of us."
"You've got a plan, then, besides hurling pretty jewels at whoever has something we want?"
"Of course." Shae looked at the Hound, nodding. He was there to be muscle, she thought, and because Tyrion seemed certain that he would get himself killed for his mouth sooner or later. He had frightened Sansa, but it was clear that he had no intention of harming her. She and he had spoken little together; there was nevertheless an understand between them, an agreement on the safety of their young friend.
Shae, Sandor, and Sansa, with no great house names to aid them any longer.
Or to hinder.