Chapter Text
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Thum. Thum… Thum. Thum… Thum. Thum.Thum. Sansa slowly lowered her magazine, only her bright blue eyes peeked out from behind its pages. Thum. Thum. Pat. Pat.
She watched as her younger sister patted, tapped and slapped away on her lap; humming a tune in accordance with the beat she was creating. Sansa waited for Arya to notice her glare, to notice that the noises that had been building up louder and louder over the course of the hour, were wearing her big sisters’ patience thin.
She knows I’m looking, Sansa thought. She knows it’s annoying me.
After a minute of feigned obliviousness, Sansa gave up, dropped her gaze and scoffed loudly, angrily flipping through the pages of her magazine. But still, her irritation went unacknowledged. From the corner of her eye, Arya was now bobbing her head along, wholly unbothered. Sansa sighed loudly, her scowl was deepening by the second.
The already long and arduous journey from Winterfell to London had been Sansa’s own personal hell. Having utilised all the space on the carriages’ exterior trunk racks, front and back, and secured with a rope so that the cases, which were piled mightily high indeed, didn’t fall off every time they went over a bump or a stone on the road; she had been forced to bring the remainder of her things inside the cabin with her.
But it was not the sharing of the journey cramped up with her possessions that bothered her nearly as much as sharing the journey with her little sister, Arya. And Arya too wasn’t happy about it either as, much to Sansa’s chagrin, both girls had protested profusely over the arrangement with their mother.
Brandon, their sweet younger brother who they all affectionally called Bran, would have been the ideal replacement as he had not yet reached his teens and could fit in with a squeeze. But their mother refused, for Bran was paralysed from the waist down, and she had affirmed her need to sit in with him, in case of an emergency. Then, they suggested their even younger brother, Rickon. He was as wild, if not wilder than Arya, but to Sansa, decidedly much less purposefully annoying.
However, to their surprise, both parties had refused. Their mother had said that Rickon was too young to journey without her, that she wanted him to be by her side, and under her watchful eye. Rickon, who usually would detest being treated like the youngest child that he was, added to the rebuttal by saying that he certainly did not want to ride in a carriage with such little room to move. And so it was decided, that, if they wanted to go to Town, then the two girls were stuck with each other.
And Sansa very much did want to go to Town. In fact, she had been preparing for her ‘coming out’ for years, so if she had to share a ride with Arya from Scotland, all the way down to London to do so, then so be it. But that didn’t mean she had to be happy about it.
Not even at the inns along the road could she find respite, for she always had to a share a room with her. Sansa felt exhausted, and she could never quite feel clean washing at an inn, so she felt smelly too, and stiff. They had stopped a few miles back to let their wolf-dogs, who were usually content trotting alongside the carriages, inside the cabins with their owners.The drivers had warned them that the closer to civilisation they were, the higher chance townsfolk would think the train was under attack by a pack of wild wolves and move to shoot them.
Heavy trunks and cases, shoe and hat boxes were stacked in tall towers, squashing the girls up against the, luckily, soft, silvery-lilac velvet interior; with two great big wolf-dogs sat on floor, forcing the girls into an even tighter squeeze. Though, they did feel dreadful squeezing their beloved pets into the already cramped carriage, and so to hopefully offer them more room, Sansa had curled up, her feet tucked under her, and leaned her arm on the trunk. Arya, always a fidget, had moved about until her final form—laid on the small of her back, spine folded, with her legs resting out above her on the trunks.
No amount of passive-aggressive tutting, or loud, frustrated page turning or exaggerated eye rolls had made her sister catch the hint. If anything, it spurred her on, and now she added her foot as additional percussion for her orchestra. Enough was enough.
Sansa threw down her magazine onto her lap, and through gritted teeth, she spat, “Will you shut up?”
“Hm?” Arya asked, glancing at her with raised eyebrows as she continued to tap.
Sansa reached over, and tightly grabbed ahold of the wrist that was nearest to her, “You know exactly what you’re doing. You’ve been making a racket since the wolves came in. Can you please just be quiet?!”
“Honestly Sansa, I didn’t even notice, you should have said something if it bothered you this much,” Her sister smirked, and moved her eyes up to her forehead, “I would never want you to burst a blood vessel before your big Season.”
