Bran has taken ill….
The words hung heavy in the air. The notion of her brother's plummeting health and desolate condition couldn't be flickered away from her mind. A carriage had been poised outside the citadel of Winterfell.
Upon reaching the lands of king's landing, as she emerged from the carriage, the bright sun radiated on her. Shielding her eyes, she intended to scrutinise the man rambling outside, in the gardens.
As she treaded towards him, the man turned around instantly to greet her, as if he had eyes even at the back of his bald head, "Your grace." The man bowed before Lady Sansa.
"Lord Varys."
"I hope the majesty didn't find much hindrance traveling through such tiresome lands." Lord Varys said as they both strode towards the foyer.
"All was well, Lord Varys." For some reason, Sansa couldn't take her eyes off of King's landing. For something must have changed and it didn't feel familiar to her…at all.
And as they went through the portico, they were met with a grand door.
With a firm push, Lord Varys swung open the chamber's grand doors. Sansa shot a quick glance at him, observing his stillness. Nonetheless, she entered resolutely, taking her steps with care.
The air here felt cooler than it did outside, probably because the sun wasn't allowed here much and the lack of any sizeable castments added to it. As she marched deep into the chamber, her footsteps clicked on the floor with a resounding echo.
She drew a deep breath, inhaling the earthiness of the chamber, and when she turned to look to her right, there he stood, standing in the darkest corner of the chamber, the hand of the king, Tyrion Lannister.
Her pace slowed down as she saw the figure. And when he turned around and proceeded towards Sansa, coming out of the dark depths of the chamber into the area where he were to be seen by her. She almost said to herself, oh, it really is the hand.
Who else could it be? And as he marched in her direction, she saw how there was something unmistakably different about him.
"My queen!" He exclaimed and quickened his pace towards her.
"Lord Tyrion, what happened to your eye?" Hidden within the chamber's shade, yet as he faced the radiance, she observed a rich leather patch covering one of his eyes.
He looked away from her, "The eye has been taken care of, my lady."
"But how …" Sansa's face contorted with torment, "did it happen?" She sounded deflated.
Tyrion traipsed towards a pile of books perched on the table, "The eye should not be your concern, Lady Sansa." His stony voice, louder than usual, echoing boisterously in the chamber, and then, his voice lowered ever so slightly, "I am sure you have several other things to worry about."
As Sansa prepared to continue speaking, Tyrion intervened, declaring, "My lady, I would be honored to conduct you to our King."
And he strode out of the room and so did Sansa, following him.
Tyrion and Sansa advanced towards a balcony, where, upon entering, Sansa noticed Lord Varys speaking in hushed tones, mumbling something to Bran as he happened to be seated there too.
As she went round to greet Bran, he looked at Sansa with a plain look on his face and she took him in for a hug.
"Bran, are you well?" Sansa asked, her voice shaky, cupping his face.
"I am deeply grateful for your arrival." He said.
"What happened to you?" She let go of his face, trying to have a better look at him.
"I am in good health, Sansa," he declared, his voice devoid of warmth or embellishment.
"In good health? Do not fool me!" She glanced once at Tyrion who happened to be staring elsewhere, "How did you fall ill?"
"I did not." Bran said just as plainly as he had been saying everything. Like he had no trouble in expressing whatever he said, whether it was the truth or not.
"You did not?" Sansa frowned and her face was etched with bewilderment.
"'Leave us be,' Bran commanded, and Lord Varys and Tyrion hastily departed the balcony."
"Tell me. What is going on?" Sansa's eyes never felt Bran's face, trying to read if there was something she could in his somber and plain countenance.
Bran looked outside, in the distance and said, "You were lied to."
She required a moment or two to apprehend that Bran was indeed in good health. He had been well all along.
"Why?" She demanded. Her voice thick with confusion.
"I am not ill. However, it does not rule out my gratitude for your presence in King's landing." Bran said
"Tell me the truth!" Sansa's voice sounded hoarse.
Bran spoke after a minute's silence, his mind wandered out of king's landing as if, and then, he spoke with a strange conviction in his being, "A storm has began to loom over winterfell." His voice rising with each word and he looked up at the sky as if he could see that which he was conversing about.
"What storm?"
"The treacherous one. The kind that can wipe away it's existence from Westeros for all aeons to come. The kind you must dread."
"What are you trying to say? I am the Queen in The North. It is my duty to…."
Bran interjected sharply, "There was but one path to rescue Winterfell. The course of action is now set in motion."
"If my people are in danger, how am I a fair queen to them by hiding in my brother's Kingdom?" She spoke with a contorted face and utter disgust. Disgust which she couldn't decide who she felt it for.
A guard was summoned by Bran at once, "Show Lady Sansa to her Chambers."
"Bran…." Sansa stared at Bran in disbelief like she had just been deceived.
He turned away from her, looking out and up at the sky and then, she screamed on top of her lungs, "I AM RETURNING…SOON." She said, trying to form words, "MY PEOPLE, THE WINTERFELL, NEEDS ME. I CANNOT HIDE LIKE A COWARD."
Her voice faded as she strolled away.