This is for @lyannaestark. This series of connected moments are much inspired by the Tale of the Bamboo Cutter, especially the imagery of Princess Kaguya, a cinematic version of that folklore.
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It was the full moon she knew, even in her windowless room, nary a crack of moonlight her da made sure of that. She knew - she could feel it in her bones.
In the darkness, Old Nan began her favorite tale although it was not scary, the tale about her ma, Princess Sansa.
“The War took so much, many Northern sons and daughters... and your grandda brought back a bawling babe, your da. Moody little bastard he was and still is,” wryly chuckled Old Nan.
In her warm nest of furs, Talia giggled, imagining her gruff da as a crying baby.
“Almost destroyed Lady Catelyn, the betrayal and shame,” Old Nan whispered sadly, remembering young Cat then so devastated, but in the end, she stayed, drew herself up and stood tall. That was when Lady Catelyn won her respect and her loyalty. She oft thought about her actions that night.
Young Talia instinctively reached out in the dark and squeezed her gnarled hand. Old Nan sometimes gets lost in her mind.
“Ah yes, the ice that was between the lord and his lady thawed, their love grew strong, and the union of the quiet wolf and the pretty trout bore fruit. You should have seen Ned, so ridiculously happy, chest puffed out, laughing even - he was to be a father.”
The young girl vigorously shook her head with disbelief. The Lord of Winterfell rarely smiled, always muttering about winter coming.
“You see, Ned lost so much, his father, his beloved sister, his brothers, so many of his men, hope even, as Robert was not the man he thought he knew. There was so much darkness and then there was light, his lady, their babe. But it was just too soon.”
Talia always loved the next part, which she recited in unison with Old Nan - that while Ned prayed in the godswood for his ailing wife, Old Nan collected the single hailstone that fell down that moonlit night and wrapped it in what would have been the swaddling. When Ned unwrapped the snowflake embroidered cloth, he saw a tiny baby, just slightly larger than a pea, so still. Ned kissed the tiny one, and her pure blue eyes, just like Talia’s, opened. The beautiful babe laughed. When Ned brought the glowing babe to her, Lady Catelyn quickly recovered her strength, naming their princess Sansa. The next morn Ned had the bells rung all day and night.
Talia wondered if that was how she herself was born. Did she come from a hailstone? Did da kiss her, bringing her to life? Were there any bells rung for her?
In the distance, she thought she heard a wolf howl.
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It was the full moon he knew, even if he were to cover his eyes with his hands or with the handkerchief she lovingly embroidered for him, white and grey direwolves chasing each other. Jon could sense her presence, could feel her eyes upon him.
Inside his windowless room, he tried to resist the pull of the moon, closing his eyes and clenching his fists, but to no avail. He threw open his door and sprinted out of the Keep. Faster and faster, he ran, weaving through the snow laden trees, stumbling as he tried desperately to chase the bright moon. Jon could almost see the clearing, the cliff, where they once flew, soaring over the Wolfswood, even beyond the Wall.
He saw her smile, her singing and twirling with blue roses in her hair and gathered in her hands, and then laughingly taking that leap. Without hesitation, he jumped and fell into her arms that quickly embraced him tight, both laughing in exhilaration, falling headfirst to the ground and then hand-in-hand flying so low that he could see the snowy white rabbits hopping about. It was he who wanted to fly high, to fly with the black crows, but they flew too long, the sun setting, the moon rising, and much too high. And that was when the moon took her.
“Hold me tighter, don’t let me go,” Sansa cried.
Jon could not hold on.
He fell to his knees and howled at the moon.
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On the nights when the moon was full, like tonight, Sansa turned away from the other celestial beings who looked down upon the inhabitants of the earth.
She did not remember her banishment to the earth.
Not the first kiss that awaken her conscience, Ned’s beard tickling her. Not Catelyn, her mum, crying tears of joy as she gently cupped Sansa’s tiny body in her hands. Not the frightening tales Old Nan told Jon and her, both clutching each other for comfort. Not the laughter as she and her friend Jeyne stole some lemoncakes from the kitchen. Not the sweet kisses she shared with Jon that made her body burn, hotter than when she fully submerged herself in the hot springs. Not the tears of frustration and anger when she was brought to Kingslanding, feeling so trapped in a gilded cage, being forced to act in a certain manner by the prating septas and feeling forced to wed one of her five suitors, one from each of the five kingdoms, each who did not really know her, but yet each fiercely competed for her hand in the brutal tournament where one of them died. Not the joy when she escaped and reunited once again with Jon. Not the heartbreak she felt when she was pulled away from him. Not the sweet babe she left behind.
And yet, her eyes was drawn down to the wintry North, to the man howling.
