"𝐢𝐟 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥"
Daenerys was not the only girl born to Rhaella and Aerys Targaryen. Years before their family's demise Rhena Targaryen opened her eyes her first, breathed her first, and love...
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╣a part of herself was carved out, left to die in their lost home╠
Sansa's chambers were as she left them all those years ago. The same tapestries rested on her walls and the same clothes hung in her wardrobe. She didn't fit any of them anymore, of course, and relied on a chest full of fine furs that Prince Oberyn had sent with her.
That was how she felt in Winterfell, she didn't fit. Robb and Myrcella had taken over all the happenings of the castle. Bran had his Reed companions, always watching, whispering plans and schemes in each other's ears. Baby Rickon had his wildling companion Osha. That left Catelyn and Sansa. Both not truly aware of their purpose.
Sansa, though she tried not to, resented her family for not fighting hard enough to get her back from Joffrey and his mother. If it weren't for a stranger from Dorn, her head would no doubt be on a spike beside her father and husband's. Her husband who had left to treat with Targaryens across the sea.
Mostly though, she resented the fact that Arya was left behind. Jaime had stolen two prisoners away in the dark of the night. What had stopped him from stealing Arya away with them? Arya had always wanted her freedom. The world was cruel for taking it away, for placing her in a mold that Sansa was more built to fit.
Constant torture in the South had her jumping at every shadow, convinced that Tywin had ordered soldiers to kidnap her and bring her back. Robb was worried another war would ensue. Myrcella assured that any blame would be placed on Dorn. Sansa awaited the announcement of her sister's coronation. By the God's law, the Lannisters would be unable to war against the queen's family.
The Godswood was the only place that she felt truly at peace. She wasn't particularly religious, the gods had made it quite clear that they were not on her side. No, it wasn't the holy aspect of the small forest that calmed her. It was the heaviness of the air, thick from age and moisture from the hot spring. It was the sweet smell of dew that used to hang over her father and Arya and Jon like a cloak. It was the feeling of being in the North where the Godswood trees grew tall and thick opposed to those in the South that had long ago perished in favor of the Faith of the Seven.
There, her mother didn't dare venture. The face of the Weirwood haunted her now even more after her husband's death. If Sansa ever did have company, it was that of her brother Bran, who spoke only when spoken to. She didn't mind much. It didn't unnerve her the way it did the rest of their family. Sansa understood how it felt to be in a place that she did not fit. She knew the pain of her family wanting her to be how she was before everything fell apart.
When she was not in the Godswood, she was in the nursery with her nephew. Myrcella was often there as well. Sansa found that her friendship with the Lannister princess from their early days was easy to rekindle. That's where she sat at present, nursing a mug of sweet-milk in a chair by the fire with Myrcella and Ed crawling between them.
