Chapter Text
The first conscious thought Sansa had as she woke up in the morning of April 15th 1948, was that her old dream had visited her last night. She lay on her big bed under the silk sheets with her eyes closed and a smile on her lips as her mind trailed back in time to events that had taken place thirty six years ago. Sansa didn´t know how long she stayed like that, lost between memories and dreams, but eventually sounds from outside brought her back to the present.
With a sigh she stretched lazily on the bed, her fingers trailing over the empty space besides her as memories from the past were replaced by thoughts of today´s lunch. Nobody actually said it, but everyone knew that the family reunion was held in her honour, so they could all be with her on this date. But Sansa was more than glad for the opportunity to have all of her loved ones together back home. Ever since the start of World War II almost a decade ago, such occasions had unfortunately lessened.
They all still met for birthdays, holidays and national festivities, but it was nice to know that despite the busy lives her children led, everyone made certain that on the 12th of April of every year, their schedules were cleared for this family gathering.
Looking at the clock on her bureau, Sansa´s eyes shot wide open. She´d overslept! If she didn´t hurry, then there would be troubles in the kitchen. At least everyone but Adrien and Benoit were already home. As Sansa stood up and walked over to the large room were all her wardrobe was kept, she thought with amusement how frightened she´d been years ago at the thought of running the household of a château as large as Giroux, for the estate was bigger than Winterfell. But overseeing it had thankfully not proven as difficult as she had once thought.
Deciding to wear a sophisticated elegant grey belted dress for today, Sansa sat down before the mirror on her vanity table, arranging her hair into a simple bun. It didn´t surprise her that as she got ready, her mind kept on going back to the fateful week when her life had changed, for on this date it was more than natural.
Sansa quite liked the “new look” in fashion that had appeared last year, but she would always prefer the designs of her youth. Although that vanished age was long gone, at least Sansa´s figure was still slim after the birth of four children, her waistline having grown smaller after the stressful years of the war. And even though her auburn hair was now scattered with grey, Sansa felt as beautiful as any woman in her early fifties could when they were loved and at peace. The photographs scattered across the table were proof of that, seeing as they all showed her with a radiant expression through different periods of time.
Almost half an hour later Sansa went out of her bedroom, content with the picture she presented. She greeted the servants she met along the way on the halls of her home, and making a visit to the kitchens, she made sure that all the preparations for lunch were well under way, smiling as she spied the lemon cake they would all have for dessert. Suddenly recalling that Arya´s letter had arrived yesterday and she had yet to write a reply, Sansa walked over to the main living room of the château and headed straight for the beautiful mahogany desk she considered as her own “office”.
Stepping with a chuckle into the room as she recalled all the times she had re-decorated it to the distress of her family, Sansa sat down and re-read her oldest friend´s letter, wondering for the hundredth time why Arya wouldn't just call her over the phone. She liked writing and receiving letters, but it had been so long since they had last seen each other that Sansa was starting to fear she would soon forget her friend´s voice.
As she wrote a long reply to Arya´s even longer letter, Edith Piaff´s voice singing La Vie en Rose in the radio, Sansa allowed herself to remember those early years of their friendship, which had been born on the night when she had first arrived in America. Arya Williams had taken Sansa to a church the following day, but less than a month later Sansa had already moved in into the New Yorker´s small one room flat.
Those first months after Titanic´s sinking had been some of the darkest of Sansa´s life, but Arya had been the one to help her find work that would allow her to get all the warm food and clothes she needed, which kept her from becoming a beggar. Her first job had been at a milliner's shop, but then to earn more money she had begun to help with the costumes at a local theatre on Broadway.
And as luck would have it, for Sansa still had a little trouble believing it herself at times, one thing had led to another and at one point she had ended up acting and signing at the theatre’s plays, fulfilling her lifelong ambition of singing before large crowds. Her dream was initially perturbed by the advances of Petyr Baelish, her manager, but by then the Great War had broken out, and Sansa had volunteered to spent parts of her free time nursing convalescent soldiers, which meant she would be in the company of her employer for fewer hours as her singing lessons were in progress.
