SANSA
Sansa was startled when she walked into the psychiatrist's office the next day and saw another lady in there with her.
The psychiatrist introduced her as the psychologist that would be working with Sansa for her psychotherapy sessions.
Sansa just stared in confusion until the psychiatrist nodded encouragingly for her to sit.
Most of the session was spent getting Sansa acquainted with the psychologist who smiled, nodded, and scribbled into a book whenever she spoke.
The next session was similar. With the psychologist and the psychiatrist both in the room. The psychiatrist spoke less this time and the psychologist conducted all of the interactions with Sansa.
By the fifth session, Sansa was becoming more comfortable with her.
"What is rape?" the psychologist asked her during the sixth session.
Sansa wrinkled her nose. "Did you speak with my uncle?" she asked, turning to the psychiatrist.
The psychiatrist nodded. "He worries that what happened to you hurts you more than you're letting on. I recommended that you see a psychologist and he agreed."
"I'm not hurt. I just don't like talking about it," Sansa denied.
"Anyone would be hurt. An adult that you trusted and loved did something very hurtful to you. He raped you. And now you have to stand in court and tell everyone about it. You're frightened."
Sansa was frightened. She was scared out of her mind. And she admitted it instead of denying it.
"I am scared. But it wasn't rape," she mumbled.
"Why wasn't it rape?" the psychologist asked.
It was silent for a while as Sansa chewed her lip.
"Because… he was nice. And he was gentle. He tried not to hurt me," Sansa finally said.
The psychologist nodded as she wrote in her book. "Tell me about your experience living with Petyr," she said as she looked up.
The psychiatrist had asked before but Sansa had never been completely truthful. "He was kind and took care of me," was the usual answer that she supplied.
But now with the trial on her mind and her fear of disappointing everyone growing, she needed to unload. So she told the truth. It was easier when she remembered that she'd already told Sandor.
The psychiatrist and psychologist listened intently as she spoke about Petyr's touches and kisses, sharing beds, and the special gifts he bought her that usually tended to be expensive jewelry, lingerie, or fancy revealing clothing.
By the time the session ended, Sansa was emotionally drained, albeit feeling much better than when she first walked in.
"The psychiatrist wants me to see her every three months for updates. She prescribed me some pills to help me sleep but now I'm going to be seeing Dr. Missandei, the psychologist, regularly for psychotherapy," Sansa told her uncle after they arrived home.
Uncle Benjen nodded. "Are you okay with that?" he asked.
"She's nice," Sansa answered.
"A package arrived for you. It's in your room," Uncle Benjen told her.
Sansa's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "For me?" she exclaimed. She hurried to her room brimming with excitement and curiosity.
The package was waiting on her bed and she turned it over eagerly, searching for the sender, but there wasn't any indication.
She carefully opened the box, revealing a heavily wrapped object inside.
Sansa lifted it out, trying to guess what it was and from whom, as she slowly unwrapped it.
She gasped as a beautiful wooden bloodhound came into view. It was about twelve inches long, with brown and black coloring, and the most soulful eyes.
She noticed the letter next to it and picked it up.
To Little Bird,
I've been working on this for a while but I was debating whether it would be appropriate to give it to you. But it's yours and you deserve it. I would say you're just as brave as any knight. You inspired me to finally plant my butt down in a psychiatrist's chair. I would never have done it had I not met you. You're the bravest person I know.
Your Hound,
Sandor
"Oh Sandor," Sansa murmured, smiling mistily.
She held the foot long wooden toy in her hands as she gazed at it in wonder. It was absolutely beautiful. A realistic replica so carefully and artistically crafted.
Her eyes caught its forepaws and she gasped. There was scarring on one of the hound's forepaws. The scarring was on its left side, just like Sandor's.
She didn't realize she was crying until her vision blurred and a tear drop splattered onto the toy hound. "You sad old hound," she sniffled. "You're just as broken as I am."
Sansa curled up on her bed and buried her face into the side of the wooden toy shedding silent tears as it shielded her. When she had used up all of her tears, the hound was still pressed tightly against her face.
After night had fallen, she took the bloodhound with her to the terrace to show her uncle and brother.
Uncle Benjen didn't seem surprised.
"Your friend, Sandor, called me a few days ago and asked if he could send you a gift. I said why not? You need some cheering up," Uncle Benjen revealed.
The grin on Sansa's face was hard to control. "He's so sweet!" she gushed, thinking of how different Sandor was from Petyr. His present didn't lead to kisses and touches. And he had made it clear that he was wrong for kissing her.
"He took advantage of you," she remembered Sandor's rough rasp, "and I did too when I kissed you."
Sansa wiggled into her sleeping bag with the hound pressed snugly against her, feeling light and happy. She gave the toy a light squeeze as she recalled Sandor's letter.
'You're the bravest person I know', he had written. She didn't feel very brave but she could try.
"I can be brave," Sansa whispered. She fell asleep a short while later with the hound clutched to her chest.