𓉸ྀི ⸝⸝ Sansa — Hotd ⋮ Stupid Lamb In A Slaughterhouse. - Blog Posts
continued from here , @eyeofvengeance
there was nothing more terrifying than the sound of dragon wings on the wind. of that sansa had become certain. she had not wanted this position, had not wanted to be the one left behind in the wake of a war that was not hers, nor cregan's, to fight. but duty had called the way it so often did for men, and stark - bound honor meant the lord of the castle had gone to do his part – left behind in his stead the only family who had not turned her back . . . or died. it had meant that when the wind had howled with something more than winter, it was no man who crossed the threshold into the courtyard to meet aemond targaryen, but sansa in her quiet rage.
sansa who had sent her cousin's son into the crypts with the maester and the master - at - arms, and every maid they'd been able to find. had insisted she would do this alone. whatever it was that he wanted, she would handle – and none else would suffer for it.
but as he speaks, she cannot get a hold on him. cannot track the train of thought, cannot understand what it is he's asking for in between the pretty words and complimentary syllables. she knows it is something, to hear a man of his infamy speak of forging something stronger than oaths and service – it is always something.
“ forgive me, prince aemond, i fear i don't . . . quite follow what it is you are asking of me. ” her gloved hands interlace together in front of her, a careful flicker of grey - blue eyes across his features, studying the careful twitch of muscles, each consideration even as his voice softens. “ if you have not come here to kill me, or my kin, then perhaps the northern air has done you well in the fraction of time you have drawn breath within it. ”
red curls billow in the wind, cold encompassing the courtyard, but sansa dares not to allow herself even so much as a hint of a tremble now. not when she must be the voice of those who needed her. nor would she dare allow him inside the walls of winterfell proper, not without a better promise of his intentions. “ your dragon will not like it here. ” she says softly, boots shifting upon the stone path. “ even visenya did not fly so far north with her. i cannot decide whether that makes you courageous or full of folly. " or both. those words go unspoken, though the implication remains as sansa shifts her gaze from aemond to beyond the walls of the courtyard, beyond to where she fears for the worst in seeing large wings of a dragon come to life again.
“ speak plainly of your wishes, and i will allow you both warmth for the evening. else i am just as keen to stand here with you all night, it will not be i who freezes first. ”
her mother had always said she was made for dancing. made for more than harsh winters with little sunlight. and in this moment, sansa looks every part the graceful lady, not a single curl out of place – each step taken in fluid movement that looked so effortless. perhaps, too, it did not hurt that she had every reason to want to look like such an imagine, that sansa, in her effortless state, had put in more effort than she can recall ever having cared for previously . . . for the sake of not looking the fool when it was his careful hands that spun her 'round the room.
her brows furrow momentarily, felt off guard by the idea that he had thought she wouldn't be kind to him – delicate fingers placed upon his shoulder as they step in time with one another, sansa's head shakes ever so slightly, just enough to relay her own momentary thoughts. “ . . . whatever whispers cregan has been telling you of me being unkind, i hope you know he is jesting and only spreading such unseemly words because i said he shouldn't have a third helping of desserts if he wished to continue to fit into last winter's breeches. ”
her cheeks flush along the apples at the admission, her relationship with her cousin ever more akin to that of a sibling – ever more apparent that he remained the only family she had left with her own brothers, who had never managed a kind or caring word of her, rotting away in the wolf's den along with her father. better not to think about who had put them there, even better to not consider why they were there at all. sansa wonders, momentarily, if it had been cregan saying such words to jacaerys at all – and if he had been, whether her name had often been a topic between them. and if it had, did that mean the prince might have considered her as often as she had him?
“ you are most deserving of kindness from all, don't you think? ” she asks, a gentle smile curled onto her lips. “ i think i would have to disagree with anyone who said differently, you have been nothing but kind in return to me, i – fear i will be most heartbroken when you leave. ”
Jacaerys blinked, startled by the question that pulled him from his thoughts. He hadn't meant to let the silence stretch so long between them, yet something in Sansa's quiet presence had drawn him inward. Jacaerys extended his hand, bridging the gap between them. Her hesitation was brief, her fingers slipping feather-light into his.
