Chapter Text
Stannis Baratheon, no matter whom the words came from, was said to be a Just man, as quick to reward as he was to punish. Yet, in her opinion, it was exactly what Kings Landing needed. That, and to be rid of the Lannisters, though that was her personal preference.
It was only two weeks ago that Joffrey had called her to court to berate her once again. He’d told her that her ‘whore of a mother’ had managed to ally her brother to Stannis Baratheon who had finally made Renly Baratheon bend the knee! He’d silenced the muttering of the court with the loud declaration that his grandfather was coming to defend the city and that “The Rains of Castamere will add a few lines for the Stark, Baratheon and Tyrell houses!”. He ordered a minstrel to play the tune as Ser Meryn tore her dress and beat her with his fists.
She cried throughout, the strikes painful, but it didn’t matter because they were coming for her! Rob was coming and King Stannis and Lord Renly, and when they won she would be able to return home with mother to Winterfell!
Her tears and quiet sobs seemed to please Joffrey and soon enough he sent her back to her rooms though not without promising her the whip next time.
She had curtsied and tried to keep herself covered with her torn dress, quietly thanking the Hound when he wrapped his Kings guard cloak around her shoulders to protect her from the eyes of the court. She bit the inside of her cheek till it bled to keep from smiling as the Hound led her away, glaring at all those who leered at her.
It didn’t matter that the Kings Guard had beaten her at Joffrey’s command. It didn’t matter that they had torn her dress and the court had almost seen her breasts. None of it mattered because her rescue was imminent. There was no way Kings Landing could withstand such a force.
Sansa had a week of pure bliss before she heard mutterings of Wildfire and grew concerned.
Then when she heard it from the Queen herself, smirking as Sansa’s eyes went wide, her concern quickly turned to fear.
She couldn’t look for information into the substance obviously as it would raise suspicion and she thought tirelessly how to investigate herself when, much to her surprise, Shae seemed to know all about it. Far more than a simple hand-maiden should. Lord Tyrion had been shown barrels of the stuff, stored in tunnels beneath the city from the reign of the Targaryens. The plan was that the Lannisters intended to use it to destroy Stannis’ fleet of ships and set fire to the foot soldiers, creating a barrier about the city while their archers picked off the rest until they all either died or retreated. It would be a quick battle either way if Wildfire was involved.
Her hopes and dreams seemed to crumble before her eyes and Shae’s concerned words were drowned out by the loud rush of blood in her ears as she sank onto her bed. Her maid didn’t want to tell her the plan at first, seeing how it had made her lady react, but Sansa had insisted and Shae had obeyed.
Shae told her that they would pour it into the water and launch barrels of Wildfire at the ships, lighting them with burning arrows. Sansa had felt so ill at the prospect that she was out of sorts for days. Luckily it was easily covered with excuses about her anxieties for the battle, and Cersei had smirked when she heard, and Joffrey laughed at her fear. She spent more time in the Godswood than ever, the floor littered with red leaves, praying that the battle would be over swiftly and that King Stannis would prevail.
She prayed for her family’s safety and the survival of her brother’s bannermen. Then, she prayed for the deaths of Joffrey and Cersei, the guards who seemed to enjoy hitting her at the Kings command, and the courtiers who laughed at her misfortune.
It once would have spooked her to pray for anyone’s death, let alone so many, but her time in Kings Landing had hardened her a little and now, each time she pandered and sang her pretty lies to the Lannisters, she spoke the truth in her mind.
“I am the King!” Joffrey screeched.
Stannis Baratheon is the true King. You are a Bastard born of Incest. I pray you will die.
“My father was a traitor, Your Grace.”
He was not a traitor. My father was right.
“You are a weak, silly girl!”
I am of the North and Winter is Coming.
As the day of the battle drew nearer, merely a moon’s turn until the armies would be at their gates, Sansa felt panic rise within her. They had barred exits and entrances and stopped the ravens. No one was to leave or enter the city without permission and so the Wildfire beneath the city remained a secret and her brother’s army marched on, clueless.
Knowledge of their sure destruction lay heavily on Sansa’s shoulders leaving her restless at night and drained during the day. They had no idea what awaited them when their ships entered the blackwater or when their soldiers approached the walls. It would be awful, and there was nothing she could do.
During a meeting with the Queen, where she had insisted Sansa drink wine till her head was heavy with it, a silly idea became her salvation with the blessing of the Queen herself.
