She was lost.
Her feet had forgotten this particular path, leading her down a long narrow corridor that felt endless. Inside her chest, her heartbeat quickened, her breath catching in her throat as she turned yet another corner. Where am I, she wondered to herself, trying to remind herself to remain calm, that having a melt down wouldn't get her unlost after all. But, despite that, she still felt herself beginning to sink further into panic mode.
Sansa should have known better than to go wandering around as she was- but, she had been bored and decided it was time to face King's Landing. She was there to stay for some time and so it was important to face the demons she'd fought here and rise against them. And what better way to do that then to walk the halls, to walk the path she'd walked as a frightened child. Back then... Things had been truly terrifying. In the wake of her father's execution (something she still felt guilt over), the abuse by Joffrey had increased tenfold. To the day he'd forced her to stare upon her father's rotting head, or the time he had her clothing slashed to pieces before all of the court... To everything inbetween. All of those moments had happened within these walls and she told herself she simply had to face them.
But perhaps facing them alone had been his mistake.
Now, lost and near hysterics, Sansa stumbled around another corner, tears streaking her cheeks. Without looking where she was going, she bumped into someone coming around the corner, a maid to her ultimate surprise. "Your grace!" The surprised maid cried, shocked by the Northern queen's appearance so far out in the castle. That was when she noticed the young queen's demeanor- pale, frightened, and in tears. "Your grace, are you alright?" The maid asked softly and that was when the young queen snapped back to face her, blue eyes wide in her frightened features. "Get the King." The maid murmured to a man slinking down the hall, eyes downcast as if shamed by something. In any other moment Sansa would have realized just what she had stumbled in upon, but the discovery of the two was lost on her. "Your grace..."
By the time Jon arrived, was no longer crying, though she was shaking when he pulled her into his arms. "What were you doing?" He asked, stepping back to hold her at arm's length, hands on her shoulders. Inspecting her closely, her could see the tear tracks upon her pale cheeks, could see the fear reflected in the depths of her blue eyes. "It's alright now," he murmured, slipping an arm around her shoulders, steering her away from the gathering crowd of courtiers and servants. "I will assist the Queen of the North back to her rooms." Jon called over his shoulder, stopping all others from following after the pair. Palace life could resume, though the Northern queen's hysteria would be the talk of the castle for a few days to come.
Though Jon had said he'd return her to her rooms, that was not the way he took her. Instead, he drew her down another corridor, one that felt more familiar to her. One she knew. Ones much closer than her own. "In with you," Jon said softly as he held open the outermost door to his own chambers, letting her slip past his guard without a single word. He closed the door behind him and gently pushed her into a chair before the fire he'd left roaring in the fireplace. Draped across the other chair was the fur cloak Sansa had made with her own two hands but a few months before. "Sit," he encouraged her as she took to the opposite chair, still and silent. Jon stepped up to a small table, pouring from a jug two glasses of ale, one of which he handed to her, the other belonging to himself. "Drink." He commanded, knowing a strong sip of drink would calm her nerves. When she'd taken one long sip, pulling a face as she always did, Jon felt a tremor of relief. "Now tell me what has you so spooked, Sansa."
Where did she start?
Sansa looked back at Jon, arching a brow as a sigh escaped her lips. "I got lost is all," she said quietly, turning away from him to instead stare down at the cup in her hands. How did she tell him that the past still yet haunted her? That despite how hard she tried, some thing she just could not forget? Every punishment, every beating, every beratement issued to her within Kings Landing was as fresh in her mind as if they'd happened the day before. When she dared to look back at Jon, she could tell he did not believe her. Not that she blamed him- she had never been a very good liar. "I thought I could face this place, I thought I was past what happened to me here." She whispered, tears filling her eyes once again, her cheeks red hot with shame. "Apparently not." She swiped angrily at her tears, hating herself for every single one gathered on her lashes.
Jon could not believe he'd been so stupid.
How could he not have realized what bringing Sansa back to Kings Landing would have done to her? The atrocities she suffered here... The abuse she suffered by the Lannisters... Of course it was painful for her. Without warning, Jon was kneeling beside her, taking her hand into his own. "Sansa, forgive me... When I invited you here, I did not think..." He could not believe he'd brought her here without thinking about her own feelings. He had only thought of his own selfish need to be with his family... And of course Tyrion's mention of marriage. He had not thought about what being back in King's Landing would be like for Sansa. "You can leave at once, if it will make you happy..." The idea of Sansa leaving left him feeling surprisingly empty, but he had to think about what was best for her, not him.
When Jon knelt down beside her, taking her hand into his own, Sansa felt a spark of something. "Jon..." Her lips spoke the familiar vocals of his name, the name she would always call him by, and felt a smile tugging on her lips. "I'm not leaving." She said stubbornly, looking him in the eye as she slipped her other hand over his. "I had to face this place someday." She went on quietly, feeling his hand squeezing her own. "I just didn't think it'd be so hard, not this long after." But it was, it was hard. Everywhere she went was a reminder of Joffrey's abuse, of Cersei's manipulation, of the courts inability to do anything but watch everything unfold. "But I had to face what happened to me here, I had to." She went on, giving her head a little nod almost as if she was speaking more to herself rather than to him.