Although Baelish had died less than a year after World War I began under mysterious circumstances, Sansa´s singing career had flourished, to the point that by 1919 she had already earned a moderate fame, being the lead actress and singer in many plays, even as different theatre companies fought for her.
It had been through her career on the stage that Sansa had met her husband, Adrien Jordan, a French socialite, heir to a wealthy family of bankers that were part Europe´s elite. Several men had shown interest in Sansa long before Adrien, Petyr Baelish included, but she had never paid them any mind, for her heart already belonged to another. Yet the longer she knew Adrien, the harder it had been for Sansa to keep on fooling herself that she wasn´t in love with him.
They had first met at a party thrown in a large house at Long Island, a year after the Great War was over. But afterwards Adrien confessed to Sansa that he had seen her before, on the night she first appeared in Faust. Adrien had fought for his homeland in the First World War, and would have lost his life were it not for an American soldier who rescued him from the trenches in time. When the war was over Adrien had looked for his rescuer, only to find that he had died shortly before the end. Wishing to pay the man´s family his respects, Adrien had travelled to New York, and it had been during that trip that he and Sansa had first met.
He was brave, gentle and kind; characteristics that had long before attracted Sansa, and the love Adrien had for her had only strengthen with the passing of time. She had fallen for his blue eyes and brown curly hair against her will, although it had been his good heart that had won her over from the start. For long months he courted Sansa, and when she finally agreed to marry him, she was forced to reveal her true origins, since his family had claimed to disown him if he married a simple English upstart singer.
Besides Arya, to whom Sansa had confided her true history some years after they´d met, Adrien was the only one who knew everything about her past. And when he found out about the Lannisters, it had taken all of Sansa´s pleas and tears to keep her fiancé from wishing to destroy them. With obvious reluctance he´d finally give in to her appeal, and one day years later, shortly after the Great Depression began, Sansa learned that Joffrey Baratheon had shot himself.
She had read way before his death that he had married a Southern heiress called Margaery Tyrell, and despite the fact that their children had inherited his millions, they failed to keep them due to the crash of 1929. But by that time Sansa had already been living in France for years, and such tidings stirred no emotion in her. She had travelled the world with Adrien during their life together, even visiting so far as India, the Middle East and Australia.
If there was one place she never felt like going back to though, it was England. Despite the fact that Adrien had bought Winterfell back for her, she had no desire to ever set foot in her homeland again, for the memories of the months she had been the lions´ prisoner unfortunately overweight the early years of her childhood.
Adrien claimed that one day she would change her mind, but if that ever happened, Sansa was certain it wouldn´t be soon. And it wasn´t like she had any family left back in that country, seeing as her Aunt Lysa and her cousin Robert had both died long ago, or so had Adrien´s inspectors informed them shortly after they married. They had been unable to determine if her family´s demise had any connection with the Lannisters, but since Sansa felt certain that they did, she felt responsible for their deaths. For years such knowledge had haunted her despite her husband´s attempts to convince her otherwise.
Aside from England, she would´ve preferred it she had the choice never to go back to the United States again either, but when the Nazi army invaded France, Adrien had taken her to New York as a precaution. The boys had stayed behind against their parents´ wishes, claiming that their duty was to stay and fight for their homeland. But that was years ago, and now Sansa was once again living in her adoptive home country- the land she had loved ever since she had been a student of Mademoiselle Mordane´s Academy in the outskirts of Paris.
Since the start of their marriage, Adrien and Sansa would spend half a year in their city home in the French capital, and the other half in their estate in the countryside, in the Dordogne region of southwest France, in the prefecture of Périgueux. Sansa highly enjoyed hosting elegant parties back in Paris, attending Coco Channel´s or Christian Dior´s runways, but she also found a sweet charm in country life, breeding horses for the races, watching the men play polo and swimming on a barge in the many lakes of Giroux´s grounds.
