Chapter Text
Sansa closes her eyes and breathes deeply- not that there’s any purpose, for the air in the cabin remains heavy, stale, stagnant. The churning of her stomach grows worse with each passing hour, and she knows that a moment out on deck with the fresh sea breeze would make all the difference. But no, they must stay beneath the hull until they reach port- even the laughable amount of money that Jaime paid the boatswain to gain them passage on this vessel cannot change the fact that they are stowaways.
A snarl behind her, and she jumps; Rickon’s direwolf mislikes the confined quarters even more than Sansa does, and although he sits at the side of the cot with surprising obedience, his grunts and growls sound as menacing as ever.
Jaime had wanted to leave the animal behind- ‘Yes, we’ll be practically invisible with a giant, fanged beast in tow. Nothing conspicuous there.’ And of course, there was the matter of coin- ‘Whoever we convince to get us aboard a ship will want a king’s ransom for smuggling a direwolf down below. It’s absurd.’ But when Sansa tried to explain to Rickon that he’d need to leave Shaggydog in Westeros, the boy had raised such an alarming ruckus- screaming, thrashing, crying until he vomited- that Sansa could do nothing but go to Jaime and plead- ‘Please, Jaime, this wolf is all the family he knows....please, Jaime, please...’
He set his jaw and gritted his teeth, but he eventually agreed.
The only creature in the cabin to object to Shaggy’s presence more than Jaime is Tommen’s little tabby cat, Ser Pounce. Three days below deck, and Sansa has seen naught of Ser Pounce but a tail poking out of Tommen’s coat. The one-time King of Westeros sits on his cot, his absolute stillness a sharp contrast to Rickon’s constant fidgeting and scratching. Green eyes seem constantly on the verge of overflowing, but Tommen sheds no tears. He only sits, plump hands reaching into his coat to stroke Ser Pounce, with not a word to say.
Sansa watches Jaime watch his nephew- nay, his son. His brow furrows with worry lines, and he inches closer and closer to the boy on the hard cot that they share. His arm twitches- he obviously wants to reach for Tommen, but he refrains- he knows not how to be around him, now that Tommen knows the truth.
Jaime catches her staring, and he flashes her a smile that does not reach his eyes. “Still feeling queasy, my lady?” His smile broadens when she frowns. “Be sick if you need to- I dare say the smell in here can’t get much worse.”
Bile rises in her throat, but she swallows it down. “I’m fine,” she says in an unconvincing murmur before curling on her side of the cot beside a restless Rickon. Her little brother thrashes in his shallow sleep, his heels colliding sharply with her ankles, but she uses the pain to distract her from the nausea.
She hears Jaime whispering across the cabin, urging Tommen to lie down and sleep. But the child moves not at all, not even when Ser Pounce peeks his head out of the coat to look warily at Shaggydog.
The kitten mewls, the direwolf growls, and the ship slugs along into the night.
A damp, peculiar chill beneath him stirs Jaime from his slumber. The mattress is drenched, and although the darkness in the chamber is absolute, the stench in the air clearly identifies the liquid. He reaches his left hand to Tommen and brushes his knuckles over the boy’s trousers- indeed, he’s wet himself.
(Tommen pissed the bed from time to time as a small child; Jaime remembers Robert raging and Cersei fretting, but the boy seemed to grow out of it all on his own...he’d heard nothing of the affliction for years before this.)
Jaime gently shakes Tommen awake, and when the boy realizes what he has done, he begins to moan and whimper (but no tears, still no tears).
“I was having bad dreams,” he whispers as Jaime eases him off of the wet mattress. “I dreamed that the boat was sinking, and we all drowned down here.”
“No fear of that,” Jaime offers brightly as he helps Tommen out of his wet clothes. “It’s a solid little boat, and we shan’t be here much longer.”
“It was so terrible in my dream...I was cold, and I couldn’t breathe, and I was so frightened...” Jaime rummages through Tommen’s rucksack for his other pair of trousers, but the child’s whisper stops him cold-
“I miss my mother.”
As do I, Jaime thinks (and nearly speaks aloud). But he only crosses to Tommen and strokes his golden curls before handing him the clean pair of breeches.
A rustling sound from the cot catches his attention- he can see Sansa in shadow, quietly stripping the mattress and flipping it over. The smell of urine lingers, but the other side is dry.
“I’m sorry, Sansa,” Tommen murmurs. Sansa rolls the dirty linens in burlap before crossing to Tommen and wrapping her arms tight around him, her voice thick with drowsiness-
“All will be well. You’re all right...go back to sleep.”
Sansa stands and returns to her cot; Rickon has taken the opportunity to splay himself in a star shape across the entire mattress, and rather than move him to one side, Sansa curls up in a tiny ball at the end of the cot.
Jaime watches her settle into position, trying and failing to make herself comfortable, and he feels his lips curve into a smile- this time, a true smile.
They come ashore at high noon, the sun harsh and blinding after so many days of darkness. Shaggydog and Rickon do not take kindly to the sudden glare; the direwolf squeezes its massive body under the cot to escape the brightness, and Rickon struggles and shrieks in that feral way that chills Sansa to her bones.
She tries to coax Rickon out of the cabin- first with sweet words, then with harder ones, and finally with physical force. But he’s strong for his size, and she finds herself unable to move him. Shaggydog becomes agitated the moment she closes her hands around Rickon’s wrists, and she releases a light shriek when the wolf bares its teeth.
But then Jaime comes and stands behind Rickon, wrapping his arms around the child and pulling him to his chest. She’s seen him do this before at night, when Rickon’s dreams set him to shaking and thrashing. He’ll hold Rickon in place, breathing steadily until the boy breathes with him, firm and solid and secure.
Tommen stands quietly in the door of the cabin, and Sansa slips her hand into his and gives a gentle squeeze as they watch Jaime lift Rickon off the ground. Shaggydog snarls and snaps his jaws in Jaime’s direction, but a nod from Rickon calms him immediately.
They make quite a spectacle when they step out onto the sand: filthy and pasty and disheveled, every one. Sansa gazes longingly at the crystal-blue water- she wants nothing more than to strip off her clothes and dive in, but she remembers that the salty water is no good for washing. Jaime places Rickon down on the ground, and he collapses into a white sand dune, Shaggydog flopping down beside him. Sansa joins them, sighing with pleasure as she stretches her cramped arms and legs.
Tommen stands a few paces in front of them, the tips of his boots growing damper with each ebb and flow of the tide. The sunlight reflects off the water and catches in his eyes- Sansa notices for the first time that they are not emerald like his mother’s and his father’s, but a rich teal, with a strong undertone of blue.
His voice is quiet, but he’s spoken so infrequently during the journey that everyone turns to listen now:
“Look how clear it is- you can see the fishes swimming.”
Sansa stands and walks to Tommen, peering over his head at the crystal-clear water below. Behind her, Shaggy and Rickon roll in the sand, coating themselves until they resemble nothing so much as sugared pastries.
“It’s pretty here,” Tommen breathes, and Sansa’s heart jumps into her throat when she sees him smile for the first time since they fled King’s Landing.
Jaime’s voice calls to them from the closest road- he’s found a cart to take them to Gerion Lannister’s secret Lysene pavilion, where they’ll be staying.
“Where are we going?” Rickon shouts, flinging sand every which way as he clambers over.
Tommen looks at the younger boy and shrugs. “Home, I suppose.”
The word stings Sansa’s insides, but she finds that she can do nothing but nod.
Tommen slings his rucksack over his shoulder, checking first to make sure that Ser Pounce is safely inside. Then Sansa takes his hand in her left, Rickon’s in her right, and they go.