Waiting was the worst.
Sitting down there with the women, old folks, and children, Sansa felt trapped. She could not help but to get up and pace every now and again, just to chase away the empty feeling inside of her. It was oddly reminiscent of when Stannis Baratheon had attacked King's Landing, though she felt no fear this time. She believed in Jon and she believed in his fight against the dead. And she believed in the love he had for her and their home. He would not rest until the Night King was gone. And so Sansa knew when those crypt doors opened, it would be Jon there, coming to tell her all was well and the war was won. At least... This is what she told herself over and over again in an attempt to keep from going mad.
For hours now they'd sat down there, wondering and worrying. Women had sent their husbands, their sons, their brothers out to fight this battle. Children had watched their fathers join the ranks of soldiers, knowing they'd never once seen their father wield a sword. Some sewed quietly in the corners, others slept, and some cried. Gilly sat off to a corner with her babe in her arms, sometimes Sansa joined her to tickle the baby and smile when he giggled at her, all innocent smiles for he didn't know the war that raged outside their walls. In here, he felt safe in his mother's arms.
In that moment, she was seated beside Gilly, baby Sam actually in her own arms with another gaggle of children at their feet. She had been recounting the story of how the Children of the Forest taught the First Men to send messages by ravens, a story Old Nan had told her countless times growing up. It was as she finished that they all heard it, thunderous footsteps just outside the door that would lead into the crypt where they sat. A strange hush fell across the room and Sansa rose up, passing baby Sam back to Gilly before she sidestepped around the children. Then it came, the sounds of swords clashing, of men shouting, and the unmistakable sounds of bodies hitting the floor. She was filled with a cold sense of dread a moment before the door swung open and three men stood there, dressed in white and gold, their swords drawn and bloodstained. As they stepped into the torchlight, Sansa caught sight of the bodies of the guards, the ones left to offer protection to those locked inside the crypts, should they have needed it. No one had thought they would.. But here they were all the same.
Sansa heard some of the children behind her begin to cry as the three men came into the small space, heard one woman faint as fear overcame her. But she stood tall and strong, knowing at once who these men were and who had sent them. Those gold and white cloaks, she'd never seen them but heard the stories. "You." The center man spoke first, pointing a finger at her, his sword still in hand. "You'll be coming with us... Unless you wish to see every last person here slaughtered." His sword was swung then, earning several shrieks from women and children alike, laughter following from all three men.
"You can't!" It was Gilly, rising up with her son clutched to her chest in one arm, the other reaching out to take Sansa's hand. "You can't go with them, Sansa!" Perhaps it was the fact she was a mother already, but Gilly knew something that no one else in that room knew. But to her shock, Sansa turned to look at her over her shoulder, a small smile toying with her lips. And in that moment, Gilly knew Sansa had already made up her mind. She must have known all along that these men had come for her.
"I will come so long as you swear there will be no others who come after you and harm these people." Sansa said as she turned back to face the men, her blue eyes shining fiercely in the torchlight. "Should any of these people fall beneath a sword or hand, you will only have a body to take back to your queen." The smile on their faces faulted and they regarded her for a moment, as if trying to decide if she meant what she said... But then the center man, the clear leader, nodded and she knew she could do nothing but hope he would keep his silent word.
And so she stepped forward, sweeping past the three men, listening closely as they fell into line behind her. Up the stone steps that led back up into Winterfell and down the corridors past the Great Hall and out into the courtyard. Everything in the distance was ablaze- she was momentarily stunned, frozen on the spot as her eyes widened, taking in the sight before her. She could hear distant shouting, could hear the roar of the dragons, and even the howl of Ghost from somewhere just outside the gates. She spotted him then, lurking there in the shadows, his red eyes gleaming in the darkness. He snapped his jaws and growled as they approached, but a calm touch to his head from Sansa had him calm. "In with you." One of the men spoke sharply as they came to a small carriage, shoving her inside without much after thought. He slammed the door closed behind her and she could do nothing but settle in, clutching her skirts around her, shivering in the cold carriage.
