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continued | @rhaegcl
She smiled back. “I’ve good reason for it,” she replied, placing her hand on Viserys’s embroidered silver doublet. She knew he’d be excited when she told him. Daenerys had wanted her to wait, to announce it to everyone over dinner later, but Sansa wouldn’t hear of it. She had to tell her husband first, to think otherwise was absurd.
gaze lifts from roaring flame -- the juice of hunted rabbit drenching calloused fingers -- tugging and ripping at tender meat, shaking as the image returns to her mind. her brother -- her beloved brother... dead. lips purse -- azure eyes resting upon the child before her, free from the boyish king’s poisoned grip -- though forever haunted by her father’s mistake... how horrific it must be -- to be so young and scarred with with the image of his pleas, to forever hear the cheers of the unkowing (the blindly faithful) eager to watch his death...
lyanna swallows down a sob -- MOURNING could come later. for now, she had to care for her sweet brother’s child. the only child she had managed to save from joffery’s grasp. ❝ ...tell me where you wish to go, sweet girl. we can return home -- though, i doubt it safe from the lannister’s sights...tell me, arya -- where do you wish me to take you? ❞ where can i keep her safe? the north, though surely a sweet COMFORT in these times, lyanna deemed unsafe -- war was coming. she could taste it...and arya, so young so innocent -- needed to stay far away... it’s what ned would want... it’s the least lyanna could do.
@rhaegcl ♡ ‘d
continued | @rhaegcl
Well, of course. When he has taken the throne back, who else would he marry? Dany doesn’t say that, though. She smiles meekly at him. “Yes, brother, I promise I’ll be a queen you can be proud of.”
continued | @rhaegcl
Giving Sansa’s shoulder a h a r d squeeze, nothing gentle, Viserys turned to leave. He wasn’t pleased with his lady wife. She should have left it at that. Perhaps she would have,had she been thinking. But no, no instead she leaped out of her chair and tugged at his wrist. ❝ You can’t just murder an entire island of people because you don’t like them, ❞ she’d scolded. The king’s face hardened quickly and he turned - hand raised - and S L A P P E D her across the cheek. ❝ How dare you grab at me that way? Stupid bloody woman. Get out! Get out of here! ❞ he yelled.
Sansa stood still, feeling the sting of the blow radiating through her cheek in icy silence. Slowly, she turned her head back to her husband, blue eyes meeting his violet ones. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you in such a state, your grace,” she replied, sounding entirely untroubled. “You might hurt yourself or something valuable during your temper tantrum.”
The implication was clear; that Viserys could not be trusted by himself, like an angry toddler. In fact, the resolute calm that she was turning on him now was exactly the same she used when disciplining the twins. Viserys was angry fire - quick to start with the right tinder, a passionate explosion, burning out eventually. Sansa, however, was a glacier - cold, steady, unending. Her anger hid silently beneath the surface, advancing day by day thanks to her husband’s mindless pushing.
continued | @rhaegcl
“It couldn’t possibly be worse than being Joffrey’s wife!” She hardly found it a laughing matter; better that Joffrey should give her up thinking it was his own idea, rather than be forced to continue to simper over him every day.
continued | @rhaegcl
A wild cat would have been unexpected in the Godswood on its own, even without it promptly hitting the ground and turning into a girl. Sansa’s blue eyes were staring despite herself. Little now had the impact to strike her dumb, but this was almost enough. “Yes, of course,” she said immediately, the ingrained urge to be agreeable kicking in. “I see no reason to tell anyone. Does Bran know?” It was the first question that came to mind. She wasn’t sure what else to say to this situation.
"I cannot believe you said something so utterly stupid!" the Dragon king shouted, pacing about the room. "Siding with the oaf of High Garden over your own husband? Your king?!"
yell at my muse | accepting
Sansa stood stock still in the center of the room, completely unruffled by her husband’s childish raging. She held her head up proudly; he might yell, but she was still the Queen, and a Princess of the North before that.
“Lord Willas had some very relevant points to make,” she replied stoically. “It is the duty of a king to listen to all of his councilors, whether he agrees with them or not. You wouldn’t even let him finish a sentence.”
continued | @rhaegcl
Sansa wanted to cry. She had heard horrid things about the younger Targaryen prince from the maids, things she would never dare repeat to her Lady Mother, but that gave her pause nonetheless. Tears pricked the corners of her Tully blue eyes, and she gave her mother the most plaintive look she could manage. “But Mother, he isn’t a true prince, he isn’t strong, or a warrior, and they say he has an awful temper!”