He was surprised by her strength, despite all that had happened this day. She had grown so much since their days as childhood, from a spoiled, pampered daughter of a Lord. Her time in Kings Landing had changed her and her time with the Boltons had almost destroyed her. This was her trying to find her footing in this new world where all of her absusers were dead and she was left to find her way. "I'm proud of you," he whispered as he rose up enough to brush a kiss to her temple while a shiver raced down his spine. Then he stood fully, making the move to return to his chair when Sansa caught his hand with her own, keeping him there. He turned back to look down at her, this girl he'd once called sister, this girl he loved more than nearly anyone else, and felt something stirring within himself. How had he never noticed how beautiful she really was? Her smile lit up her face, a stronger smile than he'd seen in months, one that reminded him of their childhood days in Winterfell. That was all he'd longed to see.
"Thank you, Jon," she said softly, her words and her touch bringing a smile to Jon's face as he looked down at her from above. It was only then that she let go of his hand, well aware of the chill left behind when his hand was no longer in her own. She had at first thought she could never face Kings Landing again, but maybe... Just maybe with Jon there to guide her along, she'd find her way.
[ x x x ]
"A ball?"
Sansa turned to look at Arya, who had come into her chambers only a few minutes before while Sansa wrote a letter to Bran, who was the Stark left behind in Winterfell. "Yes, to promote peace among Westeros," Arya parroted back the string of words Tyrion had said. "Sounds boring. And I won't be wearing a dress."
A flicker of excitement raced through Sansa, she could not help it- it had been years since she'd attended any sort of fancy engagement and felt excitement. She had always loved such things as a child and had always had high hopes of the ones she'd attend in Kings Landing back then. Ah, such childish dreams she'd had back then. Dreams of being Joffrey's queen and living a lavish lifestyle full of beautiful dresses and extravegent events. She'd been young and stupid back then, of course, but still there was a part of her that would always love dressing up. Sansa gave a chuckle at Arya's displeasure of the news of a ball, but she turned to her younger sister and gave her a smile. "Nobody will force you into a dress, Arya." She promised, knowing Arya well enough to know she'd disappear the night of the ball anyways. "But it's not a bad idea to do such a thing. It'll have been Tyrion's idea, of course." The smallest Lannister was no doubt a smart man- he knew the wiles and ways of men of all kinds, the rich, the poor, the polictically inclined, and the ones with no wits about them. He'd spent time with men of all backgrounds and creeds, had grown up in a family made of schemers and manipulators. He knew it all. And Sansa understood him, understood his motives. Hosting a ball, the first one since the great war ended, would be the best way to promote the newly achieved peace of Westeros. Everyone would be invited and it would be proof that the once severed nation could finally come together again.
The look Arya shot at her was one of if you say so, but then she dropped down onto her bed, running her hands over the soft coverlet. "This was..." Arya spoke softly, realizing then just what blanket this was. Sansa turned back to her sister and smiled, nodding her head to confirm just what Arya was thinking. Years before, when their mother had still been trying to convince Arya to be a lady, she had tried to teach her to sew. The first thing Arya had made (albeit, not very well) was a fur lined blanket for her birthday. "I can't believe you still have this." Arya admitted with a small laugh, turning back to look at Sansa. "And I can't believe its held up all these years."
At her words, Sansa gave a laugh of her own, rising up from her desk to sweep across the room and sit down beside Arya. "I had to fix it a time or two," she confessed, running her own hand over the blanket too. "But I could never let it go." Silence fell and after a moment, she felt Arya's head resting against her shoulder, and Sansa tilted her head to rest against Arya's. The only Stark sisters born and they had made it through everything to come out alive on the other side. Everything that had transpired since the day Arya had returned to Winterfell had only brought them closer.
When the summons for dinner came that night, neither Stark sister appeared, sending Jon into a frenzy. He pushed past his attendants, past Tyrion who tried to calm him, and made his way down the halls. Arya's room was empty when he went inside it and he felt his stomach turning. Where were they? He made his way further down the corridor, pushing open the door to Sansa's rooms and letting himself inside. He opened his mouth to speak but that was when his eyes fell upon the bed, finding the sisters there upon it.
Calm now, Jon let out the breath he'd been holding and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. Both Sansa and Arya were fast asleep there in Sansa's bed, both of them turned onto their sides facing the other wall. Jon tiptoed across the room to sit gingerly on the edge of the bed, careful as to not wake either sleeping girl, and fondly smiled as he looked upon them. As young children, they had often slept together like this, but as they'd grown... They'd grown apart. But now, that was anything but the case. Jon could not help himself from reaching out, to gently brush a stray lock of hair from Sansa's forehead, realizing then just how soft her hair truly was. Beside her, Arya shifted, forcing him to draw his hand back though the sleeping girl did not wake. Jon felt the tender feeling of affection for both these girls rising up within him and he realized he could have remained there watching them sleep a little while longer. But, he rose up from the bed and slipped out the door, leaving both girls there to sleep as long as they needed.
They both deserved it, more than anything.