It was moments later that it lurched forward and she leaned in towards the back window, staring out as Winterfell began to grow distant. There, standing in the center of the open gates was Ghost, and Sansa watched as he sat back on his hunches and howled. It was a howl like she'd never heard before, a howl that sent chills down her spine. She watched out that window until Ghost was nothing but a speck, until even Winterfell faded from her sight. Right then and there she vowed that this would be the very last time she was forced from her home. To King's Landing she would go, but somehow, someway she would be freed and return to Winterfell. And never again would she be forced away.
[ x x x ]
Amongst all the fighting, all the bloodshed, and all of the yelling, Jon heard it. The single howl that belonged to Ghost. He'd left him back at Winterfell, telling the wolf as he'd done before to protect Sansa in his absence. Jon couldn't say what it was about that howl... But he just knew something was wrong. Something had happened. Panic was setting in and he rammed his sword hard into the white walker before him, knocking it to the ground as he pulled his blade free. "Arya!" He shouted across the battlefield, seeing the girl across the way; she looked his way then, only to have to look away as another opponent came into her view. But this... This was not a white walker nor was it a wight. Jon could not begin to explain the feeling that overcame him as he watched Arya get the soldier with her blade, seeing the blood splatter her clothes and face. The dead did not bleed... This was a living man. A man dressed in livery he did not know. He took off at a run, racing towards Arya's side, offering her support against those that had begun to surround her- another strange soldier and wights alike. "Go back to Winterfell! Find Sansa, she's in danger!" Jon shouted as he took down a wight, overhead Rhaegal flying with a screech that pierced their ears. "Now!" Arya took that moment to take off, rushing through the battlefield, taking out wights as she ran, her nimble moves awe inspiring to those who witnessed them.
Her only thought was making it back through those gates and into Winterfell. She too had heard Ghost's chilling cry and had felt it deep inside of her that something had happened. Racing through the gates, she ran towards one of the secret doors that would lead down to the crypts, a door that would get her there faster than the main ones. Fear ran through her veins, her heartbeat steady, lungs desperate to catch a breath. Sansa... She thought of the sister she cared for deeply, for the only other sibling she had left besides Jon. Without Sansa... No, she'd not think about that. She slipped on the crumbling rock but righted herself as she ran, glancing over her shoulder at the sound of footsteps, only to see two men coming after her, men she noticed were wearing the same gold and white uniform she'd seen on the battlefield. "Damn," she muttered as she slid to a stop, rounding on the men as they came for her, swords drawn.
The battle was quick and though she left it with a small cut to her left arm, she made her way further into the crypts until she caught sight of firelight. They all turned to look at her as she ran into view, Gilly already rising to her feet as she approached. "Sansa. Where is my sister?" Arya demanded, breath coming in short gasps, her dark eyes darting back and forth, no sight of Sansa anywhere. "Where?" Her voice raised to a shout, her hand clenched around her dagger, dread filling her as Gilly sadly shook her head.
"They took her."
And just like that, everything would have to change.
[ x x x ]
Most mornings she felt well, but from the moment of her kidnapping by these men (the Golden Company, she now knew them to be called) she could not stop herself from getting sick. Their travel had been immensely slowed for every half hour or so she'd find herself retching into the bushes on the side of the road well into the day. The men were growing impatient with her, not that she minded, they couldn't harm her of course. But she was worrying that even these stupid men would understand her sickness and Cersei would know the moment she set foot into King's Landing. For now, she could only hope they'd call it a woman's woes and blame it on her fear.
And so they trudged on and on, the hours relentless. But finally, perhaps two or three days into travel, she could see the peaks of King's Landing coming into view. She had spent every moment of these few days thinking of Jon and the others, wondering if they were safe, wondering if they were even alive. When she'd been taken from Winterfell, it seemed that the battle was raging fiercely, but who knew how long it truly would have taken. Besides... The injuries they all must have sustained during the fight... Sansa knew she could not count on anyone coming to her rescue. She had once hoped for rescue from King's Landing... From her mother, from her brother Robb... But none of them had ever come.
She had learned to fight for herself back then and so she would do it again.
When they pulled through the gates of the Red Keep, Sansa was calm. The door to the carriage opened and sunlight spilled in, warm though it brought her little comfort. How long had it been since she felt the warmth of the sun? She stepped out, skirts too heavy for this southern weather. Looking up at the looming castle, she shuddered, not quite ready to take the first step inside. But the nearest man grabbed her by the arm, his grasp bruising as she shoved her towards the great stone steps.
