Gods, reading through my POV chapters in the first book again is like looking at a mosaic of my regrets. I try to be kind to myself, as I was only a sheltered little girl, but it’s…hard. It brings me much pain to think of how I treated Father and Arya in King’s Landing. I misdirected my anger and grief at Lady’s death toward my sister, and it was wrong; in the same vein, I was convinced I was in love with Joffrey, and told Cersei of my father’s plans to send us back home to Winterfell in frantic efforts to avoid being taken away from him. What a cruel irony. I spent the next two years praying to see Winterfell and my sister again. And Father…I think of him almost every day. In my heart, I know it’s no one’s fault save for that wretched woman and her tyrannical inbred son, but my heart still aches for a way to do it all differently. To know what I know now.
To my father, and my lady mother, and my siblings (you too, Jon, of course), if any of you are out there…I miss you all terribly. I would give almost anything to speak with you all again. I took it all for granted.