Sansa blinked. A hand self-consciously felt around on her forehead for a sign of any popping veins but there were none. Arya’s mocking smirk developed into a larger grin. Sansa flung herself back into her seat, letting out a loud noise of frustration as she did. She picked up her magazine again, hiding her face behind it as she huffed, and muttered under her breath, “You vex me so.”
“Oh, come on, Sansa,” Arya whined. “I’m just trying to entertain myself. I don’t have any magazines like you, and I’m dreadfully bored.”
“That’s not my problem! Besides, why is it your entertainment always revolves around getting a rise out of me?”
“Because I’m your little sister, it’s what we do.”
“This is exactly why I didn’t want to share a carriage with you, you’re so childish. It’s like your mission in life is to anger me.”
Arya scoffed. “I wouldn’t flatter yourself. And besides, if you hadn’t brought all the gowns in Edinburgh, we wouldn’t have to have shared a carriage now, would we?”
“It’s my Season. I have no choice, you know that.”
“Oh, most certainly. What would you do if you were forced to wear,” she faked a gasp, “the same outfit twice?!”
Sansa felt her cheeks growing redder, and looked out behind her magazine to exclaim, “Well, pardon me for wanting to look nice for my first Season!”
Her sister rolled her eyes. “It’s the Season, not your Season. I know its hard for you to comprehend but the world doesn’t revolve around you.”
“My world does,” Sansa bristled indignantly. “My world revolves around me. And you know the whole family have been calling it my Season, and when its your Season, we shall also call it so.”
“And what if I don’t want one?” Arya murmured, folding her arms in front of her.
“Don’t start. You’re the daughter of a Duke, like it or not, you can’t avoid it. Father won’t let you get away with everything forever.”
“I get away with everything?” She exclaimed, re-adjusting herself so she could sit up properly.
“You know you do, you know—” In that moment, both Sansa and Arya’s nose were hit with the most unpleasant aroma. Their noses’ wrinkled, and they rushed to cover them with something, anything. “What in gods name is that smell?” Sansa cried, holding her nostrils tightly shut.
She threw a spare hanky at Arya, who had, unsurprisingly, misplaced hers. Her sister grabbed it gratefully, and squeezed her nose. “I think its…sewage.”
“Oh!” She shook her head. “Don’t say that, that’s foul!”
“It’s a city full of hundreds of thousands of people, San. Where do you think all the sewage goes?” Arya retorted, leaning forwards to look out the window. Sansa followed suit.
They were finally now close enough to the city to clearly see the Thames River that they had been following alongside. She peered down and noticed how the river was even busier than the roads. The great water way was flowing fast with boats, ships and barges of all sizes that occupied the majority of the water, but through the gaps between the each vessel, she could very clearly see the water was brown and polluted. “I think I know where,” Sansa murmured, eyes wide.
She shut the window in disgust, and shrank back to her seat, her hand still firmly on her nose. Arya leaned over to the other side of the cabin, and made sure to also close the other window before falling back into her seat. Underneath it, Nymeria had sat right up and watched out the window, panting with excitement as she saw more and more people, things and opportunities for her to sniff and explore.
Lady, perhaps sensing Sansa’s nerves, sat up to rest her head in her mistress’ lap. Sansa stroked behind her soft large ears with her free hand. “I’d always heard that cities stink,” Arya began. “But I could never imagine this. This is vile. Not even do the farmland back at home smells this bad when its tilling season.”
“How are they fine?” Sansa asked, brows furrowed. Her gaze was fixed on where Nymeria was looking, and the people walking past with hanky-free noses.
“I imagine they’ve gone nose blind.”
Sansa tore her eyes away from the beginnings of the city she had so badly wanted to visit. “Nose blind?”
Her sister shrugged. “They’ve gotten so used to it, they can’t smell it anymore.”
“Oh.” Sansa covered her eyes. “That’s such a dreadful thought. I can’t even—imagine this smell being so normal to you that you can’t even recognise it anymore. How horrible!”
Arya chuckled. “I think it’s what we shall all eventually have to do.” She scrunched up her mouth as if in contemplation, and then, proceeded to let go of the hanky around her nose. Her long face, which had not yet caught her usual summer tan, wrinkled and creased as the stench hit her once more but the girl persevered.
Sansa stared at her aghast. “What are you doing?!”