Once inside, she was led down the still familiar corridors, not towards the throne room nor towards the dungeons, but rather down a hall she rememberd well. Her own rooms, the ones she'd once stayed in back when King's Landing had been her prison. In that single moment, she wanted to run. She wanted to run and never look back. Her fear of this place was overwhelming, even so many years later and she could feel her chest tightening, could feel her breath catching in her throat. They stopped before her old chamber door and one man opened it while the other pushed her inside, slamming the door closed. She put her back to the door and slunk down, skirts gathered around her as she sank to the floor. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she buried her face in them, arms wound around her legs; she did not cry, for what would tears bring her now? She did not pray, either, for that had gotten her nowhere. Instead she thought of Jon and Arya and Bran and Brienne. She thought of the only people left in the world that she cared about, the only ones that mattered.
And then her stomach lurched, a reminder of the life within her, and she knew there was still yet someone she cared for, though she'd not yet met them. Raising her head, she glanced around the room, recalling so many moments from within those four walls. None of them had been perfect, but not all of them had been awful. She remembered Shae and she remembered the fleeting hope she'd felt back when she thought she'd go to Highgarden. She remembered Margaery being kind to her and she remembered a time when she thought she might have been happy to be Joffrey's queen. Rising up from the floor, she dusted off her scaled skirts and stepped into the center of the room, knowing all was not yet lost.
She was Sansa Stark of Winterfell and no one could frighten her. Not anymore.
[ x x x ]
The battle had been won but at what cost?
Jon stood in the crypts below Winterfell, staring up at the statue of Ned Stark, the man he'd called father all his life. He supposed he would continue to do so, despite the truth he'd been told days before. I need guidance, he thought as he stared up at the stone face, wishing with all his heart that Ned would speak to him. The only thing stopping him from rushing to King's Landing was his men, his support- those who lived were injured and he could not ask them to fight another battle. Many of them were lucky to have escaped with their lives, himself included. But he'd fought for Sansa and for the North. He had made a promise to protect her and... He'd failed, had he not?
It was true, he'd won the battle against the dead, but Sansa was gone, taken to King's Landing or God knows where, a prisoner once again of the Lannister's. He felt sick without her, knowing what he knew... It wasn't just her that was in danger now.
The sound of footsteps forced him to look up and he turned, seeing Daenerys coming towards him, her silver hair reflecting the torchlight. His fight thought was you shouldn't be here, this was not a place for the likes of her. But he could not find his voice as she approached, a warm hand pressed to his elbow. He was reminded then that she did not yet know the truth of his blood... That she was his aunt, sister to the father he'd never known. A shudder raced through him and she must have noticed for her grip on his arm tightened, her perfect features curving with a comforting sort of smile. "I've been looking for you," she admitted then, her voice drawing his gaze to her. "The battle against the dead has been won. Now it's time to secure the Iron Throne."
He turned then, wrenching his arm from her grasp, a scowl on his face. "Who sits upon the Iron Throne is the least of my concerns." His words were dark, full of venom, words that must have taken her by surprise for she took a single step back from him. "I've not been honest with you, your grace," he said by way of apology, shaking his dark head and turning back to face Ned Stark's statue. "I'm not who you think I am."
Daenerys let out a small chuckle, shaking her head; she'd thought the worst for a moment, but found him simply to be brooding. Perhaps it was that sister of his, the one taken to King's Landing. "If you're worried about your sister, we shall get her back once I take the Iron Throne from Cersei Lannister." Her violet eyes were piercing in the dark, but they were not the eyes he longed to look into. In that moment, he had a choice... To tell her the truth or to keep it to himself just a bit longer. Telling her everything could have upset the balance between them, it could even put Sansa into more danger if Dany knew she was pregnant with his own child. Though he was certain he didn't want it, ruling the Seven Kingdoms would become his own duty, his own role to play once his birth right was revealed. He'd have gladly given it up to anyone else... But there was no one else. No one but the woman before him. And in that moment, Jon recalled the old phrase they said about Targaryen's. When a Targaryen was born, the God's flipped a coin... Mad or sane... It could have been either outcome. Now that he knew her better, now that he understood her, he knew which side of the coin the God's had landed on with her.
