She sat as cold and hard and the iron throne that lay beneath her. Unblinking, unmoving. Her back was poker straight as regal as a queen should be. Her ever faithful knight knelt at her knees, his head bend. The iron was hard beneath her hands as she gripped the throne tightly.
"Your Grace," Her knight uttered, raising his head to meet her eyes, but she did not look at him, or acknowledge that he had spoken. Her cold, unyielding blue eyes remained staring out across the vast room. "Your Grace?" Ser Jaime tried again, rising to his feet. He took an uncertain step forwards, but that was all.
Sansa's eyes flittered down to his briefly, her deeps blues void of an emotion. Kingslayer. No. Golden-hand the just, they called him now. They lingered on him for only a moment before going back to the room.
"What do you see Ser Jaime Lannister?" She asked, her voice doing nothing to betray the thoughts that were going on inside her head. Ser Jaime turned to look at the room, searching for the right answer. When he could not find it he turned back to Sansa.
"I see a grand throne room, your Grace." He said, bowing his head slightly to her. Sansa gave a small shake of the head.
"I supposed I should re-phrase. Who do you see Ser Jaime?" Sansa saw a flash of confusion shot across Jaimes' face before he replied, not needing to look round this time to answer his queens question.
"There is no one in here." He said, "Might I enquire as to whom you see, my lady Sansa?" At his question Sansa felt her hands tighten on their hold on the iron throne, the whites of her ligaments showing through her knuckles.
"I see a kingdom of ghosts." Her eyes swept around the room, seeing it all, "My mother and father stand in this room, with my brothers Robb, Ricken, Brandon … and Jon. My sister Arya is with them too. My Grandfather Rickon is in here also, over in that corner," She swept a hand to her left, where her grandfather had supposedly been burned alive, "And there, Uncle Brandon. He is trying to reach Grandfather Rickon, but the room is too crowded." Jaime turned to look at the room. Sansa continued.
"And there is Vayon Poole and his daughter Jeyne, Theon Greyjoy stands there with his brother and sister. His father is here too. There is Jory Cassell. All those who were with my brother Robb in the Whispering Wood and the Red wedding they are here…" Her voice began to crack, but she continued on, "I see Samwell Tarley and Maester Aemon and- The Hound, Ser Loras and his brothers. His sister Margery" And she could say no more, her face crumpled in a flurry of tears.
Jaime rushed up the stairs in a bid to comfort his queen, but she stood up and pushed him away. She brushed away the tears furiously from her eyes. A wolf did not cry. A wolf was strong and as cold and relentless as winter. If it were Arya up here, she would not be crying. Arya would be strong and stand tall and proud.
Sansa pulled back her shoulders and lifted her head up high. She slowly turned to face the iron throne, a look of contempt on her face. She snatched the golden crown off of her head and chucked it onto the icy seat where it landed with a resonating clang.
"You Grace?" Ser Jaime questioned, resting a re-assuring hand on her arm. She did not push him away this time, but let him comfort her.
"Such an ugly thing to have fought so hard over, don't you think Ser Jaime?" Sansa asked, looking at the chair in a curious manner, any indication of her earlier crying completely gone. The chair was exceedingly uncomfortable, with razor sharp edges. It never cut Sansa, but she always worried it would. The back was talk and straight and made her own back ache. The golden crown was plain, and heavy.
"It is rather. But it was the power they fought over my lady. It is a hard thing to resist, as I myself know." Sansa slipped her hand down into his. Ser Jaime turned to her, with sadness in his eyes, "I can get rid of it for you is you wish it My Grace." He offered.
Sansa turned from him back to the iron throne. She imagined it gone, and when she did, her kingdom of ghosts emptied. Not mother, father, or brothers.
"No." She dropped Ser Jaime's hand and reached for the golden crown, placing it back atop her auburn curls. She turned back to face the crowded hall looking out amongst the lost and dead. If the iron throne was melted down, then it was have all been for nothing. All of those people would have died for nothing.
"No" She repeated, sitting herself in the throne. "The iron throne is mine. I do not want it, but I shall have it. I will use its power to make things right again. I will give the people their peace and Justice." She would rule over her Kingdom of Ghosts with the justness it deserved.
"Then you shall sit down as Sansa, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and rise as Sansa the Saviour."