Sansa

Sansa could hardly believe what her eyes had just read. The young woman thought she had finally found a solution to her problems, but that letter once again pulled the ground from beneath her feet. She leaned in to read the letter again, wanting to be sure her eyes weren't deceiving her.

"Lady Sansa Stark, Protector of the North and Lady of Winterfell,

With a saddened heart and in deep humility, I come before Your Ladyship to withdraw the marriage proposal that I so hopefully presented. This decision, as painful as it is for me, does not reflect a lack of esteem or affection for you, for my heart has been deeply touched by your grace and strength.

It is a matter of honor and duty that compels me to take this action, and the pain I feel as I write these words is indescribable. Nothing do I wish more than to be by your side, but circumstances impose upon me another journey.

I ask that you accept my sincerest apologies and know that my intentions were pure. I will come to Winterfell to explain personally the reason that compels me to take this painful path, for I could not allow Your Ladyship to think that a lack of love motivated this decision.

May the Old Gods and the New guide your decisions and illuminate our destiny.

Henry Whitehill."

The girl huffed loudly, barely having time to respond to the young man, and there he was, withdrawing the marriage proposal—it was an offense. Not that Sansa was eager to marry or had the same interest in Henry that he had in her, but she needed heirs for the North, and Henry Whitehill would have been perfect for her.

House Whitehill of Highpoint is a noble house located in the Wolfswood, another sworn to House Bolton of the Dreadfort, therefore a traitor to her family, like nearly all the other noble families of the North. Sansa had to summon all her willpower to forgive the families that had turned their backs on her after the Red Wedding, for she would be far too vulnerable if she killed them all for treason. Damn diplomacy.

With Bran not wanting to become Lord of Winterfell, Sansa asked on paper, but now she needed to marry a man from a house lesser than hers so that the Stark name could be carried on. Otherwise, her children would inherit the husband's name. Henry was not the heir to Highpoint and was not much older than her, which made him her best choice.

The redhead had expected to receive countless marriage proposals once she established herself as Protector of the North, but that didn't happen. She received letters from Willas Tyrell, who wanted to know if Sansa would really become Lady of Winterfell. With the girl's positive response, the letters stopped. Sansa knew why—if she married Willas, she would have to abdicate her position as Protector of the North and Lady of Winterfell to move to the Reach, and that wouldn't be possible, no matter how much she cared for Willas.

Sansa leaned back more rigidly in the chair, worried. She had waited months for a marriage proposal, and when it finally came, it was withdrawn before she could respond. Did the fact that she had already been married weigh that heavily? She would have to wait and find out when Henry arrived at the castle.

Sansa Stark watched the horizon of Winterfell, the colors of the sunset reflecting softly on the ancient walls of the castle. She felt a slight unease, a premonition that had settled in her chest since she received Henry Whitehill's letter. His words still echoed in her mind, and now he was here, asking to explain in person why he had withdrawn the marriage proposal.

When Brienne of Tarth announced Henry's arrival, Sansa looked up, adjusting her posture in the chair. The man who entered the hall was known to her, but Sansa regarded him with a new critical gaze. The Henry Whitehill she knew in her youth was now a grown man, and Sansa could even admit that he was handsome, with his black hair and fine, light gray eyes, almost silver.

- Lady Sansa, — he said, bowing respectfully. She maintained a serene expression, hiding any emotion that might betray her thoughts.

- Lord Whitehill, — Sansa replied with a slight nod, gesturing for him to sit. - I hope you had a pleasant journey.

She watched Henry with piercing eyes as he settled in, noting the tension in his shoulders. Brienne, ever vigilant, stood beside her, a comforting presence for Sansa. The silence in the room was heavy, laden with unspoken expectations.

- My lady must be wondering why I withdrew my marriage proposal...— Henry began, his voice hesitant. Sansa kept her gaze fixed on him, a curiosity growing but still controlled. - First of all, I want you to know that the affection and admiration I feel for Your Grace are genuine. Never in my life have I met someone so charming and strong.

Sansa felt a mix of emotions at these words. His words broke through her initial barrier created by anger; there was no doubt that Henry admired her—she felt the truth in his words. But then why had the young man retracted the marriage proposal?

- If that is the case, why did you change your mind? Why did you send that letter, Lord Whitehill?

Henry took a deep breath, and Sansa could see the internal battle he was fighting to find the right words.

I received a letter from Jon Snow, now King of Westeros. He suggested, in a veiled way, that I should not feel obligated to the marriage proposal. He said he thought you might not be ready for it yet.

At the mention of Jon's name, Sansa felt a wave of anger mixed with surprise. Why had Jon interfered in such a personal matter?

- Jon interfered in something that should have been my decision.

- I know, — Henry replied quickly, as if fearing he had made an irreparable mistake. - But I must confess that his suggestion weighed on my decision. However, it wasn't just that. In Wolfswood, I heard rumors about what might have happened to you, my Lady, while you were under Ramsay Bolton's control.

Sansa felt a chill run down her spine at the mention of Ramsay's name. That was a not-so-distant past; the memories of her torture were still vivid in her mind. She looked away for a brief moment, struggling to maintain her composure.