And so, he only nodded, knowing it wasn't time yet. It wasn't the moment. "You're right." He finally spoke, shaking his head, reaching out a hand to touch hers. A gentle reminder of what they had been some weeks ago. "We must speak with Jaime and Tyrion as well. They will have insight to get us into King's Landing undetected." Dany opened her mouth as if to speak, but Jon shook his head again, speaking on. "Riding Drogon into King's Landing will be a mistake. Cersei will be ready for you." Her features twisted with distaste- she didn't like being told no- and again opened her mouth to speak. "We shall pull together a plan that will not bring you harm." He spoke before she could, offering her the smallest of smiles, the only one he could muster in this moment. Finally Dany heaved a sigh but nodded, allowing him to take her by the arm instead, leading her down the corridor of the crypts and up into Winterfell.
It was as he had said... They would muster together a plan and he would save Sansa. He would take her into his arms again and hold on tight, never to let her go again.
[ x x x ]
When Cersei finally called upon her, Sansa felt no fear.
A fresh, beautiful gown of the lightest green had been brought to her rooms earlier that day, but the gown remained where it hung on the peg, the hand maidens sent away when they'd come to dress her that morning. Instead, she'd sat before the looking glass and brushed out her long, auburn hair, twisting it into braids and pinning it into place at the back of her head. An unmistakable Northern style she'd begun wearing some months ago, a style she'd seen her own mother wear numerous times. And then she'd dressed herself in her same blue-scaled gown of dark blue, a reflection of green when the light hit it just right. It had been precious fabric she'd found in an old trunk of her mother's, locked away in a spare room of Winterfell she'd found while Jon had been away. Rising up when the knock came, she gave herself one last glance and knew she looked every inch the Lady of Winterfell- with her red Tully hair and gown, there would be no mistaking where her loyalties lay.
The door opened then and Sansa was already there waiting for the pair of guards, their white cloaks a stark contrast to their dark armor. "The queen wishes you join her," the first man said, his gaze sweeping her up and down before settling upon her face, unable to help but to notice what a beauty this young woman was. "Come." He beckoned her to follow and so she did, filing out after the two guards, allowing them to lead her through the corridors- not to the grand throne room but towards Cersei's own personal chambers. They knocked on the door and Sansa heard her voice speaking come in and they opened the door, ushering her inside before closing the door the moment she'd crossed the threshold.
Cersei sat behind her desk, papers littered its surface, a quill abandoned, its tip stained black with ink. "Hello, little dove." Her golden hair was cropped short and though her features were strained, tired, she was still the same Cersei Lannister she could recall from years before. It was as if time did not change this queen. But her eyes... Sansa could see as she approached her that sadness clung to those green eyes, their spark gone, replaced with a grief that could only be that of losing your children. She could not help but to put a hand to her own stomach, where within her a life was growing. There was no way she could imagine losing her baby now, so painful was such a thought... But to lose it as a toddler... As a child... As a young adult? "Ah... Those idiots were not wrong, then." Cersei's voice brought her back and she let her hand drop back to her side, her own blue eyes raising up to meet the queen's gaze. "You're pregnant."
The men that had brought Sansa back had told her of her sickness, but those stupid men had said they thought she was only trying to slow them down. Men knew nothing, after all. Cersei took several moments to regard the young woman before her, her beauty quite overwhelming. She had always known Sansa Stark would grow into a lovely woman, she'd known such a thing that first day she'd laid eyes upon her back in Winterfell. But her beauty surpassed what she had thought it would ever be. And pregnancy, though early in days, suited her, offering her a glow that Cersei herself never had. "Who's the father?" She asked as she sat back in her chair, gesturing for the girl to come closer. Her own belly had just barely begun to curve with her own child and she watched Sansa's face for any sign of surprise, but her face remained as passive as ever. She noticed then the dress, a gown of what looked to be fish scales, the color so unlike anything she'd seen before. As she'd been many times before, Cersei was surprised by the girl's skill with a thread and needle. "The pick of men cannot be much in the North." Cersei knew it could not be her now dead husband, the bastard Bolton, for her pregnancy would be much more advanced. And the morning sickness... No, this was a new pregnancy, early in her days. "You once longed to bring little princes and princesses into the world... But now you bring a new bastard to name Snow to shame Winterfell." This pregnancy changed things, that was for certain.