Her hand squeezed his lightly, a gesture meant to reassure, to tell him that her words had been in jest, that she wouldn’t have accepted if she hadn’t wanted to. He could feel the slight tension in her grip, the unspoken thoughts that swirled just beneath the surface.
Sansa, always poised, always graceful, but never without a careful guard around her heart. He wondered if she felt the same stirrings of uncertainty that had begun to grow in him, or if this, for her, was merely another polite moment, soon to be forgotten. At her question, though, his gaze softened. “Troubling?” He almost laughed but held it back, not wanting to misstep in this delicate exchange. “No, Lady Sansa. Nothing troubling. I just... hadn’t expected your kindness.” The words felt weightier than he'd intended, but he didn’t pull them back.
@foulrests said: rumor has it, i make you nervous / laena & sansa.
she feels the air physically leave her lungs. stark grey eyes widened at the speed with which laena had merely . . . appeared before her, stealing breath from her lungs in a way that sansa wished she could say only had been caused the way silvery curls had bounced to life in the dimly lit hall before her. and certainly not because they were attached to someone so devastatingly pretty.
her mouth feels dry, her hands wrought together behind her back for a moment as she manages to find her courage to speak. “ who . . . said that? ” an awkward laugh, stunted as she tucks a few stray red hairs behind her ear and finally manages to look laena in the eyes. “ i am not – you . . . do not make me nervous, lady laena. ” but even as the words pass through her lips, sansa's cheeks are flushing a light shade of pink, ever made more noticeable across the light porcelain of her skin.
“ perhaps they merely heard me mention that i am nervous of dragons. ”
a plotted starter for @sunfyred
for the longest time, sansa had thought this day would never come. her position in the north had changed the day her father was imprisoned, her freedom no longer a matter that rested in his hands, but rather in the hands of her cousin, cregan. bennard stark's plotting had not ceased at just holding onto the lordship of house stark, but rather had extended far greater than his nephew could have ever imagined – a matter that had been kept quiet and secret still. long had he sought power and glory, long were the lengths he was willing to go to achieve it, even if it had meant sending his only daughter from winterfell's halls. she'd been raised as was befitting a highborn lady, prim – proper, exceptionally well - behaved when her brothers were not teasing her or drawing her ire, made into the perfect offering of a wife to viserys targaryen's firstborn son.
it'd taken an extended effort to free her from winterfell, a jointed effort between sansa's own lady mother and the hightowers, a planned trip to visit her mother's family in karhold, wherein sansa and lady margaret had boarded a ship and sailed from the shivering sea to blackwater bay. it'd not been an easy journey, so many days on board a ship that she swore her stomach had turned as often as the tides, but she had survived it. had survived the uncertain eyes at the port – and had been far more thankful than she had ever been when her feet had touched sturdy, dry land.
but if she were meant to feel less nerves, her stomach had not received the memo; freshly bathed and fed, dressed in a soft grey gown of lace and velvet, sansa had been directed into the throne room, directed forward to stand underneath the watchful gaze of far too many eyes. she hadn't known much of her husband - to - be; rumors from the south did not oft travel well north, and save for what her father had allowed her to know of aegon – that he was a handsome, targaryen king, named after the conqueror himself – she'd come into the room as uncertain and unsure as one could have possibly been.
good manners dictate that she sink into a bow, a graceful curtsy with steel grey hues downturned to the floor; she counts seconds in her head, soft, delicate numbers, until she finally exhales a breath and stands tall once more, allowing her eyes to flicker up from the floor to land on the man who sits the throne before her. her heart skips a subtle beat, a gentle flush of pink settling across the apples of her porcelain cheeks – the letters hadn't been wrong about aegon being handsome. his eyes a shade of purple that sansa longed to get lost in, the expression on his features one she cannot precisely read, but one she finds herself all the more intrigued by.
a smile curls onto her lips, warm and sweet, as her hands smooth out the skirt of her gown. “ it is a pleasure to meet you, your grace. although i fear my father's words may have . . . downplayed certain aspects of the capital. ”
“oh, that wasn't what i – ” she flushes crimson, porcelain cheeks colored in an instant as his hand extends between them. sansa had only meant to tease him a little, to shake him from whatever reverie had taken hold of him within his mind to cause the silence, a silence she had not known to come from him, in truth. but, who was she to deny him this? her hand floats feather soft down into his, a gentle smile curling onto her lips as she nods.