Suddenly, Sansa´s daughter made an appearance at the living room, her hair wet, and bathrobe over her bathing suit. She laughed as she took in the sight Caroline presented, feeling immensely proud, as she always did, when seeing her youngest child and only daughter.
Caroline was not yet twenty-five, a true beauty and a very modern woman. Many believed that she was not yet married because she was her father´s pet, and because her brothers were quite overprotective of her, but Sansa knew the truth to be otherwise. For the present Caroline was wedded to medicine, her dearest ambition to become a pediatrician.
Having inherited her mother´s hair, eyes and height, Caroline was the image of Sansa at her age, although she believed her child to be more even more beautiful than her. Sansa could only hope though that one day her daughter would believe her when she pointed out that there was no need for her to choose between love and work. Walking over to give Sansa a hug, Caroline looked at the five pages she had written to Arya and laughed.
“Oh Mother,” she exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “You and Auntie Arya are impossible! Why you two just won´t call each other up and spend the whole afternoon talking instead of all these writing and waiting I´ll never know.”
Sansa couldn’t help but chuckle, wondering if maybe such stubbornness wasn´t a sign of her getting old. She watched Caroline walk over to seat on her favourite sofa by the marble fireplace, and then Sansa groaned.
“Caroline, don´t please,” she cried out. “You´ll ruin the furniture.”
Sighing in annoyance, Caroline stood up and started walking all over the living room, twirling a strand of her wet auburn hair in her finger. She´s thinking of Philippe, Sansa knew. Phillipe had been one of Caroline´s best friends since they were both children, and the young man had recently proposed to her, only to be rejected.
Aware that she would only work against Phillipe´s case if she spoke before Caroline took the matter up with her herself, Sansa decided not to remark upon the young man´s absence from today´s lunch, an event he had previously attended for years.
“Where´s your brother?” Sansa instead enquired of Caroline. “I thought he was just taking Hadar for a short visit to the Château de Beynac.”
“I´m sure they won´t be long now,” Caroline replied, unperturbed.
They fell into a comfortable silence, but while her daughter´s mind was torn by her own persona dilemma, Sansa found herself remembering Caroline´s twin brother, Théo. Sansa´s third son had been a soldier during World War II, and he had died early in the conflict. May there never be such a war again, God. At least not in my lifetime. I could not bear such a loss one more time.
Losing one of her children had been the greatest pain Sansa Stark had ever known, and the wound was still too fresh for her to be able to recall her beautiful son´s face without feeling as if her heart had lodged in her throat. Of her three sons, young Théo had been the one who physically resembled Sansa the most, having inherited her auburn curls, just like Caroline. With a pang Sansa gathered that if Théo had been here today, his sister would´ve confided in him at once the troubles of her heart.
And then, as both women heard the sound of approaching cars, Caroline and Sansa smiled at the same time as they realized that Adrien and Bénoit had finally arrived. As her husband and second eldest son greeted her in turn, Sansa felt a little less empty. Théo may have gone, but I still have his brothers and his father.
Adrien kissed Sansa on the lips and Bénoit kissed her on both cheeks, both of them telling Caroline and her at once all about their train trip from Paris. Since Bénoit was a politician, he lived in the capital. He was a handsome intelligent man, not yet thirty, who was just as committed to his work as his sister. Sansa knew that he had a different girlfriend every month, but although his personal life was not ideal, at least he was doing very well in the government. Bénoit was the right hand man of France´s Prime Minister.
“And what did the two most beautiful woman in the world do after I left for Paris to fetch home this rascal?” Adrien inquired from his wife and his daughter, settling down in his personal seat in the living room, drawing Sansa closer so she could seat on his leg.
After answering him, Bénoit and Caroline began talking, seeing as they hadn´t been able to meet in the past couple of months. While they watched their children fondly, Adrien cupped Sansa´s face and asked her, “How are you, dear? I missed you, you know”
She knew at once what he meant, and she smiled at him gratefully before replying, “I do, but now that you are back, I´m well again.”
Adrien returned her smile and kissed her again, although much more discreetly than he would´ve done had they been alone. As they all started a conversation, Sansa could only feel grateful by how love came in many ways and forms.
