Author's Notes: It seems my author's notes from Chapter 63 were not quite spot on – I estimated four more chapters, taking this story to 67 chapters before wrapping up – and here we are, not quite done yet… My current estimate is (again - LOL!) four more chapters after this. I guess we'll see how accurate that estimation is going to be!
'Well, this is a wee one!' I hear you say, after getting used to 3-5K chapters... And yet, this is it – there simply is no more left to say in this chapter! I promise, however, that the next chapter will be posted soon. In it, we see what happens next and how Sansa adapts to her new situation.
Thank you to everyone who has followed this story so faithfully – your encouragements keep me going!
Also, many thanks to Gefionne for betaing this fic so diligently!
Sansa
Beep-beep-beep-beep.
The sound was relentless, drilling through Sansa's skull.
Beep-beep-beep-beep.
Sansa exhaled.
Sansa's mouth and throat were parched. Not quite like in the morning of the worst hangover of her life, peppered with nausea - but the sensation when she tried to swallow was coarser, rawer: it was as if she was trying to force sandpaper down her throat.
She tried to turn her head but could hardly move it.
"Did you see that?"
"What?"
"Did she just move?"
The voices came closer, but Sansa drifted under black waves of unconsciousness and heard nothing more.
When she came to the next time, her mind continued from where it had left off.
No.
She felt sick, but less in physical than mental sense.
It can't be. It mustn't be.
Sansa's head was foggy and she couldn't form a coherent thought - except for one thing.
No no no no no
"Sansa, can you hear me?" a gentle voice spoke next to her.
Sansa winced.
"Can you give me her chart?" The voice drifted away, directed towards someone else in the room.
"Here you are, Doctor. Her name is Sansa Tully and she has been with us for over a year," another voice said.
They sounded as if coming through a veil, muffled and distant.
"A strange case, it seems. No outward injuries, found unconscious..." The first voice changed into a low mumble. "EEG shows brain activity, but her body hasn't responded to external stimuli. Hmmmmm."
Sansa tried to open her eyes or say something but failed miserably in both.
"Let's just keep her comfortable and take a few tests. Alert me if she shows further signs of waking up."
The sound of a stool scraping against the floor. Then silence again.
Sansa shifted her body but to her surprise found it almost impossible. It was as if despite her telling her muscles what to do, they stubbornly refused to obey. Giving up, she tried something less ambitious: lifting her hand. In that, she succeeded somewhat better: only a small movement, but enough for her to realise that her arm was attached to something.
She opened her eyes cautiously and was assailed by bright light, forcing her to close them again. Cautiously, she opened only one eye to a narrow slit and looked down her arm. As she had guessed, a drip was taped to the back of her hand. Following the tubing with her one eye, she saw it leading to an IV infusion bag.
Drip – drip – drip. Pearls of clear fluid dropped down, one after another, in the drip chamber.
Sansa closed her eye again.
One of the voices had referred to her as Sansa Tully. She didn't really need the sight of the modern IV drip and talk about EEG to confirm her what she knew, but refused to think. Yet it didn't go away.
It is true. I'm back.
A sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach; it felt heavier by the minute. Sansa knew she should be happy. She had wanted to come back, hadn't she? Then she had been worried about how things could go wrong if she tried– but it appeared that everything had gone smoothly.
Bran's words came back to her: All will be fine.
Why did she feel like crying, then?