“I’m getting it out of the way now. The sooner I smell it, the sooner it shall be gone.” Arya reached out to give her back her hanky, murmuring a thanks, but Sansa refused.
“Keep it.”
Her little sister was always like that. So stubborn and determined, once she had set her mind to something, she would do it without question. Sansa on the other hand, wasn’t so sure. She didn’t know whether she wanted to be the type of person who would go nose blind to such a smell. Her hanky remained where it was, and she continued to breathe through her nose, but still every once in a while, she caught a whiff that did away with any thought of perhaps herself becoming nose blind herself.
She thought to look out the window again, hoping that she would find herself distracted. As they made their way further and further into the city, the sharper people dressed, the higher the buildings got, and some of the roads went from thin dirt tracks to incredibly wide cobbled carriageways. They passed by shops on these main roads, shops of all kinds, with large signs advertising their wares from all over to world above—silks from India, ink from Japan, china from China. And whenever they stopped at a crossing or to let another carriage pass, Sansa peered down side roads, small alleys and pedestrianised paths to see market squares nestled in between the tall buildings, or small public gardens or a cut across to the main road on the other side.
The city excited her already. It was loud, and bustling, and she could sometimes hear street musicians on the street corners as they went past. Many people stopped and stared to watch their train go by. It made Sansa feel immensely proud to see onlookers take notice, and whisper amongst themselves about the Stark crest painted on each and every door of their gleaming ebony carriages. She grinned excitedly to herself.
Though, she thought as she looked at the populace, they still looked rather miserable and hard-faced, even if they knew important people were riding by. And despite the sun shining high in the sky, a light layer of inner city soot grubbied up even the most handsome of gowns. I very much doubt I would be allowed to visit here, even if it is still West London.
Arya interrupted her train of thought by asking, “Where did father say the Townhouse was again?”
Sansa shrugged, never taking her eyes off the outside. “I never write the address on any letter I send father, I just hand it over to Mr Cassel. I do hope it’s somewhere decent though.”
Her sister snorted. “And what do you mean by decent?”
“You know, respectable.”
“It’s our family Townhouse, it’s not going to be a dump, San!” Arya laughed.
Sansa once again wrenched her eyes away from the window to look at her sister. “I never said it would be! I just—Well, I think it’ll probably be in Bloomsbury or something.”
“Oh Bloomsbury? However will we cope?” Arya teased.
Scowling, she turned back to look out the window. “You know what I mean.”
“No, no. I’ll be sure to let Father Chayle know, just how well you managed in the face of adversity. You’re like the Lord himself, humble enough to spend a Season in mere, Bloomsbury.”
Sansa rolled her eyes but made no reply. Perhaps she was being ridiculous. She knew she was extremely lucky to be in the position she was, to be part of the family that she was. But that knowledge did very little to stop her desire to be situated somewhere fashionable.
The carriage made a turn that went away from the River, the centre of the stench and the main roads, and up into a more residential area, with smaller shops, and teahouses. Sansa very much liked the look of this. She told herself that if she were to live here, she wouldn’t mind one bit. She could very much imagine herself pottering about the street, showing off her gowns in the safety of the cleaner, less sooty air or horse mucked roads. But they didn’t stop there, they continued to move until the shops became scant to none, the houses larger and grander; pedestrians were dressed in a standard Sansa more than approved of and the high number of cabs to carriages decreased drastically. It excited her very much.
Again, Arya interjected her thoughts, “Talking of writing people, I’ve written to Jon, you know.”
She blinked. “Cousin Jon?” Sansa asked, as casually as she could, for she felt a pit in her stomach.
“Do we know any other Jons’?”
She ignored the sarcasm. “What did you write to him about?”
“I told him we were coming to Town, though he knows that already because of his mother, and that I should like to see him, as we,” she paused. “As I, Robb, Bran and Rickon, do every summer.”
Sansa nodded. Her gaze were fixed on one particular point on the window, and though she looked, she did not see. If she had seen, she would discover that her carriage was pulling up Grosvenor Square, a place in which Sansa only fantasised about spending her Season. “I presume he’s well.”
“He is. Though, he has just finished his final exams at university, so I imagine he will be in need of letting off some steam.”
“Naturally.”
“And he will arrive in Town a few days after us, just in time to make it to your debutante ball.”
