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Chapter 2: Sansa


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Sansa

In the dark, I am the knight of flowers. She dreamed of the royal bedchamber she had shared with Tyrion. Only this time it was not the imp, but the handsome Ser Loras who shared her bed. She could see the moon over the bay. Ser Loras pressed himself insistently against her and Sansa did not resist. Her hands wandered through his artful tumble of brown curls, so close she could smell the roses. She felt her hands caressing his smooth, silky back.

He’s shirtless and breathless. She did not know whether to feel frightened or delighted. She knew she did not want it to end, she did not want Loras to stop planting those teasing kisses on her lips. She wanted him to nibble her ear and rub his chin against her milky neck. Some small part of her knew that it was a dream but she wanted it to go on forever, tangling in the seaside breeze.

A hint of desperation surfaced in the dream. Sweetness changed to tension as Sansa sensed the fullness of her bladder. No, just a little while more. She rubbed herself even more fervently against the boy’s slim, lithe body and bit those dimpled cheeks. She wrapped her legs around him, trying to hold on against the flood. Once I go, he will never come back. Outside the door, only Joffrey and Ilyn Payne waited.

Her desperation rose quickly now that she had noticed it. She pulled herself on top of Loras, intending to leave, but it was so cold that she couldn’t tear herself away from the bed. So cold but it was warm between her legs. To her horror, she saw herself losing control and releasing a torrent of warm piss onto the knight’s milky chest. Warm wee and dusky roses. What have I done. Golden sunshine poured into the window and everything seemed even more beautiful than ever. To her surprise, Loras grabbed her even more feverishly than before. She held his boyish cheeks against her own and emptied herself in the morning light.

The scene faded into a golden blur. Sansa heard the loud hissing of the wind and a distant crying. Daylight was creeping across the grey stone walls of the Eyrie, harsh and bright. She turned and buried her face into her pillow, trying to will herself back into the dream. Just for a little while, please come back.

It was useless. The knight of flowers and the summer warmth had crept away with the darkness. Sansa was in the Vale, trapped with Mya stone and Sickly Robin Arryn and his wrinkled maester. Such a wicked dream, and strange. You are so sweet to visit me in my sleep, my knight, but you shouldn’t…

Panic seized her as she remembered the last part. She felt fear move in her belly as she threw back her quilts.

Sansa glanced stupidly for a second at her own legs. They were girlish slim and dry as the Dornish Sands. She sighed and threw herself back into the cushions, relieved that she had not wet herself in her sleep. The mess would have been so much trouble. Maddy and Haley were always complaining about how they had to clean up Robin’s accidents.

Did I lose control or was it Loras? She closed her eyes and tried to remember but the dream was fading quickly as the harsh winter sun stole into the castle. It was all mixed up together. The warmth of the urine, the summer heat, the golden sunshine of dawn.

It’s all gone…but not for long. She started having these love dreams not long after her arrival in the vale. There had been handsome knights before, of course, but she had never dreamed them naked and in the same bed. Never with their bodies touching me. Cersei and her own mother had warned her about the ‘changes’ but Cersei was a drunk lout and her own mother was painfully vague. She had asked Maester Colemon about them but he only turned red as a carrot and mumbled. Perhaps a glass of dreamwine would help…

Sansa was not sure if she wanted them to pass. The Eyrie was such a lonely place and days would pass when she had no one to speak to. Robin was ill in bed with the Maester fussing over him. Mya stone was taciturn as a mule. Lord Petyr and Lothor Brune were in Gulltown. I have no friends but the mountains and the howling wind. Sadly, she realized that these dreams, which made her feel so dirty and unlady-like were all that she had to look forward to.

Most nights it was the knight of flowers who held her. Or was it Margaery? The two siblings looked awfully alike. Sometimes, she couldn’t remember the face, only her own flustered breathlessness. Is there something wrong with me? Perhaps Lord Baelish or Margaery would know. Even so, she couldn’t ask them about that odd part. In the dreams, she could always feel her bursting bladder, taut and aching. She wanted relief but she was filled with apprehension. I would always awake, just as I start…

No. It must be her body’s way of waking her up. It doesn’t matter anyway, I’ve never wet the bed. That was Arya’s weakness and Jeyne Poole’s on occasion, but never me.

She would have lain there all morning but there was a fullness in her bladder that could not wait. Winter had come to the vale and draped its mountains in pure white robes. So beautiful and so cold. Sansa danced and fidgeted, hopping from one foot to another as she put on her warm smallclothes, her woollen hose, her tunic in tully colours and the fur cloak that Lord Baelish had gifted her. The dull colors and thick layers made her look like a penguin. By the time I reach the privy, I’ll have to remove everything and sit on the cold stone.

It’s almost as cold as the north here. Her need to pee turned her thoughts back to Arya. Arya, Arya, my lost sister where are you? Sansa refused to believe that her sister was dead. They had bickered more often than not in Winterfell and in King’s Landing but she missed her solely in this cold solitude. She missed her short, torn breeches and her messy brown hair. She missed her vexing wildness. If I find you, Arya. I would hold on and never let you go. I will never argue or be angry with you again.

