The road passes underneath them at astonishing speed.
It is not quite the distance as it would have been achieved on a dragon's back, but the movement of leagu- kilometers- passes by at a speed that still stuns Sansa Stark. The trip to Hokkaido would have taken the people of Westeros more than a moon, perhaps weeks by ship, but by car, it is merely a fortnight back and forth.
A soft song plays on the car's speakers. Something lulling and gentle that grows in power as it passes, and Sansa likes it more than she can say.
Her father Hizazhi had called it 'Stairway to Heaven', a rendition by a female Bard named Dolly Parton.
Sansa does not understand the language- not yet. Her father, Hizashi, is fond of music in English. It came from a half-American mother and an early, extensive exploration of music. His favorites are Pre-Quirks- old British punk, American hair metal, and other words strung together that sometimes feel like nonsense. But his taste varies, and broadens, switching between genres and things he thinks she will enjoy. He is teaching her, both his musical taste and the language it was mostly expressed in. She was good at languages, and it was nice to have something to aspire to. He taught her English, and in return, she taught him not only the languages of Westeros but the music of it. "A different form of language itself, Sansa-Joo." He is growing fonder of the music of Westeros- when he had plainly said that complex, intricate compositions of string instruments of the Riverlands, the highly percussive beats of the North, and the bombastic wind notes of the Vale were fascinating…
She loved him for it. For his ability to take half-hummed and wordless songs and weave them back together.
He wove Westeros's melodies back into being, note by note, beat by beat, melody by melody. His talent in instruments brought back the pieces of Westeros that did not hurt. And it allowed her to remember pieces of the Stark Queen that were sweet, and gentle.
And that Sansa had not remembered.
It was… It was parts of herself she had buried deep, deep. And it unfurled in this life like the first flowers after summer snows. Pushing past the ill memories and defiantly colored. Like snowdrops and firekisses, she feels her memories unravel gently and more easily as time passes here on Earth. She suspects that it is her healing that makes her remember that Arya had had grey eyes that shinned like silver when she was looking at Gendry the Blacksmith, that Jon had laughed deep and true and so warmly the first time she had sipped at the ale at the Wall and spat it out. That Brienne of Tarth had had freckles that scrunched when she smiled a little crookedly to the left, that Jaime Lannister had often snuck a strip of ribbon with knots to fiddle with in meetings, and they would gently tug between each other with no one the wiser. That Rickon and Shaggy Dog snuck into her bed every night and curled around her because she made them feel safe. That it had been Bran who had gently told her as she looked up at the sun for the first time in nearly a year, that she had saved them all and that she did not have to hold the fate of Westeros on her shoulders any longer.
"You have done it, Queen Sansa Stark. You have done your part. Westeros is safe, as you have promised. Spring is here. The dawn is broken. Rest, Sansa. Rest."
She writes those all down, long and easily on her digital pad as the kilometers pass underneath them, as the Bard Dolly sings crones to them. Lady Chiyo-sensei had insisted she write, if not often, with some diligence. She had many separate files- One was highly structured, a timeline and cultural notes of Westeros. Another was a timeline and remembrances of Queen Stark's life. Yet another was of her dreams, of both this life and those that connected to the past one, and the last was of daily remembrance of her daily life.
"Sansa, do you want some lemon squares?" Lady Midnight's voice is bright, and if Sansa were half the reader that the Stark Queen was, holding an undertone of pleading.
Sansa sighs.
She is upset with the woman. She cannot deny that- as Lady Chiyo-sensei had insisted- she is allowed to be disappointed when the people she loves hurt her. And she understands- to some extent why she acted in the manner that she did. But she had needed space, the following few moons have been enough for it. Her fathers had established both boundaries and made more of an effort to… Understand her. Not that they hadn't before. But a more pointed one than before. They asked questions, and they allowed her silence on the days when she realized she had no words at all.
Days where she feels as if she would claw off her own skin if they so much as breathed on her.
Days were she thought she still felt the first few layers of her skin turning to dust.
Days when she woke in the dark and feared the sun would not rise.
Lady Midnight has been, while not an issue… Had been something pending in her mind as time passed. There had been tension between them, an automatic distance that Sansa had implemented as she processed and handled her complex feelings toward someone she still believed had betrayed her confidence.
And on this pilgrimage to retrieve her heartstree in this world, she believes it is time to remove that pending thought.
"That would be lovely, Nemuri-Oba."
The lady shot her a wide if desperately tentative smile.