“ i believe we both might end up in trouble for bad manners if i said no. ” her hand squeezes his lightly, as if to tell him she is only jesting, that she wouldn't agree if she hadn't wanted to. and maybe in her own way, without truly knowing it, this had been what sansa had wanted all along – though admitting to such was . . . far beyond her willingness. he was the prince, and wasn't meant for fleeting girlish thoughts and ideas.
“ is there something troubling you, prince jacaerys? ”
@petitmortes asked: Aren't you going to dance? / from sansa !
𝕵𝖆𝖈𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖉𝖌𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑, 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖌𝖆𝖟𝖊 𝖋𝖎𝖝𝖊𝖉 𝖔𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖜𝖎𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖍𝖎𝖒, yet his thoughts were far from the music or the festive atmosphere. He had avoided the dance floor all evening, his usual lively demeanor subdued by a weight he couldn't quite shake. But when a voice reached his ears, soft yet carrying a note of gentle challenge, he turned to face her.
For a moment, Jace hesitated, caught off guard by the Northern beauty's question. Sansa was poised, her auburn hair gleaming in the candlelight, and her presence exuded a calm that was both inviting and disarming. Realizing his silence had stretched too long, he offered her a smile—small, perhaps a bit strained, but genuine.
"My apologies, Lady Sansa," he said, inclining his head slightly. "I've been rather sullen tonight, haven't I? It seems I forgot my manners." His voice was warm, despite the lingering shadows in his eyes.
Extending his hand to her, Jace let the smile soften, a trace of his usual charm returning. "May I have this dance, my lady?" he asked, his tone lighter now, as if her question had sparked something within him that had been dulled by his earlier mood.
𓉸ྀི kiss & tell ; accepting .
@worthyheir said : wiping away your lover’s tears as you kiss them.
she had not mean to disturb him. a fact that mattered little now, but one that she would cling to later – indefinitely. far be it from sansa to disrupt anyone choosing the sanctity of winterfell's godswood to hear their tears – had she not so often done the same? it was quiet, a calm place that enveloped and listened; offered a gentle lull of wooded branches and dribbling pond water . . . and was one of the few places one could find a moment of peace alone. she had intended to allow him his, her hand gripped tighter around the leash that held lady to her side, before the leather slipped from her gloved hand and lithe direwolf paws were bounding across the godswood.
sansa had done her best at rushing after her, but it'd been too little too late; lady nuzzled into the prince's side, there'd been little choice but to look at him. for stark grey eyes to flash across his sadness and threaten to well with tears of her own. in her head she can hear her brothers chiding her, can almost hear her father's low laugh at how easy it is to make his daughter cry; the poor, little thing. but they aren't here, they were rotting away in the wolf's den, and cregan had never said an ill word about her sensitivities.
all thoughts of grabbing lady's lead are forgotten as she sinks into the snow before him, no concern for the cold nor her dress, nimble fingers slipped from the fine leather gloves – winter chill nips at porcelain digits as sansa pulls him to her. “you don't need to face this alone.” she murmurs softly, curling arms around his shoulders, holding him as tightly as she can manage. “you aren't alone.” a beat, a gentle inhale and exhale before she shifts away just enough to curl a hand onto his cheek, brushing tears away with her thumb as she presses a kiss to his forehead. as if on cue, lady nudges up from his side, lapping away large tongue at his cheek – before sansa quietly brushes her away once more and offers jace a gentle smile.
“it would appear i have competition from my own companion for you.” a lightly cracked joke as she shifts ever closer, drying his cheeks with soft palms. “what do you need?”