𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 || 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒐𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝑪𝒓𝒚 𝑶𝒖𝒕

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑿

꧁~~~Sansa Stark~~~꧂
꧁~~~298 After Conquest~~~꧂

꧁She had paced around the room for little over ten minutes, and it was ten minutes that she could not take. Father had wanted to speak with her. Her and Arya both. He had seemed rushed in it, wanting to clear up things first before meeting with his two daughters. Sansa huffs with frustration as Arya sits across the room, sitting in a chair as she fiddles with a knife she had previously kept hidden before, but now chiseling and cutting away at the wooden table in waiting.

"Leave the stone cutting and wood carving to the stone masons and carpenters, Horse Face."

Arya jams the small and rather dull blade into the table, eyes filled with pent up frustration for her sister as she nearly throws her seat back.

"Say that again one more time, see what happens!"

"Horse Face."

Arya leaves the knife on the table, instead, standing up and taking one of the books from it and proceeding to hurdle it directly at Sansa, hitting her square in the arm and making her yelp.

"Arya!"

"That's it! That's my name! Now keep it that way, gods damn it!"

Sansa brushes her arm a little as Arya huffs, sitting back down and begins to stab the table just a little bit harder. Huffing also, Sansa moves further away from Arya across the office of the Hand of the King, plumping down in a chair as she stares into the nothingness of the stone floor.

But inevitably, her mind begins to wander. Wander to events that have happened in the last few months. It felt like yesterday where she had met the Prince in Winterfell, back home. When she felt her heart explode with joy and glee, love and hope. But now, all Sansa feels exploding in her heart are illusions, and still, hope.

But then her mind drifts to songs. A sad song that Ben had sung countless...Ben, she thinks to herself with regret, I miss him. Those words never left her mouth, however. How could they? She spited him all of her life, hated him just as long. Purple eyes, she'd call him. "She'd," as if the past tense wasn't mere months prior. Gods, if she got to see him again, he would surely hate her. And Sansa would not blame him. For he had done so much for her, though she can scarcely remember what. But the songs were something that were a gift and a burden at times. The songs that spoke of happy, almost drunken times of joy, while others spoke of sorrow, of love and dancing in halls, of fires raging and ashes falling, of the start and the end. Tragedy.

That's what her life feels like sometimes. A damn tragedy.

Tap...Tap...Tap... Came the sound that she had grown to recognize in the week and a half that had followed since the stunt pulled by the Kingslayer on the Quiet Wolf, and she immediately stands, Arya right behind her as the door opens. Soon closing it behind him, Eddard limps forward with the help of his cane before he sits down at his desk, unable to stand any longer as a constant sweat lines his older brow.

With a sigh, Ned looks up with sad eyes.

"I'm sending you both back to Winterfell."

As if a boulder had suddenly dropped on her foot, Sansa's eyes widen and face nearly turned red as Arya did the exact same.

"What!?"