A/N: In writing this chapter, I realized it's been quite a while since we'd gotten a Sansa chapter. So here we are:
Our Blades Are Sharp
By Spectre4hire
40: Sansa
The rocking of the galley roused her from her dreams.
Sansa blinked in the cramp confines of her cabin aboard the galley, stirring beneath her blankets. She moved to sit up, but the tumbling of the boat beneath her quelled the movement and she returned her head to her pillow.
Just a few more minutes, she yawned, closing her eyes and trying to snatch up the lingering traces of her dream. It seemed to be the same dream she's been having since she left the capital.
She had been on a boat. This boat, she was certain of it, it was evenfall, trying her best to conjure it up from her mind's eye. Those details never changed. She thought it was further proof that it was the same dream, but on repeat.
The dark canvas of the night was illuminated by starlight that shone down on her, as the boat cut through the dark waters like a white knife. But this time Domeric was on deck. He was talking to some the sailors, but when he saw her, he had stopped his conversation and smiled, beckoning her over to him.
No, Sansa rubbed her eyes, wondering if she remembered wrong. That couldn't be right. She bit back a frustrated sigh, and pushed herself up.
Even in sleep she couldn't escape the sea.
Sansa longed for her feet to touch land again. She missed the feel of steady ground beneath her.
How long has it been? She wondered since they she left the capital. Since I left them behind, she choked down the muffled cry that wanted to slip through. Thinking about her father and brother who remained in King's Landing under threat from the Lannisters.
I must be brave, she reminded herself, Father told me to be brave.
Every day she stewed in the guilt of what transpired that led her and Domeric to flee the capital while letting her father and brother remain in the city with the lions circling.
Her tummy churned. The familiar feeling of nausea bubbling, the taste of bile in her throat, the sudden lurching of the ship was enough to make Sansa run for her chamber pot. Emptying her tummy in two painful heaves that brought tears to prick her eyes.
This was her life ever since their ship left the harbor of King's Landing. Sansa rarely left her cabin. The few times she did wander into the sunlight, the rough waves beneath her sent her right back here.
Seasickness, their ship's captain declared, offering remedies to aid in her ailing, but each one proved ineffective.
Wrought with guilt and anxiety, her tummy was a tangled mess, leaving her to languish here, day after day as their ship made the arduous journey to White Harbor.
Letting out a shaky sigh, she didn't let her attention linger on her chamber pot, knowing it would only stir another poor reaction out of her. She used the back of her arm to wipe her mouth and moved backwards until reaching her bed, falling onto it. She looked up at the ceiling, brushing away the corner of her eyes to remove the traces of her tears.
The Old Gods are punishing me, she just knew it. She could sense their disapproval. It wasn't seasickness that plagued her, but their wroth at leaving her family behind.
Family, Duty, Honor, those were her mother's words. The guilt stabbed at her heart like valyrian steel. She hadn't fulfilled them since she left her family behind.
To make her condition worse, for the first time her friendship was strained with Domeric. It wasn't kisses or glances they exchanged, but heated words or bouts of silence. He had been adamant in his decision to leave the city with her, and she refused to see his reasoning behind it. He could dress it up as best he could, but they rang hollow to her.
A part of her longed for them to reconcile. So she could be held in his arms, to exchange such kisses that made her heart soar and tummy flutter. Touches that made her safe and happy, but each time she wanted to reach out to him, to tell her she understood, the words died on her tongue. Images of her father and brother in the Black Cells were conjured in her mind's eye. Instead of apologies being exchanged, a new row would crop up between them, only furthering the divide between the betrothed couple.
She felt new tears swelling in her eyes at everything in her life seemed to be crashing down upon her. Weeks ago, she was with her beloved, laughing and dancing, with her father and brother. They were surrounded by enemies, but they were wolves, and they were safe in their pack. Now, they were alone, cut off from each other, unable to draw strength upon one another.
Her stomach rumbled, a sour sensation dwelling that made her queasiness return.
"Sansa?"
"Yes?" Her voice hoarse and scratchy.
"May I come in?"
She wanted to refuse him. Resigned to what awaited them if she let him in, awkward silences which followed fumbled questions and would eventually lead to heated words.
Her heart ached reflecting on the trials of her strained relationship with the man she loved over these past few days. Did father and mother have days like this? Weeks like this? And if they did, how did they fix it? She wondered, a mess that to her looked unfixable.
