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Sansa woke up abruptly, chest heaving and eyes wet from yet another nightmare. She took a few minutes to reassure herself that she was home, Ramsay couldn’t hurt her and neither could Joffrey. She repeated this in her head till at last she felt a semblance of safety, turning on her side and moving into a foetal position. The nightmares that plagued her since her escape from Kings Landing and after Ramsays torture were relentless, every night without fail she would wake up terrified and alone. She didn’t tell Jon or Brienne about them, they already had enough to deal with she reasoned, what with Jon being crowned King of the North. Sansa let a whisper of a smile on her face as she recalled his slightly overwhelmed but proud expression when all the Stark banner men had started chanting. Jon had looked to her then for reassurance and she had nodded and smiled broadly, this is where fate had led them. He sat in father’s chair, the only remaining Stark boy, even though his name was Snow.
Sansa turned again as thoughts of her family, lost to her now, beset her mind. When she walked through the corridors and halls of her childhood home, she didn’t feel the same peace. She doubted she ever would. For now, there was no snickering Theon and Robb discussing gods know what in the great hall, no Bran running around climbing where he shouldn’t. No more Rickon, sweet boy, by mother’s side, playing with her long auburn hair and no more Arya scampering and pretending to be a warrior with father’s indulgent smile directed at her antics. They were all lost to her, some by death and some by circumstance, she longed to see them again.
She had Jon though. Her brother, and he was always her brother, though bastard he may be. She recalled their reunion, the quiver in her legs and her heart beating out of her chest at seeing him, the way she had flung herself into his waiting arms. His embrace had felt like fathers and Robbs, solid and warm and like home. She regretted her cruel behaviour as children even more now, when Jon had accepted her no questions asked and didn’t push her to share what she had been through. Sansa remembered one particular incident where as children they had all received some toy or trinket from a travelling southern house, with the exception of Jon. Even Theon had received something as he was a Greyjoy, a ward maybe, but still of a once renowned house. She recalled Jon’s carefully blank face when he realised, arms around his middle and the way he still managed to smile at Robb as he marvelled over the rapier he had received and tease Arya over the small doll she had been given. She grimaced even now at how she had called attention to his empty hands, “Jon didn’t get anything, and why would he?” Sansa had crowed. Both Robb and Arya had given her the same look, to shut up and stop but it was too late, Jon had left silently. The only sign of emotion in his clenched fists as he strode away.
That was in the past though, things had changed and Jon was her only family left. That meant something to her, she could admit she loved him now. He was the only man, apart from Davos that she allowed herself to be around for long. Sansa trusted the man for some reason, perhaps it was his blunt nature but she valued his input nevertheless.
She had told Jon about some of her experiences, about her short lived marriage to Lord Tyrion, about his kindness and respectful nature, about The Hound who had wanted to take her home. Sansa described her afternoons with Margaery and Loras, having tea in the gardens whilst their family was being torn apart, bit by bit. How helpless she felt, a little bird in a gilded cage. She spoke little of Ramsay but the few times she tried, her choked sobs and vacant stare was enough for him to fill in the blanks. Sansa told him about Theon, what Ramsay had done to him, how he had eventually helped her to escape. Jon was clearly conflicted hearing about how their childhood friend, no his brother, had suffered. He tugged her into a comforting hug, hand running over her flaming locks. Jon’s jaw had tightened and his grip was firmer, he had promised her, once again that he would never let anyone hurt her again. She believed him this time. He was always so honest, so honourable, much like Father. She hoped it would not be his downfall one day.
She had the façade of being icy and detached but her skin crawled anytime Littlefinger cornered her. He reminded her of poison, his scheming, his unwelcome kisses and cloying sentiments. He watched her constantly and had tried to get her to betray Jon, he tried to plant the seed of dissent in her mind, but she was smarter than his honeyed words now. She only wished mother and father had been. Sansa would use him for all he was worth, a well-connected man was Littlefinger, and then reveal his deceit for all. She looked forward to when that self-satisfied expression would drop and he would realise that she had the final word. Sansa would win this time. She had lost too much.
Her mind drifted to other things she had lost, her desire to marry, of a fanciful wedding feast and an extravagant dress. All the things that she had dreamed for as a young girl, carried away by the stories Septa Mordane had told her. Sansa knew now that the stories were just that, tales to escape reality, and how ugly it could be, especially for women. It seemed that the gods did not spare her sex any suffering, her own life a testament to this. She recalled when Joffrey ordered her dress to be ripped and she was nearly exposed in front of the whole court, how Ramsay had torn her dress callously and pushed her down. Sansa prayed that Arya had not experienced anything like this, she missed her fierce sister. Arya would sooner have stuck a sword in any man than let them touch her. A dark part of Sansa’s mind relished that they had both met their end in such horrific ways, Joffrey through a cup of poisoned wine and Ramsay at the whims of his beloved hounds.
She turned on her back and stared at the stone ceiling of her chambers, letting out a deep sigh, her hands were shaking. Sansa hoped she would be able to sleep uninterrupted one day. When her past would not haunt her and she would be content once more, if that was even possible for her.