Sansa made her way towards the privy. Her bladder had filled to uncomfortable fullness in the long winter night, but nobody would have guessed it from her easy grace. The Septa was always impressed with Sansa’s perfect composure and restraint, her ability to sit for hours on end reading and sewing. She didn’t know how I was trembling and leaking underneath. She wanted to be the perfect lady for her future prince and it seemed un-becoming to ask for a chamberpot. I was such a silly girl.

Still, it proved to be a useful experience. It had been 15 hours since her last pee and Sansa would not have minded waiting for another hour or two. Your control is remarkable, sis. Too bad they don’t hold tourneys for such things. If they did, Arya would do well to stay away. Her little sister could ride a horse and shoot an arrow, but she rarely cared to hold her waters. Arya always did what she wanted, when she wanted….with some unsightly consequences. Sansa remembered those lessons with Maester Luwin and Septa Mordane.

She would sit patiently, still as a sphinx while Arya squirmed and fidgeted in her seat. She would bite her lip and cross her legs and even jam her hands under her waist cords, much to the Septa’s disdain. It was the only time she heard her sister beg. Please, please let me go, I swear it won’t happen again. Of course, Mordane and Luwin would let her leave with a stern warning…. Only to hear the same excuse not 1 hour later. Please, please. This time it’s serious. I really have to go.

The memories of her sister brought a smile to her face. For a moment, the empty castle was filled with the laughter and madness of childhood games and promises. Arya horseface. Arya pissypants. The latter name had got to her more than she would ever admit. Her sister was a poor holder, no one would dispute that. But the name was my fault and mine alone.

Lord Yohn Royce had come north with his youngest son, Waymar, who wanted to take the black. Sansa had fallen madly in love with the sable-trimmed Ser Waymar Royce. It was the height of summer and the whole castle had decamped for a hunt in the Wolfswood.

They were walking next to a stream, trying to find their way back to the dais.

‘Ser Waymar would a make a wonderful Lord Commander, He is strong and brave and he is a honourable kn-‘

‘NO He’s not. I heard Mikken say that he’s not ready. He only knows how to fight with shield and sword. He can’t use a bow or a spear and he doesn’t even know how to skin a rabbit. Mikken says the winter will eat him up and spit him out like a-‘

‘What would Mikken know about the Watch? He’s a blacksmith.’ Sansa felt the anger rising in her cheeks. She ruins everything, just by talking about it.

‘Just because you want him to kiss you doesn’t make him a good Nights’ Watchman.’

‘SHUT UP. I DON’T want to kiss him.’

‘Oh really? That’s not what-‘

‘I said SHUT UP, Someone might hear us and-‘

‘-What you said in your sleep last night. You were hugging your pillow and I heard you say Lord Commander Royce.’

‘No I didn’t…‘ Sansa blushed red as her auburn hair. Arya was rolling on the ground laughing so hard she sounded like she would choke. When she recovered enough, she grabbed a branch and stroked it, pouting her lips. ‘Kiss me, Lord Commander stick.’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your secret undying love’

Sansa was so ashamed and enraged that she nearly admitted it on the spot.

‘You’d better not… and it never happened anyway.’

‘Maybe I’ll tell Jon snow. He can pass on your love since you are so shy.’

‘DON’T tell ANYONE or I’ll-‘

Arya only laughed ‘Or else what, you going to tell the Septa? I bet she already knows.’ The joke seemed so droll, Arya broke out in another fit of snorting laughter.

Sansa could only storm forward in angry silence. Her sister was so annoying. I hope a wolf jumps out and drags her off right now.

The girls continued, walking in circles and trying to find their way back.

‘Sansa, stop’

‘I think we’re almost there’

‘Stop. I need to pee.’ Arya sounded curt. She’s always curt when she is embarrassed.

‘We can’t stop, we have to make it back before lunchtime or mother will be cross again’

Her sister was too proud to argue so they walked on. Before long, they found themselves next to the stream for the third time. Arya rolled her eyes and slumped her shoulders.

‘You are stupid. I’m going to pee.’

‘You’re always going to go pee. You are a little baby who can’t hold her wee.’ Sansa blurted out.

This is time it was Arya’s turn to blush.

‘I had a lot to drink before we left.’ Her sister replied shortly.

‘That’s a lie, I saw you at breakfast. You only had half a cup of mulled wine at breakfast.’

‘Well… I had one cup before you came…And I ate porridge for breakfast. Porridge is nine-tenths water and it makes me have to go.’

‘That’s nonsense. I had a bowl of porridge as well. You don’t see me squirming like a little girl.’

It was true. Once Arya needed to go, she could never hide it. She was squirming and shifting her feet incessantly, trying to ignore the trickling of the stream.

‘Alright, alright, you win. Not everyone has a bladder made of Valyrian steel like you. I asked Maester Luwin about it and he said there was nothing wrong with me now help me-‘

The thought that Arya cared enough to trouble Maester Luwin pleased Sansa wickedly.

‘Sssshhhhhhhhhhhhh. Waterfalls. Hot springs. Pouring wine.’