“Oh good,” Sansa swallowed. “It shall be nice to see him again.” That was a lie. It wouldn’t be nice. She supposed it would be terribly awkward actually, and in the back of her mind, she had been dreading having to become reacquainted with him again ever since she found out that she was to come to court. Her heart began to beat quite intensely.
“I can’t wait to be reunited,” Arya continued. “I haven’t seen him since last summer. It’s always much more fun when he’s around.” Even though she was getting the feeling that Arya wanted to talk about the topic more, Sansa remained silent. After all, its not like she knew whether it was fun or not. Sansa had only spent two summers with Jon, both when they were very young and he had just started at Crowes with Robb. And a lot of time had passed since then. Jon was a stranger to her now, a stranger who just merely talking about made her heart quicken, and her tummy flutter.
For all her anxiety over where she would be living, with her dastardly cousin occupying her mind, Sansa had not even noticed the carriage going through a large, intricately wound set of wrought iron gates, and pulling into the short drive. “Oh wow!” Arya exclaimed in a whisper. This snapped Sansa out of her Jon worries, and she turned to look to Arya, who was too excited to wait for the footman to open the door for her.
The excited girl, practically bouncing in her seat, wrenched the door open as soon as she could and sprinted out, her wolf following after her, barking frantically. Sansa sat back, feeling a waft of air caress her face, and it felt most refreshing, until she remembered how ‘fresh’ this city air actually was. Pondering for a second whether it was safe to let her hanky down, the sight of what was waiting for her outside the carriage, made the decision for her. The stench lingered but it was clear that it was in the distance behind them, and far from overwhelming.
Sansa got up, her legs wobbly and a little bit numb. Leaning her hands on the trunks, she ducked her head out the door and took a step down. As she looked up, the bright sun falling across her eyes, Sansa almost squealed. Arya was right, the Stark family Townhouse was no dump, and it was most decent.
It seemed to her as if it were almost a countryside manor, plonked in a city square, for it was of a much older style than any of the other houses in the street. Much bigger and grander too, she thought with a grin. The house, although made primarily of a noble red brick, was covered in a sheet of, albeit well tamed, ivy that had white flowers dotted here and there amongst the dense foliage. White stone hellenistic columns that matched the details of the exterior, held up the tall house. It was perhaps four or five storeys, if counting a basement level and attic, and at the centre of the building, above the large bottle green front door, was an equally large, circular window. Sansa supposed it was a window seat, and began to picture herself sat there, watching onto the street. She hoped her bedroom was one of the rooms at the front of the house, for she would very much like to be able to see any possible inquiring callers for her from her room.
Lady poked her snout in between her mistress’ waist and the door of the carriage, and tried to push her whole head through too. Sansa chuckled, and stepped down onto the shale drive to let her wolf also enjoy the view. “Look Lady,” Sansa said, wrapping an arm around the wolf-dog’s neck. “Look at our new home! Isn’t it wonderful?” Lady, always somehow seeming to be able to understand whatever Sansa said, lifted her head up higher to survey her new home. Her nose twitched and wiggled as she caught the new scent, and she began to shift her legs, hopping from paw to paw with excitement. She yapped, and licked at Sansa’s face.
Sansa squealed, trying to push her back. “Oh, Lady. Don’t, it’ll ruin my skin.” But Lady didn’t let up. “Go on then, go on!” She stepped aside, allowing her dog to race down the steps and begin to thoroughly sniff and inspect every inch of the front drive.
“Princess!” Her father called to her from the front of the house. “Come on! I haven’t seen you since New Years!”
She turned to the direction of his voice, her grin somehow getting even wider, and ran as fast as Lady into his outstretched arms. He made an oof as they collided, and he gathered her in his big arms, lifting her off her feet by an inch or two like how he did when she was a little girl. “Nearly took the wind out of me,” he laughed in her ear. She buried her face into his chest, taking a good whiff of his comforting, familiar scent.
Sansa gazed up at him, “Why didn’t you say the Townhouse was so lovely?”
Her father let go of her. “Eh?”
“I didn’t know this is where you stay when you’re working in Town. It’s simply marvellous!”
“Well, what did I tell you? The Starks used to be kings. You can’t expect them to just stay anywhere.”
Sansa giggled. “Yes, of course. That is true.”
When she was a little girl, when her and Arya still used to share a bedroom, her father would tell them bedtime stories about the Starks and their kingdom. “Does that make you a king, and us princesses’?” Sansa would ask in awe and with wide eyes.