“There is little we women can do to protect ourselves — our greatest weapon is that which we have between our legs, Little Dove. You’ll find men use their swords freely enough. Both kinds of swords. Remember that.”
Tongue loose from the wine, Sansa couldn’t help but blurt what next came to her mind. “What about swords or daggers then?” Sansa said, her words slurring slightly though she tried not to.
The Queen laughed. It wasn’t a nice sound.
“Swords are not a woman’s weapon. A Dagger, yes. Perhaps a bow and arrow.” she looked at Sansa over the rim of her goblet, laying back against the many cushions piled up in her solar. “Why question this now Little Dove, surely you are not thinking of taking up the bow?”
Sansa blinked owlishly, “Should I?”
The Queen too was a little drunk and found the idea hilarious. She laughed until there were tears in her eyes and the wine spilt from the cup and splashed onto the plush velvet cushions. “Would you like that?” She asked, “—come now, don’t protest, you suggested such a thing! I will even set you a tutor—“ she waved over her guard from the corner of the room. “Ser Meryn. Tell my little brother’s sellsword Bronn that he will teach the Lady Sansa how to shoot a bow!”
Ser Meryn sneered at Sansa but bowed and ducked out of the room to do as he was bid.
Sansa had spluttered and protested but the Queen just laughed and told her to drink more wine.
It wasn’t until later that Sansa allowed herself the tiniest smile. What the Queen didn’t know was that she had given Sansa a way to save herself.
*****
The day was hot and sticky and due to her current activity, Sansa was not wearing her usual attire. The Queen had sent her new clothes with a maid - shirts, waistcoats, breeches and leather boots that could also be used for riding. Sansa had not needed to pretend to be flustered. She was sure the Queen would ask the maid what her reaction had been and so made sure to look as shocked and bewildered as possible.
When the maid left with a message of thanks to the Queen, Sansa looked down at the clothes Shae was sorting out and didn’t bother to hold back her trepidation.
“You will look fine my Lady, just as fine as if you cut holes in a sack and walked about as if it were a dress…” Shae told her as she helped Sansa into the clothes.
The shirt and waistcoat were well made and clung tightly to her body, the loose corset Shae had helped her put on underneath helped keep her shape, which was fine, though she did feel a little bare and insisted on adding a light cloak which fell from her shoulders to the floor. The boots were fine of course, soft brown leather and reaching up to brush the bottom of her knees. The only article in the pile that ruffled her feathers was the breeches. Made of soft dark fabric they clung to her like a second skin. Surely these were not appropriate for a high-born Lady — even if she was about to train with a bow? Perhaps the Queen sought to embarrass her more?
Her maid had the gall to laugh at how uncomfortable she looked.
Sansa frowned, “Don’t laugh, it’s not funny at all!”
“Oh but it is! you look like a fish out of water!”
“I am wearing breeches - I have never worn breeches before…it feels so odd!” How could Arya have liked such a thing? Everyone could see—well—everything!
Before she had dared to leave her chambers Sansa had looked at herself in the mirror, her face turning pink at the sight of her bottom hugged so tightly. She was glad of the cloak.
Shae noticed her hesitation and disappeared for several minutes until she arrived back dressed in breeches and a shirt, though of much lesser quality.
Sansa felt a true smile cross her face then and she hugged her maid tightly. “Thank you!”
“Yes, yes…” Shae said patting her back, “let us go now.”
*****
“Better.”
Sansa keeps herself composed as a Lady should, even though her arms ache fiercely and the skin of her hands is sore and red. At least her arrow is now a little closer to the target than it had been before - sailing over the top and into the bark of a nearby tree.
It may also be because the unusual activity has gained an audience from those who slow their steps so they can watch her better. Soldiers who spar in the area behind their own have been caught unawares in their fights when their eyes flicker to her. Their stares burn almost as hotly as the sun and she flushes with embarrassment that the sight of a Lady here is so unusual. Of course, their looks are understandable. She is not in her usual elegant gowns or sewing quietly somewhere, and eventually, someone must have passed the word on because her discomfort and look of embarrassment at her nonexistent skills is what draws Joffrey outside. He laughs and jeers loudly at her poor attempts at hitting the target. She is trying though. Eventually, there is only so much he can say about how poorly she shoots before he grows bored with watching her struggle and fail and wanders away to do something else.
