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Just like destiny
Us being together feels so natural
There’s a piece of my heart I’ve never given
That you already hold
Is there such a thing as love without despair?
Where will you take me?
Will you truly be able to
Stay by my side forever?
My saviour
Did heaven send you to me?
I had a sad dream holding you in my arms, oh oh
The moment I saw you, I knew without a word
That you are the saviour that will ruin my life
Sansa woke with a start. It took her a few heartbeats to recognise where she was, but once she did, she let out a shaky breath of relief. All was well, she told herself. Though, in spite of the thick furs on her bed and the natural warmth of the hot springs beneath the castle she noticed she was shivering.
Another nightmare. They did not plague her as often as they used to, but every now and then they made their unwelcome reappearance, especially during nights she felt particularly lonely. For the most part, they consisted of memories. She was back by the Trident, and Lady was being slain; she was being attacked by the mob on the streets of King’s Landing; Joffrey was having his kingsguard strip and beat her; she was in the Red Keep during the battle of Blackwater Bay, surrounded by the fear and panic; Aunt Lysa was pushing her towards the moon door; Ramsay… Ramsay was forcing himself on her yet again. This time, however, it was the Long Night that had played out all over again. The fear, the uncertainty, the loss.
No one could save her from these nightmares, she knew, so she had tried to get used to them instead. Face them, look them in the eye, not back down. She did not want to bother the maester with her petty little troubles, after all, not when he surely had better things to do. Besides, she found that the strategy had worked somewhat. The dreams were not as frequent anymore, and when they came, she wasn’t as scared. They were only reminders of her past, and since she had survived it all once, she could do it again, knowing that she had made it through.
Some of them still had an impact on her, though.
Knowing she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, Sansa wrapped a thick cloak over her nightgown and exited her chambers. The same room that had once belonged to the Lord of Winterfell now housed the Queen in the North. She made sure to close the door quietly but securely, running her fingers over the lock hesitantly before deciding she would probably return soon.
As she made her way down the steps of the keep she caught glimpses of the night outside the windows, as black as a night ever was. Inadvertently, her thoughts strayed back to the nightmare she’d just experienced. The long night had left her with many haunting memories: the sight of the fires of the first chargers disappearing into the night, the blizzard too monstrous to be a natural occurrence, the unfathomable sight of corpses crawling out of their tombs down in the crypts… Sansa felt herself shivering again. It was not the worst of it, though, because she had faith in the fact that they were all gone and never coming back. The worst had been daybreak and seeing all the dead men and women spread out across the grounds. While the threat of the Wights had seemed abstract, unreal, these were all real individuals who had fought for the living, some of them people she had known. She had helped light the funeral pyres that day. As horrible as the sight had been, she had felt it her duty to all the brave fighters, seeing them off. Though, watching the fire eat away at the lives they had lost did not remove the lump in her throat, nor the wet stains on her cheeks from when she had cried cold, salty tears upon the sight of Theon’s dead body.
They said he must have fought formidably, as they had found him surrounded by the burnt and pierced remains of the Wights that had made it into the Godswood. She had never asked Bran about it. Part of her didn’t want to know, another ached for answers. She wondered if he had displayed the same bravery she knew him capable of. True bravery. Almost like the knights in the songs she used to love.
He wasn’t a knight, though, he wasn’t even that audacious, smug boy she had known back when they were young. At least then he had played at being knightly, the highborn boy with shiny clothes going hunting with Robb, assisting her father, or otherwise practicing archery and sword-fighting in the yard. Whenever she had heard him whisper some crude joke to one of the other men she had pretended not to hear, thinking herself unfazed by such things. She had fancied herself a little woman, eager to appear mature enough to set off to marry some handsome lord-to-be and have his children. But she had just been a silly little girl.
All her life she had wanted someone to come for her, a romantic hero to save her from a terrible destiny like in the songs. Joffrey fulfilled that role for a short while, but it turned out he was the terrible destiny instead of the saviour. While in King’s Landing she had eyed handsome and knightly Loras Tyrell, the red rose he gave her truly made her feel like she was in one of those stories old Nan used to tell, the ones about love and valour, not the spooky ones that Bran and Arya liked. Margaery had unexpectedly filled the role for a while, too, with her promises of bringing her to Highgarden, away from the lion’s den in which she had been trapped; but, again, the lions kept their grip on her. Tyrion had been decent to her, but marrying a Lannister was a punishment inflicted on her rather than a saving grace. Ser Dontos had been her Florian for a time, rescuing her from the wedding, but he had only been acting on Littlefinger’s orders. As for Petyr himself, she was never fool enough to truly believe he would save her, but she had no choice but to hold onto him nonetheless.