I can't ask father, she thought bitterly, having left him in the capital. The reminder brought forth a prickle of annoyance to fan in her heart, directing towards the man who stood outside her door. The man she loved, but yet couldn't stand to be with on this journey.
"Sansa?" She could hear the worry in Domeric's tone from behind the closed door. "Are you well?"
The concern in his voice softened her. Relishing the sound of it, taking comfort in his tone, she put aside the refusal she was so quick to about to give. A response that filled her with shame.
"One second," She told him, knowing she needed to speak up or his worry would only grow in her silence. She pulled herself up, scrambling on her bed as best she could without upsetting her stomach, so as she was leaning against her pillows in a sitting position. Sansa looked down at her modest nightgown, her hand instinctively going through her tussled hair, before realizing it was meaningless, knowing her appearance couldn't be saved so easily.
"Come in."
The door opened, familiar padding could be heard against the wood floor, as Lady jumped onto her bed, right beside Sansa. It was almost as if she could sense the understanding and sympathy that lurked beneath her direwolf's eyes as Lady nestled against her. The direwolf sniffing the air before applying a few quickly placed kisses along the side of Sansa's chin and cheek which brought a smile to her lips as she halfheartedly tried to push Lady away.
"Lady," she hugged her direwolf when Lady finished licking her. Burying her face in Lady's soft, warm fur. While Sansa hadn't taken well to their journey, Lady was thoroughly enjoying it. Basking in the sunlight, smelling the salty air and other exotic scents the open waters had to offer. Her direwolf spent most of her time outside leaving Sansa to remain in the dark-sick and cold.
She held onto her direwolf longer than she should, knowing once she let go she'd need to look at and then speak to Domeric. Hesitance came to her in thinking about interacting with him when it use to bring only excitement and happiness.
"I brought you some water," his voice gentle, concern lingered in his tone.
Sansa summoned what strength she had, and moved away from Lady and look towards him. He stood at the foot of her bed, holding the water.
"Thank you," she moved to get it, a difficult task with Lady nearly melding into her at her side, but she stopped when Domeric held up his free hand.
"Allow me," he moved to hand it to her.
She took it with a thankful nod, bringing it to her chapped lips, she drank greedily from it, the soothing cold water, reprieving her sore throat and restless tummy.
"Easy," Domeric cautioned, eying her with a worried look.
Sansa didn't listen, not removing it until the water was gone. Letting out a contented sigh, she wiped her mouth, and handed it back to him.
"I can get more," he offered.
"No," she stopped him, the water was refreshing, but she didn't want to risk further upsetting her stomach.
The awkward silence ensued as Sansa busied herself by scratching Lady's ear, and for the first time she was able to get a clear look at him despite the poor lighting in her cabin. His clothes looked familiar, the red and black pattern on his tunic, his brown trousers. A nagging feeling at the back of her mind, as if she should recognize what he was wearing, but she knew he wasn't dressed in these clothes for their last meeting together yesterday afternoon.
"Did you wear that before?" Realizing after she spoke how odd and unexpecting her question must have sounded.
"Last night," his look confirming that he found it strange. "After having spilled some of my supper on my shirt," he admitted, "So I changed before I went up on deck to look at the stars."
Her dream, the sudden clarity of the image came forward from her mind's eye gave her no further doubt that she remembered correctly, but questions remained.
Lady stirred at her side, a satisfied whine followed, before she rested her large head on Sansa's lap.
"Sansa," he paused, clumsily trying to put together a sentence that neither seemed able or willing to give since they got on this ship-an apology.
"Don't," she held up her hand, praying he'd listen. She knew no apology was forthcoming, and the attempt of it only led to arguing. "I must look a frightful mess," Sansa attempted levity, hoping to keep the mood light, and for him to stay with her. She brought a hand to gesture at her face, imagining her sickly and pale appearance or her messy hair dirty and matted.
"Never," he assured her. His dark eyes brimming with warmth and sincerity. "You will always be beautiful to me, my lady."
A look that use to make Sansa's tummy tumble and skin shiver whenever she found that gaze upon her. She looked away first, her heart, a gentle flutter beneath her chest, a bit of heat crept in her cheeks, and the beginnings of a smile on her lips.
"My lord!" One of the sailors appeared in the doorway, puncturing the improving mood between the betrothed couple, a feat he looked oblivious at accomplishing, as he continued. "White Harbor is in sight!"
