Love will keep us together (Love will tear us apart)

Rating: PG-13
Summary: It is always a struggle, to choose between what we want and what we must do. And no matter what, someone will get hurt.

Warnings: None

Power was a curious thing, indeed. Power meant many things to many people. A trick, a shadow on the wall to some. Some said dragons were power. Others claimed no power but the gods that made them. Gold was power as well, information was power. Yet it was funny how many people disregarded love. And such a powerful force it was! Love could make kings and bring them down. It could be a unifying, inspiring force at its best, and destructive at its worst.

Right now, Sansa Stark was thoroughly convinced love was the strongest and most terrible power she had ever encountered.

She held in her hand a single scrap of paper that could mean many things; salvation, alliances, the end of poverty and starvation to her people. Simply by replying with an affirmative answer, she could help rebuild Winterfell into what it once was. And yet, one look, one glance at the sleeping man on her bed made all her doubts, all those thoughts that crept upon her during the day, come back in full force, striking her, crippling her and turning a Queen into an hesitant little girl.

Was there any doubt that she should accept? Her sense of duty, her experience playing the game of thrones, all screamed at her with a thousand different voices. There was her Mother, reminding her of her duty to her house. "Your father and I learned to love each other slowly, over the years, and it grew into something wonderful and strong". There was Robb, begging her to learn. "You can do right what I did wrong. You can make the right choices." There was Father, who taught her sacrifice. "Your people are like your children. I gave my life for mine, for you. Can you do the same?"

And yet, was there any doubt that she should refuse? How dutiful a wife could she make to anyone, while she loved another? Could she even love any child she bore, all the while knowing they were not his children? She felt like screaming sometimes. Why had it fallen all on her? She had been a daughter with three brothers. She should have had enough agency to marry at least a lesser Lord. And yet here she was, a Queen in truth, not the Queen Regent as she had been. She had become what she had needed to, instead of what she had been raised to be.

And why did nobody care how she felt about all of this? Arya was only half of her time at Winterfell; she could never shoulder the responsibility of reigning. Rickon had done away with all her hopes of living a quiet, simple life when he had abdicated the throne. His reasons had perhaps been sound, perhaps he had not been prepared to rule, but she hadn't been either and yet here she was, while he was off leading a free and happy life. Much as she loved her brother, she did not think she'd ever forgive him.

I thought I was done being unhappy. I thought I had finally gotten my song, imperfect as it was. Will I never learn? Will they tear me down every time I gather myself just a little?

She was tired. Tired of sacrificing, tired of compromising for the happiness of others. She wanted to be selfish, to run away from the world, marry her beloved and live in a place far away from the world. Alayne the bastard could have done it once, perhaps. But Alayne was gone, dead the moment they placed a crown in Sansa's auburn hair.

And what if she did marry Sandor? Would their love hold, stand the test of time? Or would it burn brightly like a flame only to die out later, leaving behind only ashes of what it once was? Would they be closer to what Eddard and Catelyn were, or to what she heard Prince Doran and the Lady Mellario had become?

It would have been easier, so much easier, if she had never met him, if she had never loved him. If only he had kept his distance from her the moment they met again, perhaps childlish curiosity and infatuation would have never grown into something more. If he had never found some peace, if he had never asked for her forgiveness, if he had never treated her with any respect nor saved her life many times, if only she hadn't felt so safe around him, if only she hadn't trusted him… and yet, for all the pain she felt right now, she knew deep down she would have never traded those moments for anything. She might have become strong regardless of him, but she would have never felt truly alive.

And he knew, of that she was sure. He could read her like an open book, he knew of the offer, of her struggles, of her indecisions. It seemed to her now that even his lovemaking that night had had a sort of desperate quality to it. Passionate at first, painfully slow later. As if he had made the choice for her. As if he was saying goodbye.

Could she walk away? Could she keep herself from coming back? Could she possibly learn to trust someone else, to sleep at ease besides a man that wasn't Sandor? Could she learn to lie beside someone and not fear being stabbed in the back?

And yet, for all her musings, for all her doubts, she knew it was useless. In a way, the decision had been made a long time ago; she needed only to send the word. And so she did. She wrote the short answer and ran to the tower with the ravens, when she tied it to the one that had been waiting for the parchment, and went back to her room.

When she did return, she realized that Sandor's quiet sleep was being disturbed by nightmares. (She knew the feeling. They plagued her as well). She sat down slowly, smoothed his brow and kissed his forehead, and then she whispered in his ear: "Quiet, my love, it will all be better in the morning"

After all, if a lie was kindly meant, there was no harm in it.