Deep in thought, Sansa had barely noticed where her steps were leading her. The remains of her old chambers stood before her, looking like a completely different place than the one from her childhood. It had been one of many parts of the castle that had been damaged in the fire, and although attempts at reconstruction had been made, it could never return to its original state. The opening where the door should have been gaped empty, allowing her to peek inside. There was nothing left. Only the stones in the walls remained of the place where she would sit and daydream, wrapped up in her own little world. The sense of magic and wonder had vanished. She had grown up.
She could never have envisioned Theon becoming her saviour after all those years. When she had seen his face again in the kennels, her thoughts were as far away as possible from the concept. At the time she would have done anything to meet someone, anyone, from the home she had left behind as a silly little girl. He was the only exception. After everything he had done, it wasn’t so strange.
However, she soon learnt he wasn’t the same anymore. Back in their youth there had always been a certain distance, a brother that wasn’t really a brother. This, however, was something she barely recognised at all, a mere shade of a human. Broken, beaten, belittled. At first she had thought he deserved it, but that was before she knew the scope of it. Nor the full truth of his actions. When he told her about her brothers she had felt something she hadn’t felt for a long time: hope. And whenever she saw those sad eyes ghosting over her scarred body, she could tell there was still hope regarding him, too. He only needed to realise who he was, and his refusal to do so was frustrating. But the more she was subjected to Ramsay, the more she understood why he was the way he was. Which made the burst of bravery that led to him saving her even the more courageous in her eyes.
She lightly touched the ash-blackened stone wall beside her. Before she knew the truth, she would have blamed him for that, too. Eyeing the hollow room for a last time, Sansa turned away and walked on. There was something calming about pacing the silent castle at night, alone with her thoughts but still surrounded by her home, keeping her grounded in reality. As a child she would have never been allowed to scurry around at night, but who was going to stop a Queen from exploring her own castle?
She realised she knew where she was going. Hesitant, she slowed down her pace. The fear mixed with resolution filled her again, the same as that day. Fear, resolution, and… trust. When she had taken Theon’s hand, she had also put her life in it. And so he had led her over the wall, through snow and icy water, even shielding her from Ramsay’s hounds.
“I would have died to get you there.”
Sansa stopped in her tracks. The words still echoed in her head. A knight pledges his life to protect his lady. What would her younger self have thought of the ragged, broken down man that ended up being the one to save her from her home turned prison? But he had displayed bravery that that silly little girl could only dream of.
She was still a silly little girl, she thought, a silly little girl who never learnt her lessons. She had a tendency to attach herself to others, believe them to be true, even fall in love… And it had never ended well. After all these other would-be-saviours she should have realised her mistake and stopped. But Theon was different, after all. He had saved her without wanting something out of her, risking his own life in the process. It was therefore not so strange that Sansa would hold onto him, but it still didn’t make her less of a fool. Nothing lasts forever. The more you feel for a person, the worse the loss will be in the end. And her love stories never ended well.
She had wanted to hold him tight and never let him go. She had needed him. Not his protection, not after Brienne and Pod had found her and provided more than she could ever have expected. But him. After all that had happened, she couldn’t stand to see him go. He was her rock, the only one who truly understood. Her saviour.
That was the crux of it, she supposed. No one else could know, not really. They could hazard a guess, but even if she told them all of it, every unpleasant detail, they would still not know unless they had experienced it themselves. There had been an immense comfort in knowing there was someone else who could still feel the atrocities in his skin, could still see it all play out in front of his eyes, the way she did. Without a word, they understood each other. If she had been younger, Sansa might have even called it destiny. Now, it was gone.
She hadn’t noticed she was crying until she felt a wet tear run down her nose. Wiping it off with the sleeve of her cloak, Sansa instinctively looked around her. Here she was, the Queen in the North, standing in the middle of a stone walkway at night crying her eyes out. What would her people think if they saw her?
All her life she had been too trusting, too naïve. Some would say it was a strength, to find trust in others, and though she was inclined to agree - there was something romantic in it, after all - she had found it more and more difficult to trust other people the more hardships she went through. After all the times she had been fooled, betrayed, it was only natural. Her family she did trust, still, and Brienne of course. She would like to say she trusted her northmen, and she did for the most part, but experience had taught her to always be prepared for the worst. In any case, none of them truly knew her. And her family members and Brienne were all far away. Maybe that was why she felt so lonely sometimes, Sansa thought, wiping another tear from her cheek. She was surrounded by people, but which of them could fully understand?
As a Queen, she was responsible for her people, and it was her duty to show strength regardless if she was feeling strong or not. Her own little issues were of no importance. She wasn’t above showing emotions, of course; she was never going to be a cold, hard ruler like Cersei, but that didn’t mean she could burden everyone else with her personal grief. Alone, now was as good a time as any to let her emotions out, she supposed.