"Arrested?"
Sansa found herself parroting Lord Manderly's stunning news. It took every ounce of her self-control to remained poised as she stood in the Merman's Court. She could think of no worse greeting to their arrival to White Harbor then the solemn one Lord Manderly gave them upon their arrival to New Castle, his family's seat.
She felt Domeric's fingers grabbing her hand with an assuring grip.
He left him, the words slithered to her mind. And now her father was rotting in the Black Cells.
That reminder made her slip her hand out of his. A chilling sensation filling her tummy which had lurched painfully upon hearing he news of her father. She refused to look in his direction, focusing her attention towards the man who had delivered the unwelcomed news.
Lord Manderly sat atop his cushioned throne, a large man with a massive belly, his blue-greenish tunic doing its best to conceal the weight of the Lord of White Harbor. His hair was short and white, and had a white, neatly trimmed goatee with large jowls. Despite his underwhelming appearance, Sansa knew how important the man who sat before her was. House Manderly was the wealthiest family in the north, and one of her family's strongest bannermen.
If he noticed how she slipped away from Domeric, he didn't show it. "I'm afraid so," he bowed his head to confirm her question. His tone sympathetic. "It is an outrage my lady." He proclaimed indignantly, his court murmuring their agreement. "I'm raising my levies as we speak." He assured her. "White Harbor will answer your brother's call."
Robb, her heart filled with pride at her older brother, not the least bit surprised by his decision. She knew he wouldn't let this injustice stand. He'd do everything he could to protect their family.
"Lord Manderly?" Sansa spoke up, "What of my other brother?" She asked, "Jon?" clarifying after seeing a flicker of confusion on his face.
He frowned at her question. "There was no news about him."
Sansa's heart sank with. She nodded gratefully for his answer, taking a breath to try to steady herself, while her hands quivered at her side. She noticed the worried glance Domeric sent her way, but didn't acknowledge it, as she tried to calm herself about the lack of news about her brother.
They wouldn't kill him, she reasoned. Bastard or not, in their eyes, she doubted the Lannisters would care, seeing him as nothing more but a hostage a tool used to hurt her family. She clasped onto that reasoning even as fear began to gnaw at her that something worse had befallen him.
You left them, the slithery voice returned. Father arrested, brother lost, its cold voice sinking deep into her mind.
"So the north is marching to war?" Domeric spoke up for the first time since introductions had been made upon their arrival.
"Aye," Lord of White Harbor confirmed grimly, "Winterfell has called forth the banners. The north is assembling to save your father," he finished by ducking his head in her direction.
"My family is thankful for your loyalty, Lord Manderly," rewarding it with a smile. She had an appearance to maintain despite feeling sick and frazzled. She was a direwolf of Winterfell and she wouldn't botch the role expected of her, the one taught to her by her father and mother.
"We are true to our vows, Lady Sansa," Lord Manderly proclaimed, a large note of pride in his voice. "Our house remembers our debt to your family."
"You may stay as long as you need," a plump woman spoke up in a seat below Lord Manderly. Her yellow hair brushed down, framing a pink, round face, but her eyes were earnest, and her tone sincere. She was Lady Leona Manderly, wife of Lord Manderly's eldest son and heir, Ser Wyllis.
"Of course, of course," Lord Manderly happily agreed, snapping his sausage sized fingers as servants scurried forward, bowing when they came in view, all of whom dressed in the livery of House Manderly with mermans stitched into their shirts. "They will take you to your rooms," he informed them. "Surely you are exhausted from your journey. Rest now, and join me for supper with my family."
"Thank you, Lord Manderly," Domeric bowed.
"We would be honored," Sansa dipped into a curtsey. Maintaining the calm and grateful guest persona, but guilt wormed itself in her heart while her tummy remained wrought with worry to what happened to her father. Sansa wasn't sure she'd find rest as long as her family was in the company of lions.
"Thank you again, Wylla for bringing me here."
Instead of setting out to rest in her chambers, Sansa sought a better form of solitude. Returning to the north, she yearned for the Godswood, hoping the presence of the Old Gods could soothe her restlessness.
"It is my pleasure, Lady Sansa," Wylla replied, not sounding bothered at all by the task given to her by her grandfather. "I must say I haven't come here before." She admitted, "So I hope I am not leading us astray," she added, an effort to lighten the mood.
