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The sounds of laughter and music could be heard through the thick doors of Winterfell’s dinner hall, filling the dark night and entertaining those who’d stepped out of the festivities. Sansa Stark, thought to be the last surviving daughter of the late Lord Eddard Stark, was turning seven and ten today and the entirety of Winterfell had gathered in the dinner hall, some enjoying the crisp coolness of the courtyard outside. Sansa, dressed in a deep green dressed she’d proudly sewn for herself, sat at the lower tables, entertaining a couple of whores from Winter Town who’d come in hopes of men’s coin.
At the high dais, Rickon sat quietly, watching his sister. She’d changed so much from the girl he remembered through vague memories and stories Bran and Osha had told while he was on the run. She was no haughty lady who looked down on those born of lower status than her, certainly not anymore. Perhaps it was Prince Joffrey or Tyrion Lannister, perhaps even Ramsay Bolton, who’d changed her so drastically, but Rickon would not force her to tell him what had happened in her horrible betrothals and marriages.Standing up, Sansa picked up her cup and twirled over to the dance floor, graceful as ever and not spilling a since drop of her wine. The full skirt of her dress billowed out and her laughter twinkled through the room. Another girl, a new friend of Sansa’s who’d travelled from Winter Town with the whores, jumped up from her seat at the table to pull Sansa’s hands and fall into a little dance. By now nearly everyone in the room was watching Sansa Stark, caught in awe until she grew dizzy and stopped, still laughing.
When Sansa stopped swaying, she quickly thanked her friend for the dance and turned to return to her seat when she stopped dead in her tracks. Rickon followed her gaze and spotted a man he didn’t recognise. Dressed in a dark cloak and curly hair in a wild mess atop his head, the man stood, staring at Sansa with a look that seemed a mixture of relief and worry. Sansa, on the other hand, looked like she’d seen a dead man, then her face changed and she looked so happy to see this man no one seemed to recognise except her.The clank of Sansa’s wine cup on the floor broke the spell between them and she rushed to him, throwing her arms around his neck. The moment he held her just as tightly as she held him, Sansa broke into tears. She recalled the night he’d left her. She’d been lost, he’d been her rock while they were trapped in Winterfell, her little piece of home, and somehow they’d escaped together and found Brienne. Then, the moment he was sure she’d be just fine without him, he’d left to return to his home. He’d left her and she’d been furious and devastated all at the same time.
Here he was, finally returning to her looking like a ghost from her dreams. Gods, she’d been so horribly scared he was a ghost, nothing but her mind playing tricks. She’d been so scared, yet the moment he held onto her, everything was right again. She was perfectly safe and he wouldn’t be leaving, she wouldn’t let him go again. She’d taken back Winterfell, she had two of her brothers back, and everything was almost exactly the way it should. Him here, that was one step closer to fixing things.
“Please,” she hiccuped through her sobs, “please don’t leave again.”
“He pressed a soft kiss to her hair and whispered, “Never again.”
She breathed a sigh of relief and pulled away. For a moment, the simply looked at each other. Him, with tired eyes, and her, tear stains running down her face. Gently, he moved to cup her face, brushing tears away with his thumbs. A tentative smile made its way onto her face and he smiled in return.
“I’m here to stay,” he muttered, kissing her forehead.
She’d just managed to pull him into another hug when someone finally spoke up. “Who the fuck is that?” a gruff, loud voice said.
“That’s the Greyjoy boy, ain’t it?” came another voice, which only seemed to cause an uproar around them and Sansa felt him hold her just a little tighter as if he was afraid she’d be taken away.“If it’s that little shit, what the fuck is the lady doing with him?” said the first man.
“If it’s that little shit, what the fuck is the lady doing with him?” said the first man.
This bothered Sansa, these men knew nothing at all, they hadn’t been here when Winterfell was under the Bolton’s control. They didn’t understand.
With a little huff, Sansa pulled away but made sure to grab his hand in the process so he knew she wasn’t leaving. With a voice much more alike the growl of a wolf, she spoke, “Say one damned thing about Theon and you won’t make it to sunrise, hear me? None of you were in Winterfell during the Boltons’ reign and I can tell you now, none of you will ever even begin to understand what that was like. If any of you so much as look at him the wrong way or you may very well learn just what I am capable of.”
The entire hall was silent as everyone stared, completely astounded at the tone Sansa had. She was just a sweet highborn, no one had ever imagined she could have such a cold threatening tone. If Lady Arya were here, perhaps they could see that wild girl with such a tone, but Lady Sansa had taken them by surprise.
While everyone was still in silence, Sansa walked out with her hand in Theon’s, leaving her party to retire to her chambers early.