She had lost her composure when Theon returned to Winterfell. In front of the Dragon Queen, no less. She had been guarded around her and her followers, levelheaded and unwavering in front of a potential threat to the North, but there was no chance of controlling herself once he arrived. She hadn’t known if she would ever see him again, after all. At that time, he had pledged himself to her, her knight, her saviour. How could she have kept her head after that? So everything else just melted away. It was the two of them again, and she was allowed to be weak. No one else could ever understand, no one but him.
The winter breeze made the wetness on her cheeks feel freezing cold. For a final time, Sansa dried them with her sleeve, took a deep breath, and started walking again. A faint noise made her startle, then she realised it was the voices of two of the guardsmen situated by the entrance, talking amongst themselves. Taking another deep breath, this time out of relief, Sansa made sure her steps were quiet as she came closer. In order to reach her destination she would have to walk down another set of stairs and across the courtyard. The men were standing outside the closed gate, so they wouldn’t see her, and she could only hope no one else was outside at this time of night. Though, as she gazed towards the sky, she thought it wasn’t quite as dark as it had been when she had awoken.
When he had offered to protect Bran, part of her could have kissed him right then and there. Another part of her had wanted to stop him, tell him no, it was too dangerous. Tell him his debt was already paid. Anyone else could have taken on the task, but no one else would hold the same significance, she supposed. Just like when they had come to part ways in the forest, she wanted to hold onto him, make him stay by her side, make sure he never left. But she kept her composure that time. It was the only thing to do. She was a proper lady, after all.
Quietly stepping down the stairs to the deserted courtyard, Sansa swept a searching glance across it. She could make out the path to the kennels in the darkness. She had never visited the place again after Ramsay; it was not like she had any business there in any case, she told herself. Instead, she fixed her gaze on a spot where a table had stood back when they had housed and fed all the people from north of Winterfell who had come to them for protection. That very spot had been where she had her final meal before the long night. Her final hours with Theon. There had been so much she’d wanted to say, yet she hadn’t been able to say it all. Maybe she hadn’t needed to. He seemed to understand her the way only he did.
Sometimes, when she wasn’t disturbed by her nightmares, she would dream of him being there beside her. At times he would hold her in his arms, but at other times his just being there was enough. His sole presence was comforting. It was when she woke up from those dreams that she felt the most alone.
But really, what could she even have expected should he have survived the long night? He had his duties and she had hers. She couldn’t compel him to stay with her at Winterfell forever. He was not a Stark, no matter how much she thought of him that way. Unless…
She almost smiled at that thought. It was not the first time it had struck her - the concept had emerged in another one of her dreams - but it didn’t make it any the less childish. A Queen could claim a prince. She really was that silly little girl, whether she liked it or not. Dragging him away from his responsibilities under his sister on the Iron Islands was nothing short of selfish. Besides, she knew her people well enough to know it would have been a controversial choice. After all, they didn’t know him like she did. To her, everything he had done before was so far away, so abstract. All that mattered was what she had seen, and what she had seen was enough to redeem him ten times over, whether he or anyone else thought so or not. Of course, she could think little else; he had saved her. And then he had left her.
Reaching the other side of the courtyard, Sansa was just about to walk up the steps to the battlements when she heard footsteps approaching her. Reluctantly, she turned around.
“Your Grace!” one of the guardsmen exclaimed, startled. “You’re up early.”
“We were just about to start our shift”, the other one filled in, nodding towards the gate. Sansa smiled at them.
“Go do your duty, then. I’m sorry for the disturbance.”
“Not at all, my Queen! We were just surprised, that’s all. Shall we leave you alone or would you have us accompany you?”
“I would rather be left to my business, thanks”, she said. Then, in case it sounded suspicious, she added, “I’m only here to watch the sunrise.”
“We’ll leave you to it, then.”
The guardsmen headed towards the gate and Sansa was left to climb the stairs in peace. There she was, she supposed, the romanticist. The lady that watches the sunrise in the morning and the sunset in the evening, dreaming of her lost love. That was the sort of thing her younger self would find terribly poetic. Again, she suppressed a dry smile.
She had almost forgotten how high the battlements were from the ground outside the walls. Somehow she didn’t think she would have survived the jump if Theon hadn’t been there. She was grateful for that too. It wasn’t only the act of compassion that had made him push Myranda away from her and help her out of there that touched her, but also the fact that he had seemed to find his way back to being Theon Greyjoy in the process. Maybe she had been able to help him a little with that. It was the least she could give him in return.
Sansa looked out over the parapets, fancying that she could spot the sea in the distance, but of course, Winterfell was too far from the coast for her to be able to. Still, what with the Ironborn and their Drowned God, was it there they’d imagine him resting now? Sansa wasn’t sure if he had been much of a believer at all, though. The thought of an endless feast under the sea was nice, she supposed, but what he really deserved now was some proper rest.
Or maybe that was her own desire. Dreamless sleep, free of hurtful memories.
Before turning back to her chambers, Sansa took a final look over the parapets of Winterfell. Over the horizon, dawn was breaking, spreading its light over the empty grounds.