NOTES: Thank you to everyone who is reading for your wonderful feedback! I am working on the outline for this story, so it may be a bit before I update. However, once the outline is done, then there should be better pacing for the tale. It has been difficult to try balancing whose chapters I am doing next. I need to get back to Essos, King's Landing, Oldtown, and start a few other regions (like the Wall, Beyond the Wall, Dorne, Iron Islands). There has also been much Stark focus due to the amount of Starks, even though my intention is not to be Stark-centric.
Chronologically this chapter takes place in the middle of the previous chapter.
Pulling her needle through cloth was calming. Winterfell was tense. The servants and supplicants may not have seen the tension, but to Sansa it was palpable. Mother was distant, only Rickon and father spent much time with her. Robb spent most of his time training in the yard until he was exhausted. Bran spent all of his free time at the heart tree, and seldom spoke. Jon brooded, trained, and spoke at length with father. Father seemed overwhelmed, which had only increased since Uncle Benjen's arrival from the Wall a fortnight past. Arya's moods, while not typical for her young self, were at least familiar to Sansa.
Arya was guarded, a trait which she and Sansa shared. When they had met again in the Vale, it had taken a while to grow accustomed to one another. So many years had passed since they had last seen one another in King's Landing. They were no longer children, but young women, hardened by all that they had been forced to endure. In living with one another, they had been forced to learn one another. In the process, they realized how much more they had in common as adults than they ever had as children. Sansa had been a leader and mother and Arya was a trained assassin, but they both understood duty. In the face of a long winter and widespread famine, they learned to lean upon one another for advice. Despite their mutual ability to hide their emotions, they learned to read one another perfectly. Their bond carried through to their renewed childhood. Together they sewed and trained with blades.
Sansa found that she enjoyed learning to use a sword. Training was not easy, as her muscles had never been used for such activity before, but she was eager to learn and train through the pain. Knowing how to handle the short blade which she had been given made her feel like she could truly gain some control over one aspect of her life. Jeyne Poole was completely horrified that Sansa trained with swords daily, but Sansa paid her little mind. Every time she struck a target she envisioned Joffrey, Cersei, and Lord Baelish. She wanted them dead a thousand times over. Word of Joffrey's death had warmed Sansa's heart. She wished that she could feel safe, knowing that two enemies were dead, but she knew that she would only feel safe once the threat of the Others was ended.
She wished that she knew what Bran, father, Uncle Benjen, and Jon were planning to do about the Others, but they remained quiet on the subject. Her fear that she was still controlled by the Others ebbed as the days passed. She gradually felt warmer and more at home within the walls of Winterfell. She was glad that Arya would not have to fulfill her promise to kill her.
When they trained, Arya would tell Sansa that her skill with swords was improving. She would also tell Sansa that she was terrible at swordplay. Robb and Jon would also laugh sometimes and other times encourage her. Even father would give her tips on how to hold and wield a blade. He agreed that she should learn to protect herself this time. There were northern precedents for women learning to fight, chiefly the Mormonts and wildlings, but at least both Stark girls learning to fight would not seem strange given the precedents.
Sansa often wondered what her father felt. He had spoken at length with each of them more than once about all that they had seen and experienced throughout the wars. She could tell that he was bothered by all that he had been told. He was horrified to learn that she had witnessed his execution. She had assured him that she could not really remember the execution any more except in nightmares. He was always quiet and reserved. She wondered if he had always been so quiet toward herself and her brothers and sister.
She had only vague memories of her parents and brothers from her first childhood. She remembered laughter, hugs, kisses, and bits of games they had played. Other than Arya, Jon Snow was the only family member she had distinct memories of, and that was because as Prince of Dragonstone and Lord Commander of the Night's Watch he was hard to ignore. He flew from the Wall to King's Landing regularly on his green dragon. He would visit Sansa and Arya in the Vale and carry goods from the Vale to the Wall and King's Landing. Sansa wondered what Jon, mother, and Robb thought about Jon's true parentage, but had never asked. Given the brooding moods of her entire family, she felt that it would be better to avoid touchy subjects.
