Luck had shined upon her, she had once believed.
She, the winter's sun, would be lucky enough to marry the noble stag and a gleaming gold crown would be set upon her head. She would flourish underneath the heady sun of the capital, her eyes brighter and her hair burnished. A happy state of bliss.
Maybe, she had been too much of a romantic at soul.
Her childhood had been full with tales of handsome princes and beautiful princesses, strong lords and merciful ladies all playing their role for king and country. Her mother always spoke of her beauty, the plentiful Tully red hair and porcelain skin without a blemish, as if Sansa was beauty alone.
Not a soul had ever encouraged her mind. Her father, happy enough for Arya to cavort about as if she were a boy, would not have extended that same courtesy to pretty little Sansa. Her mother, too fixated on prayer and cooking and mending, had an intelligent mind and yet she was content with domesticity.
She had not been allowed to be curious or brave, to be allowed to find out who she was at heart. Sansa was just the beautiful daughter of Lord Eddard who would one day make an even more beautiful wife. Pity, that dream never came to fruition.
She had soon learned that beauty was an asset but it was not enough to stop Joffrey mistreating her. It was the reason Ramsay wanted her as his wife, the reason that between the two of them she no longer believed in love. Her heart grew hard, her back stiffer and there were days she wanted to end it all forever.
Yet, the strength of her mind carried her through even the worst abuse.
How could it be beauty that defined her?
She realised it was a burden and a blessing but it could never compare to the capacity of the mind. She prayed that if she were ever to be freed she would have the opportunity to learn about herself.
Sansa Stark was more than beautiful, she wanted to be strong and brave and curious. To make herself someone she was proud of, someone who was independent in her own right and yet uncompromising on her femininity. Someone like Cersei, she noted with a wry smile.
Cersei had gone mad in the end yet Sansa often thought that perhaps, just perhaps had she too been allowed to be something other than beautiful and allowed to use the talents she had possessed then she could have been happier. Sansa certainly felt more secure in her own skin now she had the opportunity to further herself.
Now, she truly knew that fortune had shined upon her. She was still the winter's sun and yet wiser than her summer days.
Her mind was occupied with ruling Winterfell, with teaching herself about the width and breadth of Westeros and with commerce between cities. She was ruling alone, something she had never thought she would have the capacity to do and yet now did wonderfully according to Lyanna Mormont. She had always dreamed she would be a perfect helpmeet to her husband, never did she think she would be herself the ruler.
It still surprised her at times to see how much she had flourished in Winterfell. She had always felt more drawn to the southern style of living, the style her mother had brought with her from the Riverlands. Yet, her unbound hair was far more vibrant amongst the snowy grounds of her home and the furs far more comfortable than the heavy embroidered silks.
Perhaps, she had at last found the true Sansa.
A/N: Thank you for reading!