Nature of the Beast

1.

Afterwards, when it was all over, she would remember that day as the last one of her childhood. After the fires had died down and the first brave shoots of green were showing again in the Godswood, she would remember that last day of summer as though she were a tree, poised just on the edge of shedding its leaves.

Autumn followed fast on the back of all that happened, hurried into the castle by the smell of wood smoke and the winds that began to whip cold in the man's absence. It would, within the space for a few months, seem like a dream that they had played and swum in the Godswood that day, a dream of another time and another her; one that she had known she would soon put behind her even then.

She had not long passed her sixteenth name day, and that morning she had felt herself caught in a doorway that had never jarred her so much before. Jon and Robb had ridden out with father and Theon, and the little ones had been left to play by themselves in the last of the summer sun. She was not a little one, not that she saw it, but she found herself left in charge of them more and more since their mother had died. It was awkward to Sansa who fluctuated between wanting to be that mother to the little ones that they were missing, and still being one of them – just.

And so she had told them off for being silly whilst she swam naked in the warm pools with them. She had shouted at Arya for splashing her and then splashed her back at least as hard. She had stood beneath the trees with earth between her toes, yelling at them all to come down whilst a part of her wanted to climb those trees herself.

She had been happy and she had been sad. She wished she could bring herself to cry for her mother. All the little ones had cried and it seemed to have helped them. Even Arya had cried. She could never decide if she was happy that they could seem so carefree, or if she was bitter – or jealous.

All the prettiest things she found she would take to her mother's tomb in the crypt below Winterfell. Arya got cross with her about it; arguing that it was a waste of the beautiful thing to keep it down there in the dark. Sansa said that Arya's objection was an insult to their mother's memory. Arya said that so was Sansa's existence, and so they fought about it ceaselessly.

She came to the Godswood to play where the old gods could see them. She tried to be as good as she could possibly be and tried, in the only ways she knew, to make the others better too. She prayed that the gods would see and give them what ease they could. Her other prayers – she thought of these as more real prayers – she took to the sept. After dark when all the candles were lit, she could see the bright glass windows glowing in the dark and they called to her to go, to find her quiet and her peace. These days she could be hours there, praying to each of the seven, the Maiden and the Mother and the Crone to give her strength and show her the way. She prayed to the Warrior for her father and for Robb and for her half-brother Jon. She knew they were all suffering in their own way, in a way that was different from the women and the children – and that her father most of all would not speak of his sorrow, but she saw it hand heavy around his eyes, slowing his step and echoing after him in the slower steps of her brothers. She prayed to the Smith to keep their home strong, to protect all of Winterfell. She knew how much strength her mother had had, and she prayed to the Smith to lend some of it to her. She prayed to the Father to watch over the little ones; though she knew it was, to a great degree, a selfish prayer and that she did it so that she would not have to quite so much.

More and more she surprised herself by lingering as long as she did before the face of the Stranger. She had been afraid of him before, never even stopping at his niche as she made her rounds of the sept. She prayed to the Stranger to keep their mother safe because he alone knew where she was. She found herself taking comfort in his shadowed face where once he had only frightened her; comfort and also a strange fascination that was far from comforting in its confusion. He knew her deepest secret; the one she shared with nobody else – that in truth, she prayed for him to bring their mother back.

She was thinking about the Stranger now, as she waited for the children beneath the trees. The thoughts were strangely warm, like the last of the day's sunlight on her face. She could almost feel him in the shadows, crouched down to frighten her and soothe that fright all at once. She shivered and it was almost a little bit delicious.

Her shiver made her blink and she looked around as the wind whispered louder; somehow as she had stood there, ignoring the world around her and yet very aware of the earth and the smell of the wood – it had gotten so late. The sky was turning red in the sunset and the shadows of the trees had all joined up. She could hear the little ones laughing up above and called them to come down in a tone that brooked no argument this time. As their chatter ceased and she waited for them to come down, a sound came to her out of the little low trees to her left. It made her arms prickle and the back of her neck stiffen as though ghostly fingers lingered centimetres from the skin there. A noise, like an animal, a large animal, crouched low in the bushes where they had made their secret den.

She shouted then, ostensibly to the children, but loud enough to scare it away, whirling around and stamping her foot for emphasis. The bushes rustled, but she knew it was still there and she heard a noise more like a human gasp than an animal sound. She could hear the creature's breathing now, frightened and trapped. She forced herself to stay calm.

The children dropped onto the floor next to her. She immediately told them to hush and was just trying to gather them to get out of there fast when Rickon let out a laughing sound and headed right towards the occupied bushes.

"Rickon no!" she shouted, but it was too late.

"No why?" Arya scowled, and Bran was interested now too.

"There's something there!" she whispered loudly. This time she heard it move, saw the bushes shake, moving away. Now was the time she needed to take the children and run but instead she heard herself call –

"Is someone there? It's alright, we won't hurt you!"

The noises stopped and the leaves went still; too still. Sansa could almost hear her heart beating though it felt more like it had stopped.

"Let's –" she started to say, starting to back away, but then Rickon took her hand and pulled her towards instead of away;

"Come on!" he insisted, like it was obvious.

It was not the first time she had been astounded by Rickons' dangerous attraction to what was wild and perilous, but it was perhaps the first time her instinct had shared that attraction. She let herself be led towards their den in the trees and behind her the others followed.

_x_

I know, I stopped just before any interaction actually happened – I know very little has happened so far and I apologise for that – I just needed to get some background in before launching right in! Please bear with me for some extreme slow- burn sansan!

(I just realised slow burn is a horrible phrase to use in relation to Sandor, ugh!)