"Theon and Robb are talking again," Jeyne whispered to her.
"So it would seem," she replied.
Theon Greyjoy had hidden in his rooms for weeks. He would attend his lessons and go riding, but otherwise would remain isolated. It had taken father speaking at length with Robb and Theon together for them to speak again. Father made a point of making each of them spend time with himself and Theon. Sansa's interaction with Theon was polite. She had not thought much upon him or the crimes he had committed, and forgave him readily. She was far more concerned about the Others than she was about a repentant and reformed Theon.
"Why weren't they speaking?"
Sansa tugged her needle through the cloth as though it were the most interesting thing in the world. "Probably something unimportant."
"But everyone has been strange lately, even you."
"Is it truly so strange for me to learn how to use a sword? The women of House Mormont are all trained as warriors. I only wish to learn how to defend myself if I must." The argument was an old one, but Jeyne still seemed to dislike her friend enjoying such a dirty task.
Her nose scrunched in displeasure. "It isn't just the swordplay. You don't seem like you anymore, not really. It's as though one day you went to bed as yourself and the next woke up a different person but with the same face."
Arya laughed. "You have such strange ideas. You're just jealous that she spends more time with me than with you now."
"I am not," Jeyne insisted irritably.
"Girls," Septa Mordane interrupted. "Why do I hear bickering?"
"A minor disagreement over our interests in boys," Sansa smoothed with a guilty smile. The Septa raised a suspicious eyebrow, but returned to her corner away from the girls.
"We have men to protect us," Jeyne muttered quietly before she returned to her stitching.
'Oh Jeyne, sweetling, if you only knew', Sansa thought. She knew what Jeyne's fate had been. From her training as a bed slave in Lord Baelish's brothels to her marriage to Ramsay Snow to her eventual suicide. Men had not protected Jeyne, they had destroyed her.
Instead of speaking, Sansa returned to her needlework. She hummed to herself. It was a Vale lullaby. Harrold had sung it for her, their sons, and his bastard daughters. It had been the only way her son Eddard would sleep.
The more time that passed, the easier it was for her to push away her feelings for Harrold and their children. She was just a girl again. Harrold was a stranger in the Vale. Their children's souls rested with the gods. Then there were the days when she would look at Rickon and see her son Robert. Her heart would break all over again and she would spend the rest of the day building another wall around her heart.
She glanced to either side and saw her friend and sister pulling their needles deftly through the fabric before them. Arya's needlework was flawless. If asked, Arya would deny any pleasure at the praises which were heaped upon her by Septa Mordane. Sansa knew her piety was a lie. Even under the masks, Arya relished the attention. Far from being the impatient, awkward, feisty child she had been, Arya was all grace, courtesy, and patience. At times, Sansa missed the real Arya. The girl whose needlework was nothing but knots was buried under years of training as a Faceless Man.
A maid entered the room, carrying a letter in her hand. "Lady Sansa, a letter for you," she announced politely.
Sansa set aside her needlework and accepted the letter. "Thank you Rose," she replied with a smile.
She looked at the seal for a few long minutes. Hard, red wax pressed with a lion's head sealed the letter. She felt a familiar, very old fear rise within her, but she shook it away. She knew the sender of the letter before she even broke the seal.
Tyrion of House Lannister
Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West
To Lady Sansa of House Stark
I have been made aware that you, and most all your family, remember the same events which I recall. I have written to some other members of your family, but felt that I should write to you, given our history. I trust that you were pleased by the gifts which I have given your family and the realm. They are gifts you should have been given long ago, but I was too much a coward to help you.
I have been told that I should find a wife, given my new position. While you are the eldest daughter of a High Lord, I do believe that you are far too young for me to consider. I do believe that is something you would want to know. I wish you all happiness, my lady. I will remain, as ever, your faithful friend.
