Chapter 7: "The Heart Tree"
The ground was blanketed with snow. Fat snowflakes fell against Sansa's face, as she stood underneath the Heart Tree. The tree bark was white, the leaves dark red, they looked like outstretched hands painted with fire against the canvas of blue sky that surrounded the small weirwood forest that grew inside the castle walls. Sansa stared into the eyes of the face that had been carved deep into the tree, her eyes traced the lines of the face, slowly following the lines of the sap that had dried like blood against the white bark. The eyes watched her. Sansa thought that these were the same eyes that had watched the children of the forest in the eons before Winterfell was even built.
Sansa stood facing the weirwood tree. To her left, at her feet, she saw the great moss covered stone where her father often sat, polishing his Valyrian steel Great Sword, Ice. She remembered the still black waters of the lake in the center of the godswood and how they reflected the moonlight like a mirror. The tree was old, and it watched her. She stood before the face of the Gods, outfitted in a white fur cloak and a warm dress intricately constructed from thick white, fabric that hugged the curves of her body, and warmed her against the cold.
Lord Tyrion stood next to her. They faced the heart tree together. She heard him say her name. As she turned to face him, he reached out to hold her hands.
"I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days," he said. As she opened her own mouth to speak, she felt her face in horror. She had no mouth. His eyes look sad. He let go of her hands. She tried to cry out "I am his and he is mine. "From this day until the end of my days," but he just kept walking away. He walked back towards the castle as she stood alone in the snow.
She looked closely at the face carved into the heart tree. She realized that the carved face of the heart tree no longer had a mouth. The face that the tree wore looked like the face of her father. The heart tree began to cry fat, red tears. The sap ran down the tree and stained the snow near the roots of the tree. The way that the fat, red streams of sap ran down the tree reminded her of her father's head on a pike. She felt her anger rise remembering how Joffrey had made her look at it.
Behind her she heard a commotion. It was the Dragon queen. She landed her dragon inside the godswood. She was riding that terrible black beast that she always rode, her favorite dragon, the one that she called Drogon. She looked to be more dragon than woman. She appeared to be melting into his body. Dragon and woman became one creature made of fire. Drogon opened his mouth, and breathed a large gout of fire at Lord Tyrion, rendering him a pile of ashes. Sansa tried to push out a scream. She heard the muffled noises coming from her throat.
She walked towards the pile of ashes. She wanted to grab at it with her hands. Arya stepped in front of her.
"Where's the imp?" Arya said. But, Arya looked like a child. She looked the way that she had looked the day that they left Winterfell to travel to the south, to King's Landing.
But Arya, is a woman-a woman full grown. Sansa stepped backwards.
She tried to speak, but she could not. She tried to run but her legs felt as if they were made of stone. The cloak that she was wearing began to feel as if it was choking her. Maybe the cloak is the reason that I cannot speak. Sansa thought. She began to strip the cloak from her shoulders. Soon, she was wearing only the thick, white dress. She wanted nothing to touch her skin. She wanted to feel the cold winter air. She felt as if the dress was a great serpent choking the wind from her body.. She fought to remove it. As she struggled, she felt her eyes begin to open wider.
She awoke to the silence of the castle. The candles had burned out in her chambers. Her body was covered in sweat. She had kicked off all of her coverlets. She lay, breathless on the feather bed, staring up at the ceiling.