rondeursx:
BUT SOMETIMES YOUR SIDE IS JUST NOT WHERE I AM NEEDED. She scoffs, face turns away a fraction at his words, nose wrinkling a little in disgust; she doesn’t agree with that statement, not in the slightest. His place should be at her side, his place should be a Winterfell. But it isn’t. It’s true, he’s not of Winterfell. She’s always felt like he’s more akin to a bird — free flying to wherever he pleases, across all four corners of the realm and, dare she say, beyond. “I always want y’here.” She murmurs softly, gaze fixed on the candles flickering dully at the marble figure of her sister’s feet. Tries her hardest not to let her vision swell up with tears, but the ache in her chest is too painful to ignore. She knows why he can’t stay. He’s a spy for her House, a most valuable alley and asset in this glaring threat of war. She knows soon both the Lannisters & the Starks will be vying for each others blood — but try as she might to focus on the fact Sinclair is playing earful magpie on her behalf, the night’s here in Winterfell without him are long, bitter, and lonesome.
“It’s not fair.” It’s a childish remark that slips from her lips, a whisper as she extends her own hand to take hold of his, link their fingers. Feet shift to close the gap between them, and she makes to rest blonde curls against one of the man’s shoulders, bury her face against the crook of his neck. This wasn’t their war — these strains of hatred have been thriving since they were children, since before they were born, but now, with hardly any living members to her House, it is her war. A war to honor the memories of all those lost. Her brothers, her sister, her mother. The kidnap of her cousin, the mutilation of her brother. Her father lost at sea. Suddenly House Stark seems so small in the grand scheme of it all, and if she doesn’t fight for the wolf’s survival, will their House remain in the history books? A hundred years from now, will they know the Stark name?
“ If they were still alive, if — if father were here, he’d…he’d know what t’do.” Suddenly, as the heir of her House, the world seems so scary and uncertain. She must make the decisions for her people in the absence of her brother’s physical strength. He is gravely wounded, unable to walk without aid. “If father was here, perhaps none of this would’ve happened. And we’d… we’d be married by now.”
He refrains from mentioning just how he thinks things would be turning out if it were as she wishes it was. It’s not perfect now - mainly because the world is crumbling of its own volition and people seem to be champing at the bit to plunge the whole of it into chaos - but Sinclair actually prefers that they face it as they are. Adelias is sensible, she’s a survivor - the north has more of a chance with her, in his opinion, than with any other in her family. The Starks like honour - and they haven’t caught up to the fact that it fell out of fashion everywhere else several generations ago. People aren’t just willing to hit below the belt now, they’re aiming for it. The benefit to having Adelias in charge is that she listens to Sinclair and his southern sensibilities, and that (not to blow his own horn or anything) is going to be the difference between the rise and the fall of the Starks.
And Sinclair really doesn’t want them to go extinct, for more than just Adelias’s sake. He’s fond of the hulking great idiots. He still has a boyish excitement for the stories of man and wolf fighting side by side. It would be a sad thing if that was all wiped out.
“Your father could not have prevented this war with a hundred years to prepare and a hundred thousand soldiers.” he assures, squeezing her hand “He could not have stopped men from being greedy or bloodthirsty, and until someone finds out how to do that, wars will come time and time again, no matter what anyone does. But you have done magnificently. Every single person under the Stark banner that still breathes is a testament to you.”
He offers a smile, wry and small as it is.
“And I think we would be even further from marriage were your father still here. When he comes back I can bet you a fine estate on the coast that he will make a passing comment about me looking like a brothel ornament, and try and kick me out.”