The two of them were currently walking through the Wolf's Den, an ancient castle that was once the seat to House Manderly, before New Castle. It also served as a seat for countless cadet branches for her family which ended with House Greystark who's line was eradicated in a failed rebellion with House Bolton.
She hadn't asked if Domeric had wanted to accompany her. She tried to mask her selfish desire of wanting to seek them out herself with the reasoning that Domeric had letters to write to his father at the Dreadfort.
I have letters to write too, Sansa knew she needed to draft something and have the maester of New Castle send it to Winterfell. She needed to tell Robb that she was safe. For him to tell her siblings that they escaped the capital unscathed by lions.
That we sacrificed father and Jon so we could leave. Her tummy rumbled at the truth in those words, fearing how Robb would react when he found out she left Jon and Father behind. So she pushed the task aside, not wanting to predict the anger and disappointment her brother would most likely feel for her cowardly escape.
"This was given to a knight," Wylla's voice broke through her musings on Robb and Winterfell and the letter she dreaded to write. "Ser Bartimus," she revealed, "He saved my father's life at the Battle of the Trident."
Sansa nodded politely, having heard this story before. She looked around the disrepair of it and realized the knight had let his gift sink even deeper into ruin. Poorly lit and barely furnished, it looked more fitting as a tomb than a home.
The youngest granddaughter of Lord Manderly, was a year or so younger than Sansa. Her hair was a mixture of blonde and garish green, her hair was braided, falling over her left shoulder. She kept her eyebrows blonde, her dress green-blue with a silver merman pin, and a bracelet of the Seven clasped on her left hand.
"I've been lighting candles and holding vigils for your father since the news reached us."
"Thank you," Sansa wasn't sure what else to say. The news of her father's arrest left her reeling and the lack of news of Jon made her feel even worse.
"Who's there?" A voiced called out to them.
"Ser Bartimus?" Wylla replied, undeterred.
The sound of wood hitting stone followed before a man came into the light. The smell of wine clung more tightly to him then his tattered cloak. One legged, with a crutch, he had a sour face which missed an eye. He blearily blinked at them and the silent guards who stalked behind them.
"Pah, it's you," he grumbled, "I was told to expect ya." He didn't sound the least bit pleased with entertaining guests.
"We are just here to see the Godswood," Sansa took the initiative, "I wish prayer and peace."
"You follow the Old Gods?" He sounded surprised. Even though they were in the North, White Harbor was a bastion of the Seven with much if not all of the city's populace following it including House Manderly.
"Aye, I do," she answered proudly.
He smiled, his mouth wrinkled, with yellowed teeth, still it was a look of approval.
"This is Lady Sansa Stark," Wylla informed the castellan.
"Sansa Stark," he repeated, voice dismayed, he clumsily moved his crutch to help him bow, "My lady."
"Thank you," she stepped forward, gingerly placing her hand upon his crutch, hoping to get him to stand back up. She didn't want him to topple over.
He looked up at her, "A disgrace what happened to your father." He huffed, "I'd fight for him if I could," he gestured to the crutch.
"I understand," she assured him. "You fought valiantly on the Trident for my father, and my family."
"I fought to live," he shrugged, "Honor and valiantly was bestowed upon us after the killing was done. That came from the bards and minstrels never the soldiers," he snorted. "I lost a leg, but gained a castle." His eye looking at the crutch that showed the cost of his sacrifice. A frown on his lips, "I can't decide if I won or not." He blinked as if remembering who's company he was currently in. "You came to see the Godswood not to hear an old broken knight ramble." He lifted his crutch, pointing it down one of the looming corridors, "Take that one, it'll lead you right to the Godswood." He lowered his crutch, "Take as long as you need, Lady Stark."
"You are too kind, Ser Bartimus," she curtsied. "A true knight of the north."
Finally, a surge of relief filling her chest as she blinked in the daylight, stepping into sight of the Godswood.
There the heart tree grew, reigning within the wood, a towering weirwood, its thick, pale limbs invasive, punching through broken windows and stone walls. It held a tangled grasp of the other trees that had once been planted here: elm, oak, and birch, had been choked out allowing the weirwood unrivaled and flourishing. The roots of the trees dug deep, spread out all around like pale snakes, each one as thick as a grown man's waist. The trunk of the tree so large and wide that the carved face upon its bark made it look fat and angry.
