Wilting ♞ Sandor Clegane

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"I CAN HAVE Joffrey's children now," Sansa says, her voice wavering. Her chambers still have the faint smell of smoke from her attempts to burn the evidence of her first moonblood. A lady's maid had seen her and Shea, though, and Cersei didn't hesitate to sink her claws into the little bird at first chance. Sansa looks down at her shaking hands, sniffling. It's a poor time to become a woman. She will bleed within these stone walls while Stannis and his men bleed outside come nightfall.

Anya strokes back the loose waves of Sansa's auburn hair. "Sweet little dove," she soothes.

For a long while, Sansa says nothing, only stares toward the hearth. "You or mother never told me it would be so messy," she finally says, wiping the dampness from her eyes. Anya hates that Catelyn is not here.

"Sansa, I–" Anya feels as though she cannot look her niece in the eye for the dread and guilt building in her gut. She does not often dwell on the issue of her infertility, but in moments like this —it stings in a way she cannot fully comprehend. Why do you think I am not wed? Anya bites her tongue. For what good is a wife if she cannot produce offspring to carry on the name and legacy of her house?

She reaches for Sansa's trembling hands. "When your father returned with Jon, I cared for him, as a mother would," she explains, but everyone in the North knows that. Now, though, Sansa begins to understand just what her aunt means. She looks at Anya Stark with wide, horrified eyes. "Maester Luwin warned me of the consequences, but I did not care." Given a chance, she would gladly make the same choice again, tenfold —Jon was her boy, no matter if he was a squalling babe or a man of the Night's Watch. She takes a slow breath, almost ashamed she hadn't thought to help Sansa prepare. "I did not think to mention this because it has been so many years since I last bled."

Sansa swallows her displeasure and decorum. "Is it always so bad?" She asks, voice shaking.

Anya remembers her first blood —she ran to Lyarra Stark, afraid she was dying, but Lyarra smiled and told her each blood only served to make her stronger. "The pain should lessen with time," Anya tells her, squeezing her hands. "And you'll be able to use the moon as guidance to prepare." It's the same thing Cersei told her too.

But then Sansa's thoughts stray to what her and Joffrey's wedding night will entail —if their engagement is still on favorable terms. She's heard some of the ladies of court talk about what happens behind the closed doors of their husband's chambers. The color drains from Sansa's face as she thinks about it. "Will it hurt when–"

Anya won't let her finish the question. "Shhh" —she pulls her niece into a tight embrace— "don't even think about that right now." She needs her mother, Anya thinks. But Catelyn Stark is miles away, and Anya is only a poor substitute. "We'll get through this," she assures the young girl. "I promise." Then she kisses Sansa's forehead and offers to go for a walk in the gardens —the cool morning air would do her good.

Lunch comes and goes —a small meal of cod cakes and greens dressed with apples and pine nuts. After, Sansa returns to her chambers, but she's unwilling to part with her aunt after the morning's events and the looming threat of Stannis Baratheon's fleet and men sailing toward the capital.

Anya looks down into a glass of dark wine —nigh the color of blood. Come night, the city would be under siege. The sails of Stannis's fleet had already been spotted, and traders spake of seeing their departure from Dragonstone. But alas, she would be able to test Tobho Mott's craftsmanship and her skills. Mayhap I'll even get an ounce of justice. She finishes the glass of wine and returns to her book whilst Sansa works on her embroideries.

At sundown, the bells of the city begin to toll as a warning and a call to arms. Sansa sets aside her needle and thread and goes to the window where Anya looks out, watching the dark water of Blackwater Bay and the nobles scurrying toward Maegor's Holdfast through the courtyard below