Sansa folded the letter closed and wiped at the tears which fell from her eyes. "I pray that you would all excuse me," she announced as she stood. Her endearingly over protective sister made to stand as well, but at a move of Sansa's hand, Arya remained seated. For the moment, Sansa just wanted to be alone.
She slipped the letter into a pocket of her dress as she walked from the room. Lady trailed behind her, ever a faithful companion. Tyrion's gift, she knew, was the death of Tywin and Joffrey. Truly their deaths were gifts to the realm, in hope of peace. The second part of his letter bothered her. She knew that his intention and message were kind. He had also awoken old memories of their short, unhappy marriage and King's Landing in general.
She was walking through a breezeway which overlooked the training yards, still lost in her memories, when Robb found her. Grey Wind left Robb's side and greeted his littermate with a welcoming sniff.
"Sansa," he greeted. "May we speak?"
She favored him with a kind smile. "Of course, what do you wish to speak about?"
He averted his eyes and shifted in place. "It seems that I am to be betrothed."
"It is official now?" Sansa had known about the discussions regarding a betrothal for Robb, but nothing had been decided last she knew.
"The letters were sent a short while ago. It seems that Margaery Tyrell will become my wife and your good-sister."
Sansa wanted to laugh. She remembered a very similar conversation, a lifetime past.
"We will be sisters," Margaery had whispered. Sansa had been delighted at the thoughts of Highgarden and Willas Tyrell. Moreover, Sansa had been thrilled that Highgarden would not be King's Landing.
"Congratulations, she is quite lovely." 'And now she will truly be my good-sister; how strange this world has become.'
He gave her a weak smile. "That is part of what I wanted to speak with you about. You met her; you spoke with her. What is she like?"
'A rose with thorns. Sweet and kind and gentle, with a mind that knows how the game is played. She will wrap you around her finger as she did King Aegon. Dear brother, she married three kings and bedded a fourth; she is no innocent maiden.' Sansa could not bring herself to say any of those things. She remembered to herself that if Robb had ransomed her then she would never have met Margaery Tyrell. She would never have endured the horrors of King's Landing. She would never have been taken and used as a pawn by Lord Baelish.
"An answer for an answer," she posed the question.
His brow raised in confusion. "Of course, what do you want to know?"
"Why was I not ransomed from King's Landing?"
He closed his eyes, but not before she saw pain fill them. "I should have," he answered eventually.
She kept her face placid, but felt a familiar ache in her heart. She stroked Lady's head to calm herself. "That is not an answer." The words were whispered, as she could barely speak.
"What more do you want," he pleaded. "I should have traded you and Jaime Lannister. I should have kept Theon by my side. I should have married the Frey girl! I can't change what I did!" Grey Wind licked his hand in an effort to calm him. He rubbed at his eyes to stop the tears that threatened.
She wanted to comfort her brother. She wanted to say everything was fine. She wanted to forgive his decisions, but could not find it within herself to forgive. How could she forgive him after the way Joffrey abused her? After the way the Lannisters married her off to Tyrion? After the way Lord Baelish would lie to her, touch her, and manipulate her? Robb was supposed to have kept her safe, but he never even tried. "I waited for you to save me. They beat me and humiliated me every time you won a battle. I prayed and I prayed for you to save me. No one saved me. Not you and not the Tyrell's. Margaery is kind and sweet, but don't for a second think that she isn't as cunning as a viper."
She pushed past him and walked swiftly to the godswood. How many hours had she spent in the godswood in the Red Keep? How many days had she prayed for safety and protection? She had never been safe in the south, even in the arms of her second husband.
Her side ached by the time she reached the heart tree. She sank to her knees and wept. Lady lay beside her, nuzzling her side. "I can't do this," she cried. "I don't know how." She touched the tree and found herself close and yet very far away.
A girl who looked remarkably like Arya was hitting a tree with a stick, so hard that it was breaking with every stroke. Nearby stood a young man whose face was obscured. "I can't do it Ned! I won't!"
