A/N: Sansa may be a little (or alot) ooc, but I think it works okay :) a revised version of my old GOT fanfiction, so still basically my first so please don't hold any mistakes to much against me :) I'm still learning.

Italics are memories.

Enjoy!

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She watched as the Bishop before her collect the Sceptre and Orb from the reddened velvet, turning slowly to face her, her shaking hands outstretched. He smiled cautiously and met her gaze, his eyes turning soft and reassuring as he handed them, pressing the glittering objects into her palms.

The death like silence when she turned sent her heart into a frenzy, looking upon her subjects through unsure eyes as they stared back, her small frame lowering as she knelt, her head bowed, as the newly molded crown was placed onto her head and the Stark cloak of grey and white was placed upon her shoulders, weighed down, not only from the pounds of wolf hide it was stitched from, but also by her newly acquired Kingdom, the weight of her people's hope and trust in her.

By their lives, now resting on her hands and shoulders.

Hers alone.

"You knelt a girl," the Bishop's voice rang, echoing through the silent cathedral, his hand coming down to rest on her shoulder. "You rise...a Queen."

A cool hand hooked under her arm and helped her to her feet, holding her as she moved to the end of the rise and disappearing as she lowered herself into a bow, her eyes cast to the floor.

"Your Father and Mother would be very proud, your majesty..." the old Bishop whispered as he leaned close to her ear, watching as she rose.

Her eyes remained forward traveling the rows, looking for any familiar faces, but finding none.

"I just hope I do not disappoint them..." her head nodded slowly as she spoke and turned towards him, eyes still on the crowd. "Gather all the hands in the throne room after sun rise tomorrow ."

"Your majesty?"

"I wish a meeting."

She watched him stare for a moment out of the corner of her eyes before he bowed and stepped away, taking his place behind her.

Forcing a smile she stepped down into the aisle, feeling small hands of children that peeked out around their parents legs reach out and stroke her cloak as she passed, reaching a hand to brush her fingers over their heads as she went before exiting out into the chilled October air.

She took a deep breath and turned her face heavenward as the doors were pulled shut behind her, letting the golden hue of the late afternoon sun wash over her face, feeling it soak deep into her skin through every pore, her eyes slipping shut, uncaring, as the light twang of silver against stone reached her ears, her crown felling from her head onto the mud stained ground beneath her feet.

She had no use of a crown anyhow.

No need for a ring made of jewels and silver to be atop her head as a vulgar, superficial sign of power.

Not with the fast approaching winter nipping at her heels, trying to cause her to stumble and fall.

Be consumed by its wrath.

She was the only Stark left...

...she could not let herself be defeated.

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She couldn't sleep.

Instead she sat at her window, her mind miles away as she watched, unseeing, the gentle dance if the candle that her handmaid had placed upon her night table play as a reflection in the glass, its fiery light showing brighter then true against the flat darkness that sprawled behind it.

"I know I am not the sort of husband young girls dream of, Sansa..."

She could hardly recall his voice as the memory played and she strained her tired mind to remember. It saddened her knowing that, at one time, she had taken it for granted.

But, even though his voice was washed from her memory, she could still see him as if he were there with her at that very moment, standing beside the wine table steps away, towering over it by only inches as he stared down at the cup he held in his hands, his thumb slowly circling the rim. His eyes, his best feature she had always thought, covered by the blonde curls that fell over his forehead.

"...but, neither am I Joffrey."

Slowly she had nodded, casting her eyes away as her head turned, settling her attention elsewhere rather then look down at the man before her.

"No," she had said, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her dress as she stood, looking down at the small man with poorly veiled pity. "You were kind to me. I remember."

Her head fell into her hands as the images faded away, her eyebrows pulling together as unshed tears burned at the corners of her eyes.

She had been so mean to him.

Maybe not outwardly, but...she had never truely returned his kindness. Always pulling away if he ever happened to step to close, doing small, almost unnoticeable, things just to spite him...

...how she must have made him an even bigger laughingstock.

The little Imp man who cannot even keep his wife in line.

She sighed in disgust and raised her head, standing to make her way over to the stained and battered trunk that sat in one of the furthest corners of her chambers, running her fingers over its salt ruined surface, scarred from her journey home, her breath catching as she flipped the rusted lock open.

She dipped her hands inside, digging around and pulling out the folded mass of heavy red and gold cloth, laying it down onto her lap, her fingertips brushing across it in the most hesitant of touches.

"I never should have left...especially after what happened with Joffrey." she whispered to the embroidered lion that stared up at her through dark emotionless eyes.

Much like the Lannisters themselves.

'They must think you a murderer...' a small voice inside her head whimpered causing Sansa hands to still.

"No..." she whispered turning her eyes from the lion towards the great wolf stitched from woven silver that glowered at her from the corner where it hung from its rack. "Not me."

Her fists tightened around the cloak that lay in her lap, her eyes narrowing up through the window at the few rays of cold light that managed to weasel its way around the castle and into her room.

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When she arrived the next morning everyone was already seated, looking over expectantly as she walked through the doors, making her way over to her throne, settling herself.

All attention was on her as she cleared her throat before speaking, crossing her hands across her lap, meeting the eyes of the males seated before her.

"The Lannister's." She said shortly, simply assuming they would all know what she was talking about, finishing a conversation she had been having in her mind.

"What of them, your majesty?" Bonte said from her left, his palms, arms resting against the armrests, turned skyward, as she met is dark, questioning eyes.

"What have you heard of them?" Her tone incredulous. "Do you think I would just talk about them to talk about them and have no reason behind it?"

"No, of course not." He hurried, sending an apologetic smile. "But, if may be so bold, wouldn't the Queen like to rest and let yesterday's events soak into her mind before getting into all the politics and rubbish?"

"I have had far enough time to let myself stew and wither away in my rooms." She answered, waving a hand dismissively at his words. "I am finished and ready to start my reign running. So, as I said asked before...what have you heard of the Lannisters?"

"Nothing new of late, your majesty." The man to her right spoke up. "Just the usual comings and goings. The ravens mostly bring news of the Queen regent's upcoming wedding-"

"That wedding has been 'upcoming' for months now, Jonce," she interrupted, shaking her head. "God strike me gone if it ever does come to be."

"Your majesty, you should not-"

"I have no interest in that woman or any of her activities unless it pertains to myself or my Kingdom." She mumbled, sitting back in her throne and raising her arms up onto the rests, suddenly feeling drained as she stared down at the wide, clueless eyes before her.

Silence.

"Oh my Lord." She sighed, silently praying to the Gods to give her strength. "Has Tyrion been executed or hasn't he."

"Tyrion, your majesty?"

"Yes, Tyrion Lannister." She nodded, once again being met with blank eyes, her hands clenching against the polished, stained wood. "The Imp!"

Confused eyes suddenly lit up with realization as the horrid word fell from her lips like wine.

Bitter and unneeded.

"We have heard no news of the Imp." one of her hands answered, pushing some papers around before him as he read. "There has been nothing said at all regarding him..."

"Find him."

"Find him?"

"Yes." She said, pushing herself straight to look down at the aged men. "Find him and bring him to Winterfell."

"But, your majesty...he is a Lannister-"

"And you are an idiot, but you do not see me volunteering the obvious, do you." She snapped, narrowing her eyes. "Are you going to be this difficult our whole time together?"

"I beg your pardon, your majesty..." he said, his voice low, his head bowed.

"Don't be, just..." she sighed, casting her gaze quickly around the room, leaning forward as a shadow disappeared behind the door frame, seemingly scared away by the Queens attention. "...just find me Tyrion."