SANSA

Sansa couldn't have said how long she had spent in the sept. She had prayed at first but as the time passed, her mind kept going back to the scene she and Bran had witnessed. The Hound had been so gentle and patient with his daughter that she still found it hard to believe. It went against everything she had ever heard about him. But maybe she was just being unjust. Her own father had been said to be a cold and stern man but when it had come to his family, he had been the best father she could have imagined.

Catelyn - who looked so much like Sansa herself, erasing any doubts about her parentage - seemed a gentle child, well-behaved and polite, much like Sansa herself. And she loved her father very much. She trusted him. It was that absolute trust in Catelyn's manner that had made Sansa cry. The girl hadn't shied away from seeking comfort from her father, being certain she would receive it.

Bran had kept silent the whole time they were in the sept and afterwards, too. He hadn't seemed surprised by the Hound's behaviour in the sept, in fact, he had expected it otherwise he wouldn't have taken her to witness it.

"You know him quite well, don't you?" Sansa asked when they paused in front of Bran's room.

"During the winter, after the Others had been defeated, all of us lived together for several years. I have come to know and respect Sandor during that time," Bran opened the door to his room and then looked back at her. "It might look like I am trying to push you beyond what you are ready for but I know you, Sansa. You are stronger than you think yourself to be."

"I do not feel strong right now," she admitted and Bran smiled at her understandingly.

"Father told me once that a man was brave only when he was afraid. It is the same with a strength. Try and get some sleep and things will be clearer in the morning."

Sansa nodded, wondering when her little brother had gotten so wise. She bid him good night and walked towards her room, deep in thought. Bran and Arya both thought she should try and see her husband as soon as she could. If only she could make sure that she wouldn't react badly to him. Seeing him interact with their daughter had helped a lot but the sept had been barely lit and the candle light had softened his features somewhat.

Still thinking about how to best approach the situation, Sansa didn't realize she was pushing open the wrong door. Only when she entered the room that she didn't recognize, did she realize that some part of her being must have still remembered. This room was smaller than her own and it didn't take long for Sansa to realize this had to be a nursery. A young woman was napping in a chair by the hearth but Sansa didn't pay any attention to her. It was the large cradle that drew her attention.

Walking quietly over, Sansa looked inside at her second daughter. Daeryssa, she recalled Arya calling her. The baby was asleep, one small fist in her mouth, the other holding on to the blanket. It was hard to say in the low light but her hair seemed darker than Sansa's own. She had her father's colouring, Sansa thought inexplicably.

The woman in the chair stirred and Sansa took her leave quickly. She didn't feel up to answering questions about her presence in the room but she paid more attention to where she was going. There were two other doors that almost beckoned to her and she didn't think long before opening the closer one.

It was her son's room but there were two boys sleeping in it. Sansa was puzzled at it until she saw the resemblance one of the boys carried to Jon. She didn't even know Jon had any children and it made little sense. Jon was her senior by three years and a brother to the king besides but still, hadn't he taken the vows of the Night Watch? It was another thing she would have to ask about. Her own son had kicked off his blankets and Sansa covered him again, smoothing his hair. The boy rolled over and mumbled something but thankfully stayed asleep.

There was only one room left and Sansa hesitated before entering. It had been several hours since her eldest left the sept but her heartbroken voice asking if she was still loved by her mother was hard to forget. What could Sansa tell her if Catelyn was to wake up? She pushed the door open quietly, careful not to wake the room's occupant.

Catelyn was lying on her right side, clutching something bright in her hands. It looked to be some silk garment, dyed vivid green. Sansa swallowed hard as she realized that it must have been hers and Catelyn was holding on to it to seek comfort from its presence. She reached to touch her daughter's hand, caressing it and thinking back on the scene in the sept.

"She likes that one the most," someone rasped from behind her and Sansa gasped in fright, whirling around only to see a large man's silhouette framed in the light of the open door. She knew only two men that large and Hodor was not nearly so verbose. Sansa swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. It seemed the fate had forced her meeting with her husband earlier than she had wanted. Unsure as how to proceed, she did what came naturally to her and fell back on her courtesies.

"My lord, I apologize but you startled me," she inclined her head and heard him snort.

"Back to the chirping then," he sounded almost disappointed as he moved into the room. He seemed to take care to stay in the shadows and Sansa wondered if it was intentional to spare her the sight of his burned face. Upon first waking up she wouldn't think him capable of such consideration. At the moment, she was quite willing to acknowledge there was more to him than his reputation.

"I do not understand," she said, more for the lack of anything else to say than a desire for an explanation.

"Of course you wouldn't," he said, moving closer. Sansa almost stepped back but caught herself in time. This was her husband, she told herself firmly. She had no reason to be afraid. He still paused, noticing her aborted movement. "I will not hurt you," he told her and Sansa glanced down in embarrassment.

"I am sorry," she spoke, knowing the words were inadequate but still the only thing she could think about.

"It is not your fault," he dismissed her concern and they both felt silent. It was awkward and Sansa tried to come up with something to ask, anything to break this stalemate. The dress in her room came to her mind.

"Arya said you call Catelyn Magpie. Why?"

If he was surprised by her willingness to discuss things with him, he didn't show it.

"She has always liked bright colours and shiny things," he started. "As she grew older and learned to walk, she started to take the ones she liked the best to her room. Every time one of your things went missing, we would find it stashed away in her bed. Calling her Magpie seemed natural, considering it all."

"Oh," Sansa looked back at the sleeping girl. She wouldn't have guessed that being the reason and suddenly wondered just how many more things did she forget about her family. It was not just her husband's identity. Jon had a son, too, one that seemed to be friends with her own. Maybe Arya was married, too, even if she hadn't mentioned anything. Bran had grown wise beyond his years and Rickon was soon to become a man in his own right. Did he have a sweetheart of his own? She didn't know and she wanted to. She wanted to remember, she wanted to know how she came to love her husband, she wanted to know all the mischief her children had gotten in, she wanted... she wanted her life back, simple as that. But to do that, she couldn't keep hiding. She needed to be strong even if she felt weak.

"Could we talk?" she asked and then hurried to clarify. "Not right now, I mean, but on the morrow, maybe. I want to ask so many things about the past and you are probably the best person to tell me."

She was afraid he would refuse her request even if she told herself it was foolish to worry about such a thing.

"Are you sure?" he sounded concerned and Sansa made herself walk over to him, putting one hand on his arm briefly.

"I am sure," she replied before she hurried out of the room, still surprised by her own daring at touching him. Bran must have been right and she was stronger than she had thought herself to be. Or maybe the same part of her that had led her into her children's rooms had also made her unafraid of him enough to do that. Whatever it was, Sansa took it as a good sign that maybe her memories would come back if given enough time. And the thought was enough to finally let her sleep.