"Lya, stop, please. He is not so bad as you seem to think."
"Then you marry him!"
Ned grabbed his sister's arm so that she would stop swinging, and then held her close as she cried. They faded and the years passed. Sansa saw her father kneeling before the tree, younger than she had ever seen him in life.
"This was my father's place," he said. "I sit where my brother was meant to sit. I wed the woman my brother was meant to marry. I do not know how to lead the North. I do not know how to keep Jon safe. I ask that you will show me the best way forward."
Lord Eddard Stark faded and was replaced by a heavily pregnant Catelyn Stark. She paced anxiously before the tree.
"I do not know how to pray here. At home... Where I used to live and call home, Riverrun, there is a sept. The whole building is full of light. Ned is building a sept here, for me, but I need the gods now. My mother died in child birth. With my son I could pray in the sept where I grew up. I don't have that now."
She stopped pacing and knelt, with much difficulty, in front of the tree. "I am afraid. I am afraid that I will never see Robb grow up. Afraid that Jon will try to take away my son's place. Afraid that I am not good enough. Afraid that this child will die or that I will die as my mother did."
She stroked her belly with one hand and wiped at her eyes with the other. "I may not belong here in the North, praying to the old gods of my husband, but this child belongs to the North. So please, keep this child safe."
Everything faded again, and Sansa saw Robb kneeling in a different godswood. He wore an iron crown upon his head and was dressed for battle.
"I do not think that I was made to be a king. I win every battle, but every decision I make not on the battlefield... I came south to rescue my father and sisters. I lost everything. My father, my brothers, my sisters. They took Sansa from us; married her to the enemy. Only you know where Arya is, or if she is alive. I do not know if I will be victorious. If nothing else, please keep Sansa and Jon safe."
Robb faded and five figures emerged from the shadow. They were underground, seated in a circle which was ringed with torches. On the ground in the center of their circle was a silver basin.
"I do not know if this will work," said a man with dark hair and a round face.
"It has to work," Daenerys replied, her voice allowing for no argument.
A moment later a horrific cracking sound echoed through the cavern. Two dozen or more small, strange looking people rushed past them, shouting that the barrier was breached.
The red-haired woman stood and made to follow the strange beings. "It seems that our choices have been made. The curse must work, or all hope will be lost."
Tyrion stood as well. "Your grace, it has been an honor to serve you. Bran, I am glad that you were able to lead us here."
A few moments later, Daenerys, Bran, and the other man were alone in front of the silver basin. "It is time," Bran announced solemnly. He proceeded to take a knife and cut open his hand. He held his hand above the basin, and passed the blade to Daenerys. After she performed the same task, the knife was set aside. Together, the two began to chant words which the third man read from a parchment. The blood in the basin seemed to glow. Bran and Daenerys clasped one another's hands across the basin and began to chant names. The blood changed color from red to white. The light grew stronger, connecting Bran, Daenerys, and the silver bowl. They chanted on, releasing their wounded hands, but keeping their undamaged hands clasped. Their bleeding, glowing hands touched their chests. They pulled their hands outward from their bodies, and collapsed to the ground. The light remained, now joined by two other lights. Above Bran's body was pulsed a golden light. Above Daenerys's body shown a dark red light. The three lights merged into one and the world went dark.
When Sansa opened her eyes again she was seated by the weirwood tree again. She noticed Bran standing near her, watching her; Summer was seated beside him. "Did you do that," she questioned.
He nodded his head solemnly. "The trees see everything that has happened and remember. If a person knows how, the trees can be used to see the future as well. Even if that future will not happen. You needed to see that you are not alone. I wanted you to see what has been done for you."
She reached out her arms and he went to her and hugged her. "Thank you, I needed to see all of them. I need to apologize to Robb. I... I'm still afraid. I don't want to lose everyone again. I don't want to face the Others again."
"You won't have to," he whispered. "But I will."
She pulled back from him and met his distant gaze. "Are you afraid?"
"Always."