Marvelmyra: I agree, trepidatiously would have been the word to use. Thank you. As for banal, I wanted to express that there was nothing happening—I don't know if I would choose normal were I to write it again, but I understand what you mean. I'll keep that in mind as I'm writing. Thank you for your input and for liking my story (:
NatalieLynn: I don't think I'll take that direction, but the Sight would be cool. Yeah, the Reek/Theon phenomenon probably needs to be addressed in the next chapter or two.
CortneyAdorkable: Thanks!
Chapter 8: Baring It All
The snow was deep and powdery fresh, a pure blinding white. It blanketed the North, hiding the bloody gore and struggle; but it could not erase the memories of horror and failure. As the saying goes, it was not so much of a bang as a whimper when Stannis Baratheon's world stopped. He was thoroughly defeated-could he bare it?
His campaign imploded; the battle for Winterfell was an inglorious slaughter by a cruel basterd bastard, Ramsay Bolton. The Lord of Light had abandoned him—if the god had ever existed. Stannis had seen Melisandre' power, but maybe she was the witch Seaworthy had repeatedly cautioned him against. Regardless, Stannis made his own choices. He now carried the weight of them on his shoulders—could he bare it?
As the captive (or ward, he had yet to figure out his role) of Lady Brienne, he waited for death. He no longer had reason for life. The irony of a Tarth avenging a Baratheon out of loyalty against a Baratheon was not lost on Stannis. With Stark dead and Tarth pitted against him, the House Baratheon had lost all good will. But, he did not deserve any. He committed fratricide and, more recently, filicide. Her cries for his help seemed to echo in the evergreens—could he bare it?
Death would have been relief. The Lady Brienne must have known. Stannis was sentenced, instead, to life—could he bare it?
"You have been to Castle Black?" the redheaded girl was talking to him, now. She had been talking for quite some time, but Stannis had chosen to listen to the wind instead. The chattering of young birds could not pierce his darkness. He only grunted his affirmation.
"Did you see a boy there by the name of Jon Snow?" With a resigned sigh and a withering look, the last Baratheon looked at the girl. She repeated herself: "Jon Snow. Did you see him?"
"Yes," he said with finality.
…..
The world was clean again. Winter had truly come to Westeros and Sansa felt lighter than the crisp northern air. She was a free bird, no longer caged by a mad king or a cruel husband. She was not just alive; she was reborn and better than ever as the motley crue crew marched even farther north. She would not consider any other direction. Her brothers had not died in Winterfell. They could be waiting for her with Jon at Castle Black.
If she thought she could run there, she would try. But there were still several days before her small party would be able to see the wall. The thought of Rickon, Bran, and even Jon spurred her forward. While her feet were trudging through snow as deep as her thighs, her heart soared. Her nose stung from the biting cold—but she imagined that, instead, it was with the ache to bury it in the warm coat of a Direwolf.
...
**A/N: Let me know what you think!
I promise that I'll post the next chapter by October 14th-but thank you to everyone for sticking with me for the past eight chapters (and, hopefully, the upcoming chapters).