"You are safe here," Robb tells her when they break their morning fast in his tent the next day. Sansa knows she should thank him. It would be easy to embrace him, to profess her love but all she might say my brother is a traitor your grace spoils in her throat. So she says nothing when she sees the sadness that gathers on corners of his mouth when he frowns at her.
The sharp blue of his eyes follow her throughout the meal, willing her to speak through sheer force of will alone. Grey Wind sighs beside her, muzzle warm on her lap and fur rough against her hands. Sansa is reminded unexpectedly of Lady, the phantom feel of soft fur against her skin and gentle grey eyes springing to life inside her again. For a moment her hand stills against Grey Wind and she reminds herself that Lady is long dead, if not by her hand, then her actions. Sansa is almost thankful for the pain that flares briefly inside her, the sharp feel of something, anything before it slips away.
She cannot seem to make it stay.
--
She rides beside Robb, towards the head of the column as they make their way back to Riverrun.
Once she might have complained about the lack of sidesaddle for her to ride as a lady should but now she says nothing. She sits astride the horse like her brother does (like Arya use to). She says nothing about the rough-hewn shirt and pants he has given her to ride in or the way it rubs her skin raw. She accepts it as she does the ache in her thighs, the horse's wide, rolling gait painful beneath her.
Any delay could prove dangerous.
They ride hard, seeking word from their mother’s parlay with Renly. Robb’s expression is grim, focused on some distant point but Sansa can feel his eyes on her too as the sun tracks across the sky. He watches her carefully for an evidence of pain or discomfort and she knows he would stop the whole army for her if she asked, if she needed it.
Once that might have pleased her, made her feel warm and loved by his display but now it just feels dangerous, a liability she must carry. Sansa had not understood at first what it cost Robb to free her and return the Kingslayer. She understands now, despite his attempts to shield her from the talk in the camp, the obvious divide between those that see her as a symbol of the North they fight for, something of Ned Stark’s they can save and protect and those that look at her and see only her brothers weakness.
She will not be his downfall too.
--
Sansa sleeps fitfully, dreams an amalgam of horrors from her captivity. Kings Landing is leagues away but she feels the press of it at her back still, white hot and insistent. She can not escape the Lannisters; even in her dreams she is forced to watch her own pain and humiliation again and again until and it’s her father’s death she must relive. Everything plays out with a clarity she knows is not real but she’s helpless against it all. She hears her father’s false confession, written on her heart by now and sees his face, the ugly surprise in his eyes when the Kingsguard force him to his knees.
No, stop, please oh please, stop she cries when he falls but it is not by Sir Ilyn Payne sword that he dies but by her own hands, slick with his blood.
---
Sansa wakes with a start, body tight with fear, skin sweaty. There is a rustle of movement behind her and for a moment she fears she has cried out in her sleep and woken Robb but it is only Grey Wind. His eyes are bright in the darkness. Sansa thinks it would be easy to call Robb to her now, like she did when she was a child with her father. He could sooth away the terror that knots her insides but instead she touches the crown of his direwolf’s head, heart in her throat.
He whines lowly and the bed creaks under the weight of him when he crawls in beside her, crowding her against the thin wall of the tent. He smells like Winterfell, the damp earth and musty decay of the Godswood and for the first time in what feels like years Sansa feels something shifting, loosening inside her chest.
Re: The Mercy of the Frozen Ground-Sansa/Robb (2/?)
The sharp blue of his eyes follow her throughout the meal, willing her to speak through sheer force of will alone. Grey Wind sighs beside her, muzzle warm on her lap and fur rough against her hands. Sansa is reminded unexpectedly of Lady, the phantom feel of soft fur against her skin and gentle grey eyes springing to life inside her again. For a moment her hand stills against Grey Wind and she reminds herself that Lady is long dead, if not by her hand, then her actions. Sansa is almost thankful for the pain that flares briefly inside her, the sharp feel of something, anything before it slips away.
She cannot seem to make it stay.
--
She rides beside Robb, towards the head of the column as they make their way back to Riverrun.
Once she might have complained about the lack of sidesaddle for her to ride as a lady should but now she says nothing. She sits astride the horse like her brother does (like Arya use to). She says nothing about the rough-hewn shirt and pants he has given her to ride in or the way it rubs her skin raw. She accepts it as she does the ache in her thighs, the horse's wide, rolling gait painful beneath her.
Any delay could prove dangerous.
They ride hard, seeking word from their mother’s parlay with Renly. Robb’s expression is grim, focused on some distant point but Sansa can feel his eyes on her too as the sun tracks across the sky. He watches her carefully for an evidence of pain or discomfort and she knows he would stop the whole army for her if she asked, if she needed it.
Once that might have pleased her, made her feel warm and loved by his display but now it just feels dangerous, a liability she must carry. Sansa had not understood at first what it cost Robb to free her and return the Kingslayer. She understands now, despite his attempts to shield her from the talk in the camp, the obvious divide between those that see her as a symbol of the North they fight for, something of Ned Stark’s they can save and protect and those that look at her and see only her brothers weakness.
She will not be his downfall too.
--
Sansa sleeps fitfully, dreams an amalgam of horrors from her captivity. Kings Landing is leagues away but she feels the press of it at her back still, white hot and insistent. She can not escape the Lannisters; even in her dreams she is forced to watch her own pain and humiliation again and again until and it’s her father’s death she must relive. Everything plays out with a clarity she knows is not real but she’s helpless against it all. She hears her father’s false confession, written on her heart by now and sees his face, the ugly surprise in his eyes when the Kingsguard force him to his knees.
No, stop, please oh please, stop she cries when he falls but it is not by Sir Ilyn Payne sword that he dies but by her own hands, slick with his blood.
---
Sansa wakes with a start, body tight with fear, skin sweaty. There is a rustle of movement behind her and for a moment she fears she has cried out in her sleep and woken Robb but it is only Grey Wind. His eyes are bright in the darkness. Sansa thinks it would be easy to call Robb to her now, like she did when she was a child with her father. He could sooth away the terror that knots her insides but instead she touches the crown of his direwolf’s head, heart in her throat.
He whines lowly and the bed creaks under the weight of him when he crawls in beside her, crowding her against the thin wall of the tent. He smells like Winterfell, the damp earth and musty decay of the Godswood and for the first time in what feels like years Sansa feels something shifting, loosening inside her chest.