She awoke at dawn, with Sandor readying to leave for Kings Landing. For war, and his own personal battle. Still in her nightdress, she quickly put on her robe. There was a soft knock at the door; her trusted maid had brought breakfast, which Sansa discreetly retrieved.
She kissed him, and made him swear to come back to her. Until then, she would say a prayer, every day, in the Godswood.
"Swear it," she had insisted. "By the Old Gods and the New, by yours and mine."
Ramsay had once told her that he would always be a part of her.
You will not, she remembered thinking. Especially not now, when there was someone she loved.
Why should he control and determine the course of her life? Did she not have the right to be happy, like everyone else? To a happy future. Not sad and alone and pitied.
She sighed and lay back onto the pillows, remembering. The pillowcase smelled of lavender water and deliciously of Sandor still.
A happy memory.