Sansa II
It had been a week since the Battle of the Blackwater, and the constant stream of pitying looks and hollow words of commiseration had finally begun to fade. At first, courtiers would approach Sansa with feigned sympathy, their eyes gleaming with curiosity rather than concern. But soon enough, most of them seemed to forget entirely that she had ever been betrothed to the King. Her former engagement to Joffrey, once the subject of endless gossip and speculation, had been all but erased from the minds of those in court.
The excitement in the capital had shifted entirely to the royal wedding. Everywhere Sansa went, people whispered about the match between Joffrey and Margaery Tyrell—how perfect they were together, how radiant Margaery looked beside the young king, how their union would bring prosperity and unity to the realm. The court, always quick to abandon old scandals in favor of new spectacles, had moved on, and that suited Sansa just fine.
She watched it all from the shadows, grateful to be forgotten. In truth, she was relieved that her betrothal had been severed, though the circumstances of its end had been slightly humiliating. Being cast aside in favor of Margaery had stung, but it was a small price to pay for freedom from Joffrey's cruelty. Sansa had once dreamed of being a queen, but that dream had become a nightmare the moment she saw Joffrey's true nature. Now, as she saw the court fawn over Margaery, she realized just how fortunate she had been to escape.
The Tyrells, with their charm and beauty, had swept into King's Landing and captured the hearts of everyone. Margaery, in particular, had an effortless grace and poise that made her seem the ideal queen. Even Joffrey, who had once taken such cruel pleasure in tormenting Sansa, now seemed softened in Margaery's presence. He smiled for her, acted the part of a gallant king, and the court adored the spectacle. They marveled at how this new queen had tamed the lion.
But Sansa knew better. She had seen the darker side of Joffrey, the sadistic pleasure he took in others' pain. She doubted that even Margaery's beauty and cunning could shield her from it forever. Still, Sansa kept these thoughts to herself. She played her role, offering polite smiles and quiet compliments when necessary, blending into the background as she always had.
For now, she was content to be overlooked, to let the court's attention drift elsewhere. The less they thought about her, the safer she felt. Sansa's mind was no longer occupied with dreams of being queen; instead, her thoughts were of home. Robb had promised they would leave soon, and the prospect of returning to Winterfell was the only thing keeping her grounded. The North seemed like a distant dream, a place where she might finally be free of the games and intrigues of the South.
As the preparations for the royal wedding grew more extravagant by the day, Sansa found herself feeling a strange sense of detachment. The glittering feasts, the lavish gowns, the endless talk of power and alliances—it all seemed so hollow now. Let Margaery wear the crown, let her bask in the praise and adoration of the court. Sansa had tasted what life as Joffrey's queen would have been, and she wanted no part of it.
The world around her spun on, but Sansa remained still, waiting patiently for the moment when she could leave King's Landing behind forever. The court might have forgotten her, but she had not forgotten herself. She was still Sansa Stark of Winterfell, and one day soon, she would return to her true home.
Sansa walked slowly from her chambers, the familiar stone corridors of the Red Keep giving way to the lush greenery of the gardens. These gardens had become her sanctuary during her time in King's Landing—a place where the intrigues of the court felt distant, where she could breathe more freely. The air was sweet with the scent of blooming roses and lavender, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to imagine that she was far away from the capital.
She was on her way to meet her brother Robb and his wife, Roslin, for afternoon tea, a small tradition they had started since Robb's return to King's Landing. It was one of the few things Sansa looked forward to in the city. The time spent with Robb, whom she had feared lost to the war, felt like a balm to her soul. She was so happy to have him back, to see him whole and well, and she knew that Roslin felt the same.
There was something about the way Robb looked at Roslin, a tenderness in his gaze that never seemed to waver. And Roslin, for her part, seemed to glow in his presence, her eyes always following him with an unspoken adoration. If you spent even a short time with them, you could feel it—the connection, the bond that went beyond words. It was the kind of love Sansa had once dreamed of, the kind she had believed was waiting for her in the capital.
As she walked, Sansa found herself smiling at the thought of the evenings she had spent with Roslin. After dinner, the two would sit together by the fire, sharing quiet moments of companionship. They would talk about baby names, and Sansa would listen with fascination as Roslin spoke of her hopes and dreams for her child. Roslin's face would light up as she imagined her future as a mother, and Sansa often found herself caught up in that same warmth, imagining herself one day with a family of her own. They would laugh together as Sansa offered suggestions for things she could sew for the baby—blankets, small clothes, little tunics.
In those moments, Sansa felt something shift within her. The idea of being queen, of wearing a crown and sitting beside a king, no longer held the allure it once had. That dream had turned to ash the moment she had seen Joffrey's cruelty, the harsh reality of what life as his wife would have been. Now, she longed for something far simpler, something truer. She wanted a love like the one Robb and Roslin shared—a love built on trust and mutual respect, not manipulation and deceit. She wanted a home, a family, and the chance to live a life free of the dangerous games that the courtiers of King's Landing played.
As Sansa reached the gardens, the sunlight filtering through the leaves above, she saw Robb and Roslin already seated at a small table. Roslin's hand rested gently on her growing belly, and Robb leaned close, whispering something that made her laugh. Sansa paused for a moment, just watching them, her heart swelling with affection for both of them. This was what she wanted, this quiet, peaceful happiness. A love that endured, even through war and hardship.
She approached them, and Roslin greeted her with a smile that was as warm as the sun above. Robb stood and pulled out a chair for her, ever the gentleman. Sansa felt herself relax as she sat down, the weight of the city and all its dangers momentarily lifting. She had been through so much, seen too many dreams crumble, but here, in this small circle of family, she found hope.
Robb leaned back in his chair, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looked between Sansa and Roslin. "I hope you don't mind," he began, his voice casual but carrying an air of consideration, "but I invited Lady Margaery to join us today."
Sansa's eyes widened slightly in surprise, and Roslin raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Robb continued before either could ask, his tone warm. "I spent some time with her at Renly's camp. I found her company... refreshing. She's clever and kind, and I think you'll both get along with her quite well."
"Of course," Sansa replied softly, giving Robb a small smile. "I've heard many good things about her from the other ladies of the court." Her tone was cautious, but there was no denying the curiosity bubbling beneath the surface. She had seen Margaery's poise, her ability to charm even the most dangerous men, but she wondered what the woman was truly like away from the eyes of the court.
Roslin, always attuned to the subtleties around her, nodded thoughtfully. "I look forward to meeting her properly," she said, glancing at Sansa with a knowing smile.
Robb seemed relieved by their responses, his smile widening. "Good. I think you'll find her a breath of fresh air. She knows how to play the game, but there's something... genuine about her."
Sansa nodded, though her mind raced with thoughts of what this meeting might hold. Margaery had already managed to capture the favour of nearly everyone at court, including the most dangerous man in her life—Joffrey. Sansa wondered if the woman was truly as kind-hearted as she appeared, or if she simply had mastered the art of appearing to be whatever the court needed her to be. But if Robb trusted her, then perhaps Margaery was someone worth knowing on a deeper level.
From the far side of the garden, Sansa caught sight of Lady Margaery entering with a graceful stride, her presence commanding attention without demanding it. Margaery's long, soft curls cascaded down her back, styled in the same southern fashion that Sansa had come to adopt during her time in King's Landing. Her gown was stunning—duck-egg blue with delicate gold embroidery that shimmered as she moved. The fabric clung to her slender frame, swaying gently with each step she took, the gold threads catching the sunlight in a way that made her seem to glow.
Sansa noticed that Margaery wasn't alone. Walking beside her, arm-in-arm, was an older woman who moved with the same quiet grace. Sansa immediately knew who she was —Lady Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns. The older woman was a figure of legend in courtly circles, known for her sharp tongue, quick wit, and unparalleled understanding of politics. She wore a gown of deep emerald green, the color of her house, and a headscarf adorned with intricate golden detailing. Her eyes were as sharp as her reputation, scanning the garden as if taking note of everything and everyone at once.
As Margaery and her grandmother approached, Sansa rose from her seat instinctively, smoothing the fabric of her own gown and glancing at Roslin, who gave her a reassuring smile. Robb, ever the diplomat, stood and bowed his head respectfully to the two ladies. His smile was warm, but Sansa could see the subtle shift in his expression—a careful balance of politeness and guardedness.
"Lady Margaery," Robb greeted her with genuine warmth, "thank you for joining us."
Margaery smiled, her eyes sparkling as she gave a graceful curtsy. "Thank you for inviting me, Lord Stark. It's a pleasure to be here with you all. And please, allow me to introduce my grandmother, Lady Olenna."
Sansa and Roslin curtsied in unison as Lady Olenna acknowledged them with a brisk nod, her sharp eyes flicking over the two women, sizing them up in an instant. With a chuckle, she tapped Robb lightly on the shoulder. "Robb Stark," she said, her tone half-serious, "tell your wife she has no business curtsying in her condition. She should be resting, not bending and bowing."
Roslin blushed slightly but smiled, while Robb gave a soft laugh in response.
"I've heard plenty about you all," Olenna continued, her voice laced with wry humor. "Though I must admit, I'm relieved to see you've managed to survive this nest of vipers." Her words were sharp, but Sansa could tell there was no malice in them—only the blunt honesty of someone who had long since grown tired of playing the game of courtly pretense. It was clear Olenna preferred to speak the truth, regardless of whether it stung.
"Lady Olenna," Roslin replied, her voice calm and measured, "it's an honor to meet you. Your wisdom is well known across the realm."
Olenna's lips curled into a wry smile. "Wisdom, eh? You're far too kind, my dear. Wisdom is just another word for surviving long enough to see the lies for what they are."
Margaery gently squeezed her grandmother's arm, subtly guiding the conversation to a lighter tone. "We're so pleased to be here, Robb was very kind to me after... well, after everything that happened with -." She hesitated for a brief moment, choosing her words carefully. "When we last met," she corrected herself gracefully. "I must say, I do enjoy the capital, and everyone has been most welcoming."
Her gaze softened as she turned to Sansa, her voice laced with curiosity and concern. "I've been meaning to ask, Lady Sansa—how are you faring, now that... certain plans have changed?" The question was gentle, yet direct, probing at the delicate shift in Sansa's circumstances without lingering on the painful details.
Sansa felt the weight of Margaery's question. The mention of her broken betrothal to Joffrey still brought a mix of relief and fear. But standing here, in the garden, surrounded by her family and in the presence of these two formidable women, Sansa felt a new kind of strength. The Lannisters no longer held her in their cruel grasp.
"I am well," Sansa replied carefully, her voice calm and steady. "The king made the right choice, and I have come to accept that." Her words were measured, each one deliberate, but her gaze didn't waver. "And I am grateful to have my brother and Lady Roslin here with me."
Margaery's smile deepened. "I'm glad to hear it. You've been through so much, Sansa. But I do hope that, in time, we can all find a bit of happiness. King's Landing has a way of trying to steal that from you, doesn't it?"
Olenna snorted softly, shaking her head. "Happiness? Not in this cesspit, I'm afraid. But perhaps, with the right allies, we can at least survive long enough to remember what it feels like." She gave Sansa a knowing look, one that sent a shiver down her spine, as if Olenna could see through all the layers of deception in the capital.
Robb chuckled lightly, trying to ease the tension. "Survival, it seems, is the key to all things here. But I have no doubt that with strong allies, we'll not only survive—we'll thrive."
Margaery exchanged a glance with her grandmother, a silent understanding passing between them before turning back to Robb with a gentle smile. "Indeed, Lord Stark," she began, her voice smooth and warm. "Which brings us to the reason my grandmother and I wished to speak with you."
She shifted her attention to Sansa, reaching across the table to take Sansa's hands in hers. "Lady Sansa," she said softly, her expression sincere, "I feel truly awful about the way we met and the possibility that I may have caused you any pain... I couldn't bear it."
Sansa opened her mouth to respond, "Please, my lady—"
But Margaery pressed on, her tone firm yet kind. "As a gesture of apology, and to mend any hurt I might have caused, we have a proposal for you." She glanced briefly at Olenna before continuing. "An alliance between our houses."
Olenna's sharp eyes flickered toward Robb, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "What my granddaughter means to say is this: with your brother's blessing, we would like to arrange a marriage between you, Lady Sansa, and my eldest grandson, Margaery's brother—Willas."
Sansa blinked, her breath catching in her throat as the weight of the offer settled over her.
Sansa's thoughts spiraled, trying to comprehend what was unfolding before her. A marriage to Willas Tyrell? She had never met him, only heard whispers about the gentle but reclusive heir of Highgarden. Yet here it was, a proposal hanging in the air.
Before Sansa could respond, Robb leaned forward, his expression hard and protective, his eyes sharp as they met Lady Olenna's. His voice, though polite, carried an edge of frustration. "My lady, I wish this had been brought to me in private. Sansa is not seeking any proposals at this time—"
Lady Olenna interrupted him, her voice brisk, cutting through his words like a blade. "Oh, I know all about your plans, Lord Stark," she said, her tone laced with the confidence of someone who'd seen far too much to be easily swayed. "You intend to whisk your sister back to the cold North, far from the clutches of the South, after the king's wedding. But tell me, do you truly believe that leaving her without a match will keep her safe? You'd leave her vulnerable, ripe for any number of dangerous arrangements. And the North, as I hear, is far from secure." She leaned in slightly, her eyes gleaming with sharp wisdom. "House Tyrell will protect you from the Lannisters. Or would you rather entertain Lord Tywin's list of potential husbands?"
Robb's jaw tightened, his frustration clearly mounting as Olenna spoke. Her words hung in the air like a storm gathering strength. When Olenna mentioned Tywin, Robb flinched, his silence speaking volumes. He leaned back in his chair, tension crackling between him and the matriarch of Highgarden.
Roslin looked at him, her voice soft but insistent. "Robb?"
Sansa, feeling a sudden chill, turned to her brother. "Brother?" she whispered, her heart pounding. The very mention of Tywin's name sent unease through her.
Robb exhaled, his features hardening with an admission he had been reluctant to share. "Lord Tywin made a few suggestions," he said, his voice tight. He didn't look at Sansa immediately, as if dreading her reaction. "About matches for you. He made it clear that the Lannisters still see value in our name. He offered his nephews, and even suggested possibly Jaime." He shook his head, frustration now evident in every tense muscle of his body. "I said no. Sansa is coming home to Winterfell."
Sansa's chest tightened at the thought. Jaime Lannister? Her mind raced through the implications. She could hardly stand the idea of being bound to a Lannister, shackled to a family that had brought her so much grief and pain. But now, hearing Robb's admission, she realized that even escaping King's Landing didn't free her from being seen as a pawn.
Olenna tilted her head, her piercing gaze softening just slightly. "And what do you think will happen when you return to Winterfell, Lord Stark?" she asked, her voice no longer cutting, but pragmatic. "Do you think the Lannisters will simply forget about her? Sansa will remain a prize, whether she's here or buried in the snow. You cannot hide her forever, and you cannot keep her away from the game by running."
Robb didn't answer immediately, his face reflecting the weight of Olenna's words. His gaze flickered to Sansa, a mixture of guilt and protectiveness swirling in his eyes. "I want to keep you safe," he said softly, finally meeting her eyes. "I promised Father I'd protect you."
Sansa's heart ached at her brother's sincerity, but she knew Olenna's words carried truth. She had long been a piece in a much larger game, and she understood that, whether she liked it or not, the decisions made about her life would ripple across the kingdoms. She had no desire to be a political tool, yet escaping that fate seemed almost impossible. Unless...
Margaery, who had been silent for much of the conversation, leaned forward, her expression kind and sincere. "Sansa, I know this is overwhelming," she said gently, her voice like a soothing balm to the tension. "But I promise you this—Willas is a good man. You'd be with people who would care for you, protect you, and give you a life of your own choosing."
Sansa looked at her, seeing nothing but compassion in Margaery's eyes. There was no malice, no manipulation—only an offer. An offer that felt like hope.
"And," Margaery added with a soft smile, "you would have me as a sister. And I think we'd get along quite well."
The words brought a small, genuine smile to Sansa's lips despite the heavy conversation. The warmth from Margaery, the idea of escape from the clutches of the Lannisters, and the chance for something resembling peace—it all felt like a lifeline.
Robb sighed, rubbing his temple, clearly torn. "Sansa, if you want this... I will support your choice. I won't force you into anything. But know this—whatever you decide, you can always come home."
Sansa sat in silence for a moment, weighing the choice before her. She could return to Winterfell, try to find safety in the cold walls of her childhood home. But Olenna was right—the Lannisters would not forget her, and the North would not be free from their reach. Or she could accept the Tyrells' offer, forge a new alliance, and perhaps, finally, escape the shadow of her past.
Sansa finally found her voice, though it came out quieter than she intended. "And... what of Willas? Does he wish this?" she asked, her fingers trembling slightly beneath Margaery's.
Olenna's eyes softened just a fraction. "He's already agreed, my dear."
"Sansa?" Robb asked, his voice gentle as his eyes settled on her. "What do you want?"
"I... I think I could be happy in Highgarden," Sansa said softly, though her voice grew stronger as she continued. "I've dreamed of leaving this place, and if Willas is as kind as you say... I would be honored to wed him."
Margaery squeezed her hands in support, her smile widening. "You'll find Highgarden is nothing like this city, Sansa. It's a place of beauty, of life, and I have no doubt you will flourish there."
Olenna chuckled under her breath, clearly pleased with the outcome. "Well then, it seems we have an agreement. Lord Stark?" she said, turning her sharp gaze toward Robb.
Robb hesitated for a brief moment, but seeing the determination in Sansa's eyes, he nodded. "If this is what Sansa wishes, then I'll give my blessing."
A sense of relief washed over the table, though the weight of the decision still lingered. Sansa had been granted an escape, a chance for a new life—one not dictated by fear or cruelty. But as they all sat in the peaceful garden, the realization settled that this marriage would be more than just a personal choice; it was the beginning of a new alliance, one that would ripple across the Seven Kingdoms.
"Then it's settled," Olenna declared, rising from her chair with an unexpected swiftness and grace for a woman of her years. Her sharp eyes gleamed with satisfaction, as if she'd just secured a victory in a long-played game of strategy. "Sansa will return to Highgarden with me after Margaery's wedding."
Sansa's breath caught in her throat as she watched Olenna move with purpose, the finality of the statement sinking in. It was happening—her fate, her future was being decided in this moment, and the weight of it bore down on her chest. Highgarden, a place she had never seen but heard stories of—a place so unlike the frozen North or the treacherous capital. She tried to imagine it: a life among roses and warm southern breezes, far from the cold stone of Winterfell and the bitter danger of King's Landing. It was a world she barely knew, but the hope it offered felt like a balm for her weary soul.
"Highgarden will be a fresh start," Margaery added, her voice filled with encouragement. She had risen as well, her hand resting lightly on the back of her grandmother's chair, her gaze shifting warmly to Sansa. "You'll find peace there, Sansa. And Willas—he's kind. You'll have the freedom you deserve, and your brother can rest knowing you're safe."
Sansa felt a warmth spreading through her chest at Margaery's words. It was not lost on her that this was a far cry from the marriage she had once been promised to Joffrey, a monstrous boy-king who had reveled in cruelty. Willas, by all accounts, was gentle and wise. She knew he was not like the Lannisters—no matter how little she knew of him personally, the reputation of House Tyrell was far kinder than that of the golden lions who had ruled her life for so long.
Still, it was a new fear that gripped her heart. What if she failed again? What if this, too, turned out to be another cage, albeit one gilded with roses instead of thorns?
Roslin stood beside Robb, her gentle face showing quiet concern. She reached for Sansa's hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "Sansa," she said softly, "this could be your chance to have the life you deserve. A family of your own, away from... all of this." She motioned faintly to the grand yet suffocating surroundings of the Red Keep.
"And you'll never be without family," Robb added, his voice thick with determination. "No matter where you go, I will always be there for you. The North will always be there for you."
Sansa nodded, a wave of emotion rising in her throat. The love and protectiveness of her brother, the warmth of Roslin's support, and even the calculated but genuine offer from the Tyrells—it was all coming together, giving her something she hadn't had in what felt like a lifetime: a choice.
"Thank you," she said quietly, her voice steady but filled with a mix of hope and fear. "I... I think this is the right path."
Olenna's eyes gleamed, satisfied. "Of course it is, girl. You'll thank me one day, when you're sitting in Highgarden surrounded by your beautiful children." She glanced at Margaery, giving a brief nod before adding, "We'll make the arrangements, and when the time comes, you'll leave this place behind. Margaery's wedding will be soon enough, and then we'll take you home."
Home. The word lingered in Sansa's mind. For so long, her only vision of home had been Winterfell, with its cold winds and familiar halls. But perhaps... perhaps Highgarden could become that too—a new home, a new beginning. It wouldn't erase the pain of her past, but it could offer her something she had been chasing for so long—freedom. And with that, perhaps a chance at love, or at the very least, peace.
As Olenna and Margaery discussed the details with Robb and Roslin, Sansa's mind wandered, her thoughts drifting to the possibility of meeting Willas Tyrell. Would he be as kind as they all said? Would he understand her, see her not just as a political prize, but as a person. Would he love her?
But for the first time in a long time, she felt a flicker of something she had almost forgotten—hope. Highgarden loomed on the horizon, a place that could finally offer her the life she deserved. It wasn't Winterfell, but it was a place where she could start anew.
As the conversation continued around her, Sansa glanced at Robb one more time. He caught her gaze and smiled faintly, nodding. His expression was heavy with the burdens of leadership, but beneath it all was pride. He trusted her, and she trusted him.
"Highgarden," Sansa whispered to herself, the word tasting unfamiliar but sweet on her lips. A new chapter, a new future. For once, it didn't seem so terrifying.