Bronn is a surprisingly patient teacher, and once Joffrey has left, Bronn sends the rest of the curious crowd off and adjusts her grip. She doesn’t see the jealous glances sent his way when he stands close and helps her aim again.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, barely moving her lips and low enough that only he can hear. Bronn, Lord Tyrion and Shae are some of the few people who have been kind to her whilst in Kings Landing, even after she lost favour with the King and Court.
“Just doin’ as I’m told, My Lady,” he says back, there’s a smile on his face and Sansa finds herself giving a smaller one back.
The smile wilts a little when she thinks of Arya. Her wild sister would have had no problem at all doing this. Most likely she would have hit the target every time and been enlisted to fight with the archers at the coming battle — if they had been allied with the Lannisters. If she was being truthful, Arya would have been charged with King-slaying if they’d set her loose on the battlefield with a bow and Joffrey nearby.
Though he would probably be hiding behind a wall of guards, it was a nice thought and she almost smiles properly.
“Arm up a little higher” Bronn prompts, nudging her elbow upward, and she does as she’s told.
…the lone wolf dies, but the Pack survives…
Sansa would ensure her Pack’s safety, even if it meant sacrificing her own.
She aims the arrow, breathes out slowly, and lets it fly.
*****
In the first week, her attempts are poor at best, pathetic at worst. She cries softly into her pillows at night, biting down on her lip at the pain in her bandaged hands, but it doesn’t stop her because in the morning she is up, dressed and at the archery range and practices until the healed skin cracks and bleeds again. When they retire back to her rooms, Shae tuts over the condition of her hands and begins what becomes routine between them. Shae washes the dust and dirt from her hands in warm water as gently as she can and smears a cool salve over the top before wrapping each hand in clean bandages. Being a Lady, the only calluses she’s built up are those on her fingers from embroidery, and so this new, rougher activity pains her considerably.
Bronn offers numerous times to stop the lessons but Sansa just shakes her head and says that it is something she must do. Perhaps he sees the fear in her eyes, fears that the Lannisters might loose, but only Sansa knows that it is fear that they might win.
“There ain’t no one goin’ to hurt you, My Lady. You’ll be safe with the queen when those bastards come callin’ at our gates.” Bronn says quietly, trying to comfort her as Shae fetches the arrows Sansa has shot about the archery range.
“I know ser, but surely there isn’t any harm in protecting yourself as well, though the need for it is very much reduced?”
Bronn pats her shoulder and opens his mouth to say something when Shae appears, dropping the arrows back into the small barrel at their feet and glares at Bronn. His eyes open wide and he holds his hands up, taking a wary step back.
Sansa holds back a giggle at the sight of the fierce sell sword backing away from her hand-maiden. “Get back to teaching, or I will make you collect the arrows!” Shae tells him.
“Shae!” Sansa whispers scandalised when she realises what her maid had said was not in jest, “You cannot do that!”
Bronn just laughs and grins at Shae, “Aye, My Lady, I’m afraid your hand-maiden could make me do quite a lot of things.” There is an element of suggestion there but ultimately, it flies over Sansa’s head and Shae simply orders him to teach again as Bronn laughs.
*****
The first time she hits the centre of the target, one long week later, she momentarily forgets her Lady-like tendencies and cheers loudly, throwing her arms up in the air.
Bronn’s chest puffs up like a peacock and he grins at her, saying “Well done, My Lady” while Shae comes over from the side to congratulate her.
Later, when Bronn takes the arrow from the target he puts it to one side and tells Sansa that she should keep this one. She does, and once back in her room she is happy, buoyed by the feeling that she is getting better. The feeling is enough to make her run through the event numerous times with Shae and even get through a meeting with the Queen when she finds out about her progress from Bronn. The Queen tells her that though she had expected Sansa to quit halfway — or not go through with it at all — she says she will not stop her lessons.
“There is very little time left before Stannis arrives in the Blackwater and your brother at our gates. Not all men are honourable and when they’ve been fighting and their blood is up, even if they’ve been told not to by their kings and lords, they’ll still come. They’ll still rape. Having your little bow may just save you if the battle goes ill. Gods know that women do most things better than these incompetent men anyhow.”
Sansa nods and agrees, though inside her stomach is rolling with anticipation.
They do not fear her, she thinks, but they should.