"No." Sansa's voice was like silk, her smile quick as she settled into a chair before the desk without being bid to sit, her blue eyes seeking Cersei's green. "It is not a bastard I carry." She went on with a shrug, looking then down to the unmistakable curve of Cersei's belly. "I see it is you who carries a bastard, another one to place upon the Iron Throne someday." Cersei's lips twitched as if she meant to frown, but she couldn't help but to smile. Who had taught this girl to talk back as thus? It was only a moment before she knew. Of course, it was me. "Did you not learn the first time?"
These words clipped a soft spot and Cersei did indeed frown, leaning forward then, hands spread across the surface of her desk. "I should have you killed for what you did to him." Cersei said softly, her eyes never leaving Sansa's. "You poisoned my son."
"Did I?" Sansa interrupted, having the tact to look surprised. "Forgive me, I wasn't aware, your grace." Cersei narrowed her eyes and Sansa felt her heart leap- that was a look she'd seen many times before, just not typically at her. "Pray tell me when I had the moment? If I recall, I was seated beside Lord Tyrion that whole time. If my memory serves me, you arrested him for it." She again shrugged, her perfectly sculpted shoulders hugged by the tight material of her blue gown. "Might I suggest you another suspect... Though my mother always told me to not speak ill of the dead, it was Lady Olenna of Highgarden that they say murdered your son. In fact, I have heard she confessed to the crime."
Damn her, Cersei thought irritably, her words an echo of Jaime's who had indeed said the old woman confessed. But blaming Sansa Stark had felt so much easier, so much better. Truth be told... Cersei had always thought Sansa to be the young queen the witch had spoken of, the one that would come to take everything she'd ever loved. To take her crown and wear it as her own, this younger and more beautiful queen. From the moment she'd set eyes upon her, Cersei had known it to be her that the prophecy spoke of. Blaming Joffrey's death on her would have sealed her death warrant and gotten rid of her. And yet... Somehow, she'd escaped King's Landing and made her way North again, only to stand beside her bastard brother who called himself King in the North. "And if that's true, she has paid for her crime." Sansa's voice brought her back and Cersei blinked, realizing silence had fallen between them. "Your brother Jaime saw to that." Sansa shifted in her chair, brushing her hair across a shoulder. "He told me as much when he came to pledge himself to me and my house." Her smile was icy, her eyes piercing as she leaned forward in her seat. "Even now he is discussing with my brother on how he will retrieve me. Your own lover... The father of your children, your own flesh and blood... He will come to save me and not even spare you a passing glance." She felt her heart pounding in her chest, knowing these were dangerous waters she tread, that only Cersei's knowledge of her pregnancy would protect her. "And then Daenerys Targaryen will come for your throne and it will be hers." Sansa smiled, rising up without being told, and turned her back upon the queen she once admired, once feared. Now, there was nothing left to admire or fear.
She paused only a moment in the doorway, glancing back at the woman behind the desk who looked shocked, one hand on her curved belly, the other still yet flat upon the desktop. For a moment, Sansa thought she might speak, but it was only silence within the room. And so she turned back and left the room without another word, the only sound that of her heels against the stone floor as she walked back towards her chambers, ignoring the guards as they called out to her to stop, to wait, one doubling back to perhaps ask their queen what to do with her. But they would find Cersei quiet, for once without a word to say, waving them away from her as if to say she cared not. All she could think of was the words Sansa Stark had said to her and how suddenly it felt like she was not her enemy.
Within her own rooms, Sansa sank down onto her bed, stripped from her gown and only in her chemise. She climbed beneath the sheets and pulled them close to her chin, tired beyond measure, her heart still yet pounding from her encounter with Cersei. It would be a wonder if she lived through the night after all she had just said. But, Sansa had to believe that if nothing else, her pregnancy would protect her. At least... For now. And so she closed her eyes and sleep claimed her, taking her to a world where she was safe and happy. A world she knew was just within her grasp.