‘Stop that. Stop it. I’m going to lose it in my pants.’

‘Sshhhhhh. You can just do it, it won’t be the first time. Shhhhh. Remember the visit to White Harbour-‘

‘Come oooonnnnnn. I said stop it.’

‘-Shhhh. Lord Manderly laid out fresh sheets and you peed in them. Ssssssssshhhh’

‘Please Sansa, I’m seriously going to wet myself if you don’t stop.’

She’s using the word please. She must be really bursting. Her sister was a practically a boy except when she needed a wee. It was the only time she behaved the lady. Sansa made her suffer a while more. Her sister had her legs pressed firmly together and her body hunched forward. She seemed unsure whether her hands should be pressed against her crotch or bunched into fists at her side. Her eyes would lose their mischief and acquire a dreamy quality, gazing forlorn into the distance.

‘Please please please please please stop. I think some of it leaked out.’

‘Alright you big baby, go behind that oak tree, I’ll look out for you.’

Arya’s relief was palpable in her voice. ‘THANK YOU. I swear I won’t tell about Waymar-‘

‘GO before I change my mind.’

Her sister scrambled off gratefully to relieve herself. The forest was so still she could hear Arya struggling with the laces on her breeches.

Even now, Sansa couldn’t remember why she did what she did.

‘ARYA GET OUT. THERE’S A WOLF!’ Sansa cried.

‘Wha-

Sansa screamed for what it’s worth.

Arya leapt out from behind a tree with her wooden sword and Sansa kneeled over with hysterical laughter. Arya’s pants were unlaced and she could see the white of her underclothes peeking out. Only they weren’t white for long, a shining yellow stain was spreading.

It happened so quickly. Her brown woolen pant legs were dark and glistening. Arya realized the joke and tried frantically to get her pants down. In her haste, she forgot to drop her wooden sword and only tumbled backwards into a bush and peed even harder. Her bottoms were soaked from her waist to her feet and urine dripped from her ankles, forming small puddles around her feet.

She’s peeing in her clothes. Sansa watched, utterly bewitched by the scene. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from her sister having a massive accident. I’m so wicked. That was unworthy of me. Still, she watched in fascination, she’d always imagine what would happen but she had never witnessed a real accident.

The entire wolfswood smelled of urine. I shouldn’t have done that, I should apologize. She reached forward to embrace Arya but something stopped her. What’s going on? Why can’t I move? Gales of laughter filled the woods as men and women appeared from behind bushes and trees. Sansa saw Robb with a crown and Jon snow in black and Theon Greyjoy hooting in derision. Even Lady Catelyn couldn’t stifle a small chuckle. What have I done to my poor sister?

Arya stared at her in anger. Sansa felt her own bladder filling up with astonishing speed. Her desperation grew by the second but she could not move. A pair of slim arms restrained her, soft and smooth they pressed tightly against her bulging stomach. Loras, I’m still dreaming. She could feel her brown curls against her neck. She felt a burst of joy at his reappearance…and a dull pain where he squeezed her poor swollen bladder.

‘Let me go, ser, I need to-‘

He spoke with Margaery’s mellow tones. ‘Do you, really?’

It’s just a dream. ‘Yes, good ser. Pl-please let go of me-‘

‘You seem to enjoy watching your sister well enough. And Queen Cersei.’ What? No! You only danced attendance around her court because she drank so much wine. You were waiting for the day when she her squirming became an accident.

‘No, I don’t. I DON’T. I swear-‘

Admit it, you pretend to be such a proper lady but you enjoy watching and waiting and watching. My wicked Sansa Stark. I saw you fill and refill my brother’s cup in the gardens. What were you trying to do?

‘No please I was just curious. I swear by the old gods and-‘

‘Do you, really? Then why am I still here? This is your dream and yet you have me hugging your bursting bladder’

It’s just a dream. Sansa felt breathless. Her bladder was throbbing and her heart was beating wildly in her chest. She inhaled but the air seemed so thick and so sweet with roses and hot musky wee. Margaery is so strong, or was it Loras? Everything faded into a golden blur. Yes. It’s just a dream.

She awoke with a start in the cold Eyrie. No, Not now. A puddle gleamed around the bench where she sat half-dressed and half-asleep. I’m still peeing. Sansa clenched her legs together to try and stop the flow but the stream was too strong. Too late. It trickled down in streaks along her legs and pooled around her buttocks. She could feel its warm caress, creeping up her back. There was no sound but a tortured hissing as the warm piss escaped in spurts and torrents despite her efforts. She could feel the it spreading across her legs, her belly, her buttocks..

Even half-awake, she could feel the blood in her cheeks. Flustered and breathless, she wanted to cry out to someone, anyone. Come back, Ser Loras. Margaery. Arya. Come back with me. A gasp rose and died in her throat. You’re wetting yourself like a little girl. Like Arya and Jeyne Poole and Cersei must have done when no one could see her.

She tumbled into her bed and held a cushion tight against her bosom. She dreamt of brown curls and roses and sweet musky wee.

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