Wylla and the guards remained in the entrance to the Godswood, quiet and respectful.
Sansa was in awe of the tree before her, never seeing a weirwood so large before. She carefully tip toed around the exposed roots before settling at a spot in the shadow of the heart tree's face. She knelt immediately uncaring of the dirt and leaves and the cold ground.
The branches swayed in the breeze, red leaves dangling and waving like hands in greeting, as if welcoming her back to where she belonged.
For the first time since Sansa Stark left the capital, she smiled.
"Come, join me," it was an invitation, but only one answer was expected.
"I'd be glad to," Sansa took the seat across from her.
Lady Dustin had been an unexpected guest to White Harbor, and following on her heels of her small retinue had been a hundred swords sworn to House Bolton. They had been sent from the Dreadfort by Lord Bolton. That was who Domeric was with now. Leaving this supper to take place between her and his aunt.
"It filled me with relief to hear of Domeric's and yours safe return from the capital," Lady Dustin spoke first.
"We were fortunate," Sansa detested saying it. Unable to forget about the father and brother she left behind so that she could flee. Her brother's fate which remained a mystery, haunting her thoughts.
Her time in the Godswood had been a balm. There she had put down her burdens, her guilt, her anxiety, praying to the Old Gods for respite and wisdom, guidance and comfort. She knew what ailed her would not be fixed by a single visit, but that didn't mean it hadn't helped her.
It was there that she wanted to be. Not here, not supping with Lady Dustin. Sansa masked her resignation at not being where she wanted, knowing she needed to remain polite to her as she meant so much to Domeric.
Servants arrived with their first serving of their supper, a creamy seafood stew, steam billowing from the bowls, bread came with it. Sansa thanked the quiet servant, taking her spoon and looking into her bowl to see carrots among other vegetables floating with the crabmeat and fish. She dipped her spoon, and took a bite, savoring the warmth of it that helped to banish the chill that had nestled in her tummy. She helped herself to a second bite, aware and careful to not let her decorum falter in the midst of her ravenous appetite.
"You care for my nephew dearly," Lady Dustin broke up the silence, "Or so I'm told."
Sansa finished chewing her food before looking up to see the challenging hue in her eyes. "I do," she answered, but to her ears the words lacked the affection that use to cling to such declarations.
"Ahh, the passion of young love," Barbrey Dustin remarked wryly, breaking her bread in two. She picked up her knife and started to spread a raspberry along one of the pieces. "It gladdens my heart to see you not acting like one of those maidens in those songs southerners love to hear," she put her knife down. "Those maidens love their knights, but what do they do for them?" She took a bite. "Nothing," she said flatly after chewing her food. "They fret and wait, hardly the help their men could need or use."
"I-I care for your nephew greatly." Sansa found herself saying not liking how or what his aunt was implying in regards to her. "I love him."
"Love?" she scoffed, "Didn't you hear me girl?" She scooped up some stew with her spoon. "My nephew needs someone fierce not foolish." She took a bite, some of it dribbling down onto her chin. "He's as good as my son," she picked up her napkin, dabbing at her chin, but her eyes never left Sansa's face, two cold obsidian orbs. "Lord Bolton and his grey rat proposed this match for the benefit of House Bolton." She began spreading the preserve onto her other piece of bread.
"What about Domeric? With his mother gone, it fell on me to look after him," a rare slip in her voice with the mention of her departed sister. "I gave him his fist pony as a boy, his first horse too from my father's herd in the Rills," she remembered wistfully. "If he had asked me for the world, I would've bloodied it to try to give it to him." Her mouth a thin line, eyes cold and dark as stone. "What of you? All I see is a quiet, demure girl who resembles more trout than wolf." She dismissed, waving her hand as she did.
"I'd die for him!" Sansa declared, manners forgotten, poise having crumbled to the onslaught of Lady Dustin's little speech. Her heart thundering against her chest, her fists tight and shaking, unable to keep calm in the face of these criticisms.
"Die for him?" Lady Dustin raised an eyebrow towards her. "You won't even speak to him."
Sansa flinched.
"Yes, I know," she said softly, "Dom tried to hide it, but he could never lie to me." She revealed, "He never said it out loud, or why it was you who would not speak to him, but its simple enough to see."
