It is perhaps no surprise, that she finds their Pack, crowding into the Teacher's Conference room, just a few doors down from Lord Nezu's office. It is perhaps the only room she can think of in the main keep of U.A. that can house them, and yet feel intimate and secure. She sees a 'western' tea set on the central conference table, dainty tea cups with small fish, against a river of blue swirls, and below it a line of red for mud. The pot itself is a replication of this, with words in a language she does not recognize- similar to English, for the letters look similar and are written in repetition across the fine porcelain in elaborate script.
She can smell lemon and ginger in the air.
It is her favored tea, and she wonders when Lord Nezu had purchased the tea set that held her Mother's House as decoration.
Family, Duty, Honor, a message that Lord Nezu is projecting to me. I wonder if the foreign script is those words.
She feels her eyes narrow, seeing that Lord Nezu is wearing the vest she had made him, pristine and elaborate over a simple white dress shirt. His personal symbol had been embroidered runes of the Old Tongue- King, protector, pack- all stitched in a soft pink that makes them look like the scar that slashes across his eye. A nod to his struggle, his triumph, all surrounded by the symbols of her the Three Houses that had been her kin as the Stark Queen, in striking black silk.
She purses her lips.
Most intelligent person in the world, indeed. Is he telling me that Family is here for me, is he telling me it is a matter of my Duty to follow my parents or is it a question of my Honor, to master my perceived 'madness'?
She is still in Uncle Might's hold, carefully balanced on a single arm, her own two wrapped around his thick neck. Even in his more natural form, thin, runner's build, it is a precarious hold, her arms just being able to hold around his neck.
She forces her lips to relax, and she lets out a breath.
Not quite a sigh.
Not yet.
"Well," she says simply, "I suppose this is an official council meeting of those who feel responsible for me?"
Ser Eraserhead jumps to his feet. His dark eyes are wide and pleading.
She is reminded of Baelish.
When he begged for his wretched life for all the ill he did to her family. Bile rises in her throat. It is only Uncle Might's hold on her that centers her and reminds her that for all she is hurt, her father is not so monstrous, just ignorantly cruel.
"Shoto-kun," Lord Nezu's voice is pleasant, but oh so sharp, "Space is required at the moment. Please, resume your seat."
Ser Present-Mic vibrates in his seat, but he places a hand on Ser Eraserhead's arm. At the gesture, her father slowly sinks into his seat.
"Toshinori-kun, if you would please sit? Sansa-Joo, will you be more comfortable in your current perch, or in your own seat?"
She hummed.
"I would prefer my own seat. Uncle Might?"
She is seated, so very carefully and delicate as if he thinks she will break. Uncle Might settles next to her in his own chair. She is somewhat pleased to see that her own seat is like Lord Nezu's- a slight throne that is elevated and comfortable in comparison to the rest of the chairs around the table.
She places her hands on her lap. Fingertips thread in a delicate clasp.
Flowers grow in her hair. Carnations. Yellow, for her feelings of rejection and disappointment. Stripped orange carnations, for her sheer refusal, for her wish to be with her new pack and her sorrow that she cannot at the moment. Because she cannot.
Lord Nezu sees them.
He sees them and she can see it in his face for but a moment. Sorrow and his own regret. A high gasp from Lady Midnight.
Good.
"This, as you said, Sansa-Joo, is a council. We will resolve this issue fairly and as evenly as we can. This matter of your mental health was handled indelicately, and I am ashamed that this miscommunication was made in your parents' rushed approach, and in what I assume is a cultural barrier that they did not think would be there?"
She purses her lips.
"More than a cultural barrier, Lord Nezu, they have insulted me in a way that I have never been insulted in any of my lives," she replies, clipped and pointed.
She feels something twist in her stomach.
She cannot help the flowers that grow on her. In her joy, she has control and has never sprung flowers in her emotions- now it all comes tumbling out on her brow in a crown. There are marigolds on her brow now- Cruelty and grief.
"Sansa," a pitiful cry from Lady Midnight. The artist in her must recognize what flowers mean, and Sansa does not flinch at her pity.
She has had lifetimes of pity in the short time she has lived, in both her lives.
Sansa only stares at her. Her lips curl as she bares her teeth. A she-wolf cub against this woman who thought it so easy to speak of her pain without her leave.
She does not speak.
What had Lady Chiyo-sensei said? If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all.
"Nemuri-chan, please, be silent, Sansa-Joo, I would ask the same for you while I lay out this mess for clarity, yes?" His jowls pull back, sharp teeth exposed.
A threat- no- a show of dominance of the situation. He is in charge. He is the mediator, he is the King.
Part of Sansa wishes to lash out at his claim- she was the Stark Queen, she brought the Dawn she brought Spring upon- A land that is so, far, far away. This is his domain. This is his Keep. And he is not cruel. He means me no harm. He is my pack, same as I am his pack.
She breathes.
Tension winds from her shoulders. Like she has shrugged off a heavy wool cloak. Gods, I stopped wanting to be Queen. I swore I become the Queen then because I thought no one was left, and then it was because I only wished to assure myself for the liberty and wellness of my people.
Not for power itself.
Never.
There was the Madness that had pulled at Cersei and Daenerys, never her. She never wishes to be queen ever again. Sansa sighed.
"Forgive me," she said to Lord Nezu, "I am upset today. I meant no disrespect."
He hummed.
"None was felt, Sansa-Joo. I just wish for this to be peaceful, yes?"
She tilts her head. Humor despite everything.
"All councils I have known were anything but peaceful," she looks at the tea set in front of her, lifts it to sip delicately at the delicious brew, "And made with nothing as weak as tea."
"Fascinating. However, I am not fond of alcohol, and do not think it productive."
She nods.
"Neither was I. But the Lords of the North demanded their tradition, and I looked too much like Catelyn Stark to begrudge them that."
A hum.
"I believe we are getting off topic."
She nods her head.
"Yes, I apologize for that as well."
Nezu waved a paw.
"Now. Let us return to the topic at hand. Sansa-Joo has been a victim of physical, sexual, and emotional trauma. We are not aware of the extent of her trauma underneath the Villian designated as All for One, nor are we subjected to a complete understanding of what Sansa's first life as Queen Sansa Stark, Spring Bringer, and Dawn Breaker, encompassed. From our understanding, her first life was not any kinder than her new life here on what I have designated as 'Planet Earth' versus what I have designated as 'Planet 'Earthoes', for the suffix used on their continents."
Sansa frowned, but could not refute the words spoken.
"As caregivers, as her parents and guardians, you felt it best that measures be taken for her developing mind, and that entitles that she speak to a professional. Sansa-Joo's culture does not take lightly to the concept of mental health as we understand it. For that, we will attempt to explain. Any objections?"
"We are the adults- as much as I hate to undermine Sansa-Joo, we also have the understanding that 'Earthoes' culture is nearly three thousand years behind our own. What value can we place into Sansa's understanding of mental health?" started Lady Midnight, voice firm.
Sansa bared her teeth.
Uncle Might leaned forward.
"That is not why we are having the conversation. We aren't barling over Sansa for her own understanding. That is ignorant on your part, Young Midnight, especially considering she is not your child."
She bristled.
"She's my goddaughter."
"As she is mine. Legally, I might add. That isn't the conversation-"
And like many councils Sansa had witnessed, the council turns to nonsensical and heated chaos.