Soon enough the four of them fell into the same discussion, but they couldn't really get into too much detail with any topic seeing as their party was not yet complete. Half an hour later, when the footman announced that lunch was ready, Sansa started to get worried.
“What if something´s happened to your brother?” she asked Bénoit as they all stepped outside towards the picnic table, hoping he would give her a different answer from Caroline´s. “I don´t think it was a good idea for them to go out exploring in Hadar´s condition. She´ll be giving birth before the summer´s over, after all.”
“I wouldn't know much about that,” Bénoit told her with a small grin, putting his arm across her shoulders. He was the son that most resembled Adrien physically. “But I shouldn’t worry, Mother. After all, if-”
“It´s all right, Sansa,” Adrien suddenly exclaimed with a laugh. “They´ve just returned. Look!”
Sansa turned around quickly in the direction her husband was pointing, and with relief her eyes fell on her eldest son as he strode towards them across the grounds of the château, his small wife walking beside him.
“Oh Sandor!” she called out, a little exasperated. “Hadar should be resting, not walking around the French countryside as she expects her first baby!”
But Hadar only laughed as she answered, “I´m all right! I think the fresh air is good for the baby! It has been restless and kicking since we left Beynac.”
As everyone gathered around the soon to be parents, Sansa watched her firstborn, who was the living image of his father. They had the same height and body built, the same hair colour and the same nature. They even shared the same name, although the son´s face had not been burned away the way his father´s had been. But there were traits of Sansa too in him, for Sandor had inherited her blue eyes, and his features took after her too, being more delicate than those of his sire.
When Sansa had first learned that she was expecting Sandor´s child, it had been as if she had been born again. And even though it had been quite hard to be a widowed mother initially, she had never been happier in America than when she was with her little boy. She gave him all the love she could not give his father, protecting him against the world as best she could while they were both poor, Arya helping along. And in the end, Sandor´s son had grown up happy and safe.
By the time Sansa had met Adrien, her son had been six years old, and it was mainly because of him that she had delayed giving her hand away in marriage. First of all because she feared Sandor would see Adrien as an intruder who wished to take her affection away from him, but also because throughout all his short life, Sandor had grown up with an idealized version of his father, encouraged by Sansa. She had praised Sandor Clegane to their son as if he was faultless, and even though as her child grew older he learned more and more about the true story behind his parents´ relationship and his father´s history, it seemed that it many ways, the son was destined to imitate the father no matter what.
For not only were they similar in nature, but in interests too. Sandor was a very intelligent young man who knew several languages, had travelled extendedly and preferred to keep to himself. Although he had accepted Adrien as his adoptive father from the start and the two had developed a strong relationship full of confidence, and even though Sandor treasured his siblings too, he was a solitary man, and Sansa never knew him to be in a serious relationship with a woman until the war ended and he came back married to Hadar.
Yet, even though he was reserved by nature, Sandor had told his mother, whom he loved as much as his father had done, the story about how he had fallen in love with Hadar. Despite the fact that he had never confirmed it, Sansa knew that her eldest son was a spy for the French government. And because of that she sometimes wondered when had Sandor first known fear, seeing as she had tried so hard to protect him from the world as he was growing up.
But whatever else he did in his line of work, during World War II, Sandor had been sent on a mission to occupied Poland, where he had met Hadar and her family. Sansa didn´t know the details, but apparently Hadar´s family had all died in a concentration camp, and her daughter-in-law would´ve done so too had Sandor not saved her.
Coming back to the present as Bénoit took Sansa´s hand to lead her towards the table, they all sat down to eat and talk, celebrating the fact that they were together today, an empty chair reserved in Théo´s memory. Hours later though, in the late afternoon, Sansa and Sandor were sitting in a chair under her favourite tree, smoking as they looked out at the breathtaking view of the valley beside their estate. Back at the house Adrien, Bénoit, Caroline and Hadar were playing a game, all of them aware that on this day, the date in which Sansa´s first husband had died, mother and son liked to spend some time on their own.
