A Lady's Duty
Sansa Stark was busy studying Winterfell's ledgers in her solar when she was summoned to her younger brother's chambers.
As she sat in front of him, she waited... and waited… while he looked at her with the same blunt affect he had shown her since he came back from beyond the Wall.
He then narrowed his eyes and stared at her more intently as if doing so would give him some answers as to why the Night King was heading straight to Winterfell. Several days ago, the first stretch of the army of wights were scouted not far from the castle.
They had manned The Last Hearth, Karhold, Hornwood and even the Dreadfort expecting The Night King to go through them before heading straight to where most of the people of the North are. Sansa asked him if he had any idea why but she was shunned by him as he asked her a question.
"Sansa... if you could have one chance of saving us all from the Long Night, will you do it?" Bran asked while staring at her with those deep empty eyes.
If not for the gravity of the situation they were in, she would have laughed, but she knew the Three-Eyed Raven wasn't jesting.
"Of course, I will." She answered in a hushed whisper knowing she didn't really have much of a choice. Any person at that point in time would have had answered the same thing.
She saw a slight curl form on the side of his brother's lips which she had taken for as a smile as if he approved of Sansa's conviction to save them all. The thought encouraged and disheartened her at the same time. Saving the world would be a glory but if it should fall on her hands, then they are all doomed.
"I… I will give my own life… if it would mean I could save you all... But how?" She didn't wait for Bran to respond but instead she rose from where she was sitting and started darting around the room.
"Yes, I am the Lady of Winterfell, but an ordinary girl nonetheless. We aren't fully prepared…Not yet… I might have been able to secure us supplies and grains that could last us all several years after the war, but with the wights marching upon us earlier than we expected, what good would all those be if there'd be no one left to feed after all?" She said while pacing in front of Bran not really paying attention to his brother anymore who looks at her curiously, but merely talking to herself just like what she always did in her solar when she was plagued with her thoughts.
For many moons since Jon sailed for Dragonstone, she had endured sleepless nights just to make sure her people would be ready for the doom to come. But when they first heard about the news of the army of the undead only days away from her home, she couldn't help but feel she hadn't done enough. It had only been a moon since the Wall had fallen, and a week since Jon and the dragon queen's retinue arrived at Winterfell, but the Night King and his army were faster, more eager perhaps to send Westeros to a cold ruin.
When everyone else was in charge of fighting off death and defending all the people of the realm from annihilation, she, Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell, and who, after Jon Snow's true parentage was revealed by Samwell Tarly and Bran to their family, was claimed by Jon himself to be the future Queen of the North once the long night is over, is in charge of only one and most vital thing. Survival. Before, during and after the war. She had greatly and meticulously fulfilled her duties to prepare the North for winter, constantly reminding herself that the North must survive-just like her.
So she panicked and grew weary, and she had to constantly remind everyone of their duties- of the people who will be supervising the granaries and the men who should be guarding the women, the old and the children who would have to hide away in the crypts should Jon, the Northmen, the Knights of the Vale, Dany and her 2 remaining dragons, the Free Folk and the Dothraki fail to kill the Night King.
In her mind, the only thing she's good at is playing the game of thrones-but that would be useless now. When the long night is won, she would be a queen perhaps. Yes. A Queen of Ruins. And when they lose, well, she had already prayed to the old gods to at least let her undead body march all the way to King's Landing so that she can kill Cersei herself.
"There is a reason why he is coming to Winterfell", Bran said pulling Sansa out of her thoughts.
"And what is that? Tell me, what does the Night King want? Does he want you?" Sansa asked anxiously imagining how she would have to endure losing another Stark to this war.
"He killed the Three-Eyed Raven before me. I can imagine he would want the same for myself."
"No… You must leave Winterfell. You can go to the Vale… with Arya." Sansa said as she sat across Bran again and clutched his arms trying hard not to let the tears pour out from her eyes.
"And what of you, and Jon? Will you come with us? Shall we all leave the North then?" Bran asked Sansa knowing fully well what the answer was. She loosened her grip briefly but tightened it again when she answered.
"You know we have to stay here… The North needs us. We need you and Arya too, but Jon cannot let you die… Jon and I, we can't let you die, not again. Please save yourself, Bran… Save Arya… Please…" Bran looked at Sansa's hands enclosing his arms and for a brief moment wondered if they would leave a mark. It hurt his body and he wondered if it would have hurt Bran's heart as well seeing the sister he knew he loved as frightened as she was.
Sansa realized then how tight her grip was and released her brother's arms posthaste. She looked at her hands as if they were possessed by an evil of sorts. The darkness enveloping the two of them then were too strong that no mask or propriety could have stopped the tears and sobs that came pouring out of Lady Stark.
"Bran, Jon, and Arya… they all died Sansa… Even you did- you had to die and live as Alayne to survive. But we all came back, yet not the same. This is not about me, Sister. This is about you- your role in this war. Your duty."
She was reminded of what her brother said moments earlier about her saving the world they live in and she couldn't have been more frightened but certain when she delivered her decision after she willed her tears to stop.
"I will do my duty. Whatever it is-just tell me. I won't let the Night King harm you, or Arya, or Jon. I will protect you." Sansa utters with conviction but with head bent to her heaving chest and fingers clutching her dress.
"No one can protect anyone."
At that, Sansa slowly lifted hear head up to look at her brother. They were both unblinking, almost glaring at each other as if in a staring contest and it was Bran who looked away first only to pull something out from under his cloak.
Sansa looked at the familiar weapon wide-eyed and confused as Bran hands it out to her.
"Soon they'll be outside the gates of the castle. You must keep this with you." She had barely even touched the hilt of the dagger as she gently pushed it back to his brother's hand upon hearing his words.
"You've given that to Arya, right? Give it back to her, it will serve her better. I have my own weapon. Jon has had a shard of dragon glass forged as a dagger for myself."
She could not believe it but she swore she saw her brother smirk as if she said something utterly foolish and silly. In a manner of seconds, however, his demeanor changed to his usual deadened appearance. The changes in her brother's affect and behavior is doing nothing but alleviate her anxiety.
"But dragon glass cannot kill the Night King Sansa, he was born from it." Bran said with steel in his voice and not for the first time this day alone Sansa saw a range of emotion in the Three-Eyed Raven's eyes.
"You cannot possibly mean for me to take on the Night King?" Sansa queried disbelievingly.
"Sansa…" Bran said… And in his eyes she saw sadness.
"Bran?" She answered as she started questioning her own existence and how cruel the gods are who have played with her returning her home only to let her die at the hands of an enemy more vile and evil than the ones who tormented her.
"You're the only one who will have a chance to do it. You're the only one who can get to the Night King alive." Bran said with a sigh… And in his eyes she saw guilt.
"And why is that?" Sansa sat upright preparing herself for what she knew was a storm to come.
"The Night King is marching here to Winterfell… To come and take you as his queen."
Bran declared… And in Bran's eyes she saw anger.
"The soul, fortunately, has an interpreter - often an unconscious but still a faithful interpreter - in the eye."
― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre
