Chapter Text
Snow landed on her hair as she walked silently through the forest, only Ser Davos by her side. Don’t be afraid, you’re going home, Sansa tried to tell herself. But my home is gone. Father, Mother, Robb, Bran, Rickon, even Arya. She raised her hood to keep out some of the cold. This is exactly what I wished for; why does it feel so hollow?
Sansa couldn’t recall the last time she had ever felt so cold. She wondered how miserable Jon must be at the Wall. Uncle Benjen always used to say Winterfell felt like Dorne compared to Castle Black. But he’s dead now too.
Sansa saw the outline of a snowy, desolate fortress on the horizon.
“Wait,” she said to Ser Davos. We’re actually here. Sansa stopped to stare at the icy walls of Winterfell.
She couldn’t stop the tears from welling in her eyes. It’s so close, yet I’ve never felt further away.
“We have to keep moving Sansa. We don't want to be spotted by one of Lord Bolton's patrols.”
She looked away, her boots now soaked from the snow. She followed in behind Ser Davos, trying to forget all the suffocating memories.
-
Ser Richard Horpe led them through the encampment in the early morning fog. Ser Davos and Ser Richard were talking, but Sansa tried not to concentrate on them. The whole camp looked bleak and harsh. Nothing like what she remembered from the tourneys of King’s Landing.
One of the soldiers raked his eyes over her body like she was completely naked and Sansa felt sick, moving quickly in closer behind Davos. They won't hurt me... I hope.
Sansa tucked her arms in to keep warm, though it still didn’t stop her from shivering. She was wearing the white and grey dress she stitched on the sea voyage north, the colours of House Stark. Sansa chose the most regal dress she had for King Stannis, but it wasn't exactly suited for the cold, especially considering the cloak she had managed to bring when Davos smuggled her out of The Fingers had torn just the night before.
Ser Davos was the unlikeliest man Sansa could have ever hoped to rescue her. Even though he had been raised to knighthood, Davos still dressed humbly and spoke in a thick Flea Bottom accent. They had hardly spoken to each other the entire time; the few times they did it was awkward and short. But she was grateful for all that he had done for her and he somewhat comfortingly reminded her of her father.
Sansa recalled what Ser Davos had promised her, “King Stannis will bring you home.”
Father always used to say Stannis Baratheon was a just man. Just, but harsh. He died supporting Stannis’ claim. But when I prayed for King Stannis to win the Battle of Blackwater, to save me from the Lannisters, he never came.
I don’t even want to rule Winterfell. I just want things to be the way they were, though they never will be. Why did Theon do it? Sansa wondered. How did he feel when he killed Bran and Rickon and burned our home?
She followed Ser Richard and Ser Davos into the king’s pavilion.
A tall, broad-shouldered man stood alone, staring over a map of the North laid out upon a table, a red and gold crown resting atop his head. He turned towards his guests as he heard them approach, revealing a stag emblazoned in a heart of fire upon on his armor.
Stannis Baratheon.
Sansa already felt unnerved. He towered over her, with a rugged black beard and a gaunt face.
“Your Grace.” Davos quickly dropped to his knee.
“Rise, Ser Davos,” he stated in a deep and powerful voice. “Who is the girl?”
“Lady Sansa, Ned Stark’s daughter,” Ser Richard answered with a smirk on his pox-scarred face.
“Your Grace.” Sansa curtsied, but she couldn’t stop herself from trembling a little as the King gazed at her, his jaw clenched, cold and austere. His dark blue eyes were focused on her, but they went through her as if she wasn’t even there. Courtesy is a lady’s armor, Sansa tried to reassure herself.
“Lady Stark.” He paused for a moment, grinding his teeth. “Your father was an honorable man.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Sansa tried to force a smile. It still hurts to think about. She paused, pushing the thought out of her head. “Thank you as well, Ser Davos, for rescuing me.” Davos returned her smile.
“He was only doing his duty,” Stannis said. “House Stark has endured more than enough.” Sansa’s eyes flickered across his face and she felt she didn’t have to force her smile quite as much anymore. Maybe father was right.
“If Ser Davos didn’t arrive when he did, Lord Baelish would have...” Sansa’s face set, the little bit of hope she had felt already escaping her. “He killed Harrold, so he could control The Vale himself… and then he wanted to take me-” the words caught in her throat, “-take me as his wife.” He forced me to kiss him and made me call him father.
"Every man shall reap what he has sown, Lady Stark. Littlefinger will pay the traitor’s price, you have my word on that,” Stannis responded in a voice of iron. How sweet it would be if I knew he really would. If I knew my nightmare would finally be over. But I know better now than to trust anybody’s word. Heroes do not exist.
“That is very honorable of you, Your Grace,” Sansa said prettily.
King Stannis scowled, his jaw clenched even tighter than before. Sansa wondered if he was always so grim, then she remembered Davos mentioning his wife had passed away and his sad little mourning daughter with a face scarred by greyscale. Sansa suddenly felt a bit of sympathy for him. Maybe he has just forgotten how to be happy, like I have.
Stannis turned his back to them and studied the map upon his table. “I’d like to speak to Lady Sansa alone.”
Sansa looked at Ser Davos anxiously, but he just gave her a quick nod and departed with Ser Richard.
“Sit,” Stannis said as he unbuckled his sword belt and placed it on the table.
Sansa hesitantly complied, too scared to ask why they had to be alone.
Stannis turned and faced her. He paused, weighing out the words he was about to speak. “I made a pact with your brother; he is no longer Jon Snow, but Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell. We agreed that if you were found… unspoiled, that you would become my Queen.”
He scowled. “Tell me the truth, did the Imp force himself on you?”
“What- No.” Sansa bit her lip to stop it from trembling. “I’m a maiden. Please don’t-” she had to close her eyes so the tears wouldn’t trickle down her cheeks.
When she opened them, she saw he was still gazing at her, still grinding his teeth, still as intimidating as before. “Please don’t send me back,” she sniffled, unable to meet his eyes. My betrothed’s eyes… She didn’t want to imagine returning to King’s Landing. As alone as before.
“You have nothing to fear from me, Lady Sansa. Nobody will hurt you as long as I live.” His voice was cold.
Sansa stared at the ground, the silence between them deafening. It was all she could do to not start crying.