Her father would hesitate before answering, “I am no king, but you will always be my princesses.” This, naturally, made Sansa elated. She always wanted to be a princess, and felt deep down, that she was destined to be one. Discovering the Starks were once royalty only confirmed her belief.
Arya, on the other hand, did not feel the same way. “I don’t want to be a princess,” she’d whine. “Princesses never do anything exciting in the stories, all they do is wait around. Can’t a be a knight, or a fiercesome dragon?”
Their father would laugh and say, “I suppose, if you’d like.”
Sansa would pout and cry, “Well, I still want to be a princess!”
“And so you are, my sweet,” he would tell her. “My princess.”
“You do know they’re bagsying the best rooms for themselves, right?” Bran shouted across to her. Sansa looked over and saw Bran scowling out from behind his chair as he was pushed up some sort of ramp under their mother’s watchful eye.
“That’s not fair!” Sansa cried, rushing behind him. “I didn’t know! And I can’t run very fast in my dresses.”
As she entered the foyer, she almost forgot her annoyance, it was that grand. The room was large, with dark panelled walls, and a shiny black and white tiled floor. Corridors sprouted off to the left and to the right, with doors to rooms all around her. The library to her right, the cloakroom to her left, ahead to the left was the parlour, ahead to the right was a billiards room, and in the centre, was a large wooden staircase with red carpet trim. Bouquets of fresh sweet smelling flowers on console tables masked the unpleasant smell of the outside. As Sansa looked to the suits of armour, dancing bears or paintings of the Lowlands on the walls, she couldn’t help but be reminded of home.
Her father, who had caught up behind her, placed a hand on her shoulder, and muttered, “Do not fret, princess.” With his large bellowing voice, Eddard Stark summoned his children back down the stairs, into the foyer. It took Arya some coaxing before she could be persuaded to move, for she did not want to leave her newly acquired territory undefended, lest any unwelcome inhabitants sweep in while she was away.
But came down she did, eventually, and joined them, the footmen working around the family as they took their things upstairs. “Now,” their father began. “I have already decided who is getting which room before you arrived.”
“What?!” Both Robb and Rickon yelled at the same time.
“I won that room fair and square!” Arya protested, her face going red, and she glared at Sansa as if she were to blame.
“I’m not going to allow the bedrooms to be first come, first serve when it takes Bran longer to go up than the rest of you. That’s not fair, you know its not.”
“He’ll be alright!” Arya said. “He’s still faster than Sansa, even with the chair, he won’t get left with the worst room.”
Robb and Rickon stifled a laugh.
“Hey!” Sansa retorted, folding her arms in front of her chest.
“This is what I’ve decided, and that’s final,” said Ned. “The footman are taking up your things to the rooms I’ve chosen for you anyway.”
“Thank you father,” Sansa replied sweetly.
Arya immediately turned around, and raced up the stairs. From below, what was heard could only be described as a guttural, frustrated, throaty sound. “I knew it!” The girl screamed from above. She stomped down the stairs, and paused on the flat middle so she could look over them. “They’re bringing Sansa’s things into my room.”
Their father sighed. “Then, that is because it is Sansa’s room.”
Arya glared at her again. “Why does she get everything she wants?”
“That’s not true!” Sansa shouted back, moving towards her.
Arya went down a step. “Oh yes it is! Why can’t I have just this one thing?”
Sansa was going to argue back but their father interrupted, and moved to stand in between the two.
“I decided the rooms based on who I believe would be better suited to them. It is Sansa’s Season, and she’d be the most interested in having the window facing onto the street.” Sansa smiled, feeling quite glad that she ended up getting what she wanted after all. Her father edged towards Arya tentatively. “But your room is south facing, it’ll get more sun. I know you like that.”
“Oh, good,” she replied through gritted teeth.
“Thank you father,” Sansa cooed again.“I think that’s most thoughtful.” She went on her tip toes to kiss his cheek before waltzing upstairs to her to her new room, Lady trotting behind after her. As she passed her sister on the stairs, she said to her, “Don’t worry, Arya. You can have my old room next year.”
From behind, Sansa heard the thunder of footsteps falling fast on the stairs, and as the stair turned the corner, Sansa saw Robb holding back Arya.
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