—And what did they say?

—That... that you were tortured in unimaginable ways...— Henry said, his voice faltering. —But I can't believe it, Lady Sansa. How could anyone commit such atrocities against someone so... so beautiful and graceful? I couldn't accept that any man had dared to hurt you in that way. But after your brother's letter... I mean, your cousin's letter, I began to wonder if the rumors could be true and if that's why he is so protective.

Henry's words, though well-intentioned, pierced Sansa in a way he couldn't understand. She stared at him, her eyes now cold and distant.

- Unfortunately, Lord Whitehill, beauty and grace do not protect anyone from the cruelties of this world.

Henry seemed shaken by her response, as if he hadn't expected Sansa to confirm the rumors.

- I... I'm sorry, Lady Sansa. I never intended to reopen old wounds. I just want you to know that my respect for you hasn't changed and that my decision was made with a heavy heart and has caused me great distress. But I believe I'm not capable of opposing our King... Just as other men interested in you weren't, my Lady. - Sansa raised her eyebrows, showing her confusion. —There are rumors that Jon has been keeping all your potential suitors away, Lady Sansa. I believe I wasn't the only one...— he added awkwardly.

Sansa took a deep breath, trying to process everything he had said. Jon, her cousin, though raised as her brother, had interfered in a matter that should have been settled by her. And Henry, despite all his good intentions, had underestimated the reality of what she had gone through.

- Thank you for your honesty, Lord Whitehill. But if Jon has indeed interfered, I will make sure to discuss this with him. No one, not even the King, has the right to decide my future.

Henry nodded, visibly relieved but still disconcerted.

- I understand if Your Ladyship no longer wishes for my presence in Winterfell. But please, accept my sincerest apologies.

Sansa observed him in silence for a moment, considering her next words.

- Thank you for your visit, Lord Whitehill. You may stay in Winterfell for as long as you wish to rest from your journey. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need some time to think about all of this.

With that, Henry bowed and made a final reverence before leaving, leaving Sansa alone with her thoughts. When the door closed behind him, Sansa felt the weight of the responsibility she bore, but also the strength she had cultivated over the years. She knew she would first confront Jon and decide her own fate, but for now, the silence and solidity of Winterfell were her only comforts.

The sun was beginning to rise over the walls of Winterfell, casting long shadows that danced gently to the rhythm of the morning breeze. Sansa, already awake for some time, was seated at the main hall's table where breakfast was served. She cut small pieces of fresh bread, though her appetite was far from being satisfied. Beside her, Bran, always quiet and serene, ate his meal almost mechanically.

Sansa's mind was distant, still digesting the conversation she had had with Henry Whitehill the previous night. She could feel the weight of his words, the subtle way he had exposed the truth behind Jon's actions. Her hands gripped the bread knife a little tighter, a knot of frustration forming in her chest. She needed to confront Jon about this. If he had been pushing away her suitors out of some misguided desire to protect her, it wasn't acceptable.

- Bran, — she began, her voice hesitant but determined. —Did you know that Jon has been interfering in my life this way? That he's been sending letters to my suitors, discouraging them from seeking my hand?

Bran slowly raised his eyes to his sister, his expression impassive as always. Sansa couldn't tell if he was surprised or if he already knew this truth. After all, her brother was the Three-Eyed Raven, the one who could see beyond time and space.

- Yes, — he replied simply, his tone neutral.

Sansa's heart sank. She felt a mixture of sadness and frustration, realizing that even Bran had known and hadn't said anything.

- Why didn't you tell me? - she asked, her voice tinged with hurt.

Bran, as usual, reacted with his usual calm, but his gaze had turned thoughtful and distant, as if he too were lost in his own reflections.

- You have to confront Jon about this, - Bran said suddenly, breaking the silence that hung between them. His voice was calm but firm, and Sansa looked at him, surprised by the sudden interruption.

- I know, — she admitted, her tone heavy. —But I can't help but wonder why he would do something like this. It's not like him to interfere in my personal matters without consulting me first.

Bran paused, considering Sansa's words carefully before responding.

- Perhaps Jon is worried about you. After everything you've been through... he may feel a duty to protect you.

Sansa frowned slightly, a deep, tired sadness filling her heart.

- I know Jon wants to protect me. But I'm not a child anymore, Bran. I can make my own decisions.

Bran nodded slowly, as if weighing the truth of Sansa's words.

- I know you can, Sansa. But you should tell Jon that too. You need to let him know that you're ready to make your own decisions, that you don't need anyone's approval to do so.

Sansa sighed, feeling the truth of her brother's words, or rather, cousin's words, settle deeply in her heart. She had always known she would have to confront Jon at some point, but now, after hearing from Henry Whitehill, she realized that this moment had come sooner than she had anticipated.

- I will, — she finally said, her voice firm and determined. —I'll talk to Jon as soon as I can.

With that, Sansa rose from the table, feeling a new determination stirring within her. She would not allow anyone, not even Jon Snow, to decide her fate. She was Sansa Stark, Protector of the North, Lady of Winterfell, and she would chart her own course.