"We could've stayed," Sansa said in all but a whisper. Feeling defeated, her indignation deflating at the sharp words and sharper tone that Lady Dustin had used to obliterate past Sansa's decorum and defenses. It wasn't Queen Cersei or Joffrey or Littlefinger that had found their way under her skin but Domeric's aunt.
"And done what?" Lady Dustin's tone drenched in disappointment. "Gotten yourself and Dom arrested," a scenario that made her mouth twist instinctively. "I told you Domeric didn't need a fool for a wife. You'd weaken the north in your mistaken sense of duty." She took a sip from her wine, "Do you truly think myself, my father, or Lord Bolton would raise even a single soldier if Dom was in the capital with a Lannister knife to his throat."
"I-I," she spluttered to argue, while the truth behind Lady Dustin's words sunk in, revealing the depths of Sansa's mistake. The walls that her pride had built up, collapsed under the onslaught of Lady Dustin's blunt barrage. Sansa had blundered in her judgment, costing her the closeness of her betrothed. Tears pricked her eyes, with shame filling her heart as she looked back at how she acted towards the man she professed to love.
"It's easy to die for some one," Lady Dustin noted, going back to Sansa's earlier claim, "but killing," she let the suggestion linger in the air between them. "Would you kill for him? Could you kill for him? To protect him?" She leaned back in her chair, "No, I think not."
Her supper with Lady Dustin drove Sansa back to the Wolf's Den, to the Godswood, seeking solace and peace within the shadow of the heart tree. Sorting through the barbed words of Lady Dustin, piecing the truth in the sentiment and realizing just how much she had failed the man who was to be her husband.
The angry red slits of the weirwood tree glared down at her, as if enraged at what she had done. The look so intense, she turned away, a shiver followed that didn't come from the cold windy night.
"Sansa?"
The voice she both longed to hear and didn't carried over the chilly air. She looked over her shoulder to see Domeric was standing in the moonlight, a frown marred his face. "What's the meaning of this?" Concern laced his voice, his footfalls quick as he cut the distance between them, pulling his pale red cloak off of him and placing it onto her shoulders. "You're not dressed to be out here for too long."
His action in the presence of a weirwood wasn't lost on Sansa, as she breathed in his intoxicating scent, relishing in the warmth of the leather. She kept her head ducked, fearing fresh tears were ready to spill.
"I'm sorry, Dom," she half apologized, half sobbed. Before she could stop herself, she flung her arms around him. Thankful to feel his touch again, how she longed to feel him against her.
"Sansa," he sounded surprised and troubled, but he greeted her as warmly as he had done the hundred times before they embraced. His hands going up and down her back to try to sooth the sobbing she felt wracking her body. "What has gotten into you?"
"I was wrong," she admitted through a hiccup, "I was being stupid!" She let out a bitter laugh, "a stupid girl," she reluctantly pulled her head away from his chest to looking into his eyes, finding strength in them.
"You were upset," Domeric deflected her apology, "You want your family safe," he squeezed her shoulders, "I can understand that." He bent down, kissing her cheeks, unbothered by the streaks of tears that marred them.
"No, no," She protested at how quick he forgave her, at how he defended her. All the while, Lady Dustin's words haunted her, cursing her, at all the mistakes she had made since she left the capital.
"I never should've taken it out on you." Looking back, she was embarrassed at how childish, and short sighted she had been. Nursing a grudge towards him, someone who loved and cared for her and her family. She had treated that with derision and suspicion when he was forced to make the difficult choice. He made the right choice. Domeric had been right. Her father had been right. Jon had been right.
She had been wrong, a confession, that was bitter not out of disapproval but just at what it had cost her.
Quietly, he cupped her cheeks and leaned in to kiss her.
Sansa felt herself melting into it, feeling the haze of happiness cloud her mind, the warmth in her tummy at the touch of her lips against his. An action they hadn't shared for so long. Too long, she thought, and to her disappointment it broke only after a few heartbeats.
"I head for Moat Calin in the morning," he revealed, taking her hands in his. "I must lead the men tasked by my father to the old castle. I'll wait for Robb and my father there."
She remembered Lady Dustin's words, her challenge to Sansa. She may have been wrong to be upset towards Domeric, but that didn't mean she was going to forget what happened to her father and brother. Sansa wasn't going to stay in White Harbor or Winterfell, fretting and waiting for her problems to be solved by others. She could help. She was going to help.
"We go together," she insisted.