Such moments reminded Sansa of her years living in New York as a single mother, working two jobs just so she could take a proper care of her precious child. Yet despite the hardships they had know, both of them had had been as happy in their little one room flat in Chelsea as they had been as they visited the Australian Outback in some family vacation, or spent together a rainy afternoon in Paris catching up.
“You´re going to be a wonderful father,” Sansa suddenly told her son, looking away from the view of the valley so she could stare at his handsome face, smiling as she realized that the length of his dark hair was as long as she remembered his sire had always had it. It was odd to think how his father had died around the same age as his son now was.
Sandor turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow, trying to figure out the true meaning behind her words. Then he grinned at her as he rasped, “I hope so. I wish to make you and Adrien proud… And father too.”
“Sandor would´ve been proud of you long before this,” Sansa assured her son, hearing echoes of his father in his voice. “You´re a good man, darling… Oh God, I can just imagine what your Father would´ve said had he been present when you first told us Hadar and you were expecting our grandchild!”
“Bloody hells?” Sandor guessed, snorting.
Sansa laughed and nodded. “Yes, something like that.”
“Well, he would´ve been proud of you too, Mum, if everything you´ve told me about him is true. As am I. Raising me up all on your own in a strange country when you were just a kid yourself. And look how far you´ve come. You´ve been brave for me all your life.”
It was Sansa´s turn to raise an eyebrow. Sandor had known she had in her the will to live a full life, which was why he had made her promise with his dying breath to do just that. And because of it, despite all the pain, loss, suffering and heartache, Sansa had become a better person. And yes, she had been brave in her own way too.
Suddenly, she felt her son´s large hand reach out for her own as a tear fell down her cheek. Around this time thirty six years ago, Sansa was falling in love with Sandor Clegane on board the Titanic, both of them completely unaware of what the future had in store for them, and yet utterly happy in their ignorance.
Perhaps we were meant to love each other so intensely because it was destined to be brief, she thought, recalling the bravest man she had ever known. But in those two days we were able to save each other in every possible way that a person can be saved.
“Yes,” Sansa said softly, agreeing with her son. “Sandor would´ve been proud… And I am proud of myself too.”
Her child squeezed her hand before sighing deeply, and then he growled, “Would you like to take the box out now?”
“Yes,” she answered with a smile, taking it out and placing it between them.
Every year on this day, except for wartime, Sansa and her son would look at the items on the little wooden box as a sort of ritual they held in Sandor´s memory. Inside there was an empty leather wallet and a massive, beautiful, cold diamond necklace, objects that served as links beyond time itself; proofs that she had once been Sansa Stark.
For a brief moment she stared at Le Couer de la Mer, thinking about how a woman´s heart was like an ocean full of secrets; recalling how the hardest part about being so poor all those years ago back in New York had been being so rich. But every time Sansa thought about selling the piece of jewelry, she would think of Joffrey, and how he could find out about her existence if she parted with it. At least I managed to do well without his help in the end. And to keep my son away from him.
Those thoughts led Sansa to discard the necklace without a second glance into the box so she could carefully hold Sandor´s old wallet in her hands. She had spent the money inside it during the first months in America, but at least she still had this record of her first love´s existence.
Sansa lifted the wallet for a closer look, her thumb rubbing it´s fading leather cover back and forth. Not a day went by when she didn´t think of Sandor Clegane, and yet it was only on the 12th of every April that she allowed herself to lay eyes on this object. Hugging the wallet close to her heart, Sansa closed her eyes and whispered Sandor´s name to herself ever so faintly, a soft smile on her lips as she recalled the way he´d looked when their eyes met as she was going down to dinner, just before they attended the steerage dance afterwards.
I have no regrets, she thought, remembering how there had been no unsaid things left between them, feeling overwhelmed once again by the love that had lived in her heart for decades, defying the test of time.
THE END
- “Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it…” (Song of Solomon 8.7)
- “If there is any substitute for love, it is memory.” (Joseph Brodsky)
