𝐄𝐍𝐕𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐘. the bitter chill of winter suited the stark, like none other. it was as if the climate of winterfell had always lived beneath her skin ; snow taking a permanent residency within her bones. it stirs a smile upon her perished petals, whilst amethysts fall to the ground for a moment. she had never been one for confrontation unless it was rightfully earned and whilst the lady of winterfell tread with caution ( as if she too feared the sensation of fire ), daenerys could understand the hesitation that hovered behind tully hues of blue. soon, sansa would come to realise that she was not the enemy. no ––– the enemy sat upon the iron throne.
❝ you are too kind, lady sansa. winterfell has been more than accomodating, the tales do not do it justice. ❞ blackened skirts carry her to the nearby table, crimson mantle dancing over her shoulders and flowing in the darkness, as though a ghostly figure is guiding her to peace at last. digits delicately glide towards the opposite chair, offering a chance to sit and talk. whilst the stark may be made of ice, there is a fire about her … a defiance and strength buried within her heart. daenerys knows such qualities are not given willingly ; they are earned, fought for and rewarded for great hardship. ❝ you grew up in a beautiful place, you deserve to have retaken your home. i fear your brother would not have been able to do so without you. ❞
still, an envy remains though kindness is the only thing that taints her targaryen features. luminous silver glints before the flames, with every ember that hisses against brickwork. a home was all she had ever wanted but had instead, spent her life a prisoner of war. daenerys stormborn had faced more years of running, than finding welcoming places to sleep and it had quietly crept up on her like a thief in the night ––– the desire to return to her homeland, stronger than ever.
❝ there is one thing you could provide me with if it is not too much to ask … forgiveness. your brother bent the knee when he needed me and whilst i still need him, there mayhaps be something i can gift you. though, in truth it is not mine to give. it is yours to take. ❞
it’s almost as if the clocks of time have stopped, young woman transported back to kings landing where she once so delicately crafted a facade. porcelain figurine, easy to break ( or so she’d let them all think ) & while sansa does not portray herself as weak to the queen, she is once more performing a charade. it almost makes her ill, the idea of having to play the part once more in this never ending game of politics. though it was her job as lady of winterfell, & if jon was not going to defend their home, then she would - even if it meant playing the role of doting hostess to daenerys.
❝ thank you, your grace. ❞ sansa begins, false smile easily glides onto her painted lips. ❝ the northerners are an ardent people, we hold much pride in our home, & would do anything to see it succeed. ❞ smile never falters as she expresses herself, carefully toeing the line of bluntness & not angering the queen. all she wanted was a liberated home: for her people, for her siblings, & most of all, for her father & robb’s legacy.
tully hues watch the queen, unsure of her next move. sansa always desired being one up on her enemies, knowing how they think & what’d they do next. daenerys is no exception, though she is rather hard to read. the kindness being displayed is convincing, though sansa is aware the dragon queen must be good at playing a part as well ( something women must master so young in this world ). sansa leaves her own expression unreadable, that is, until the direction of this conversation seems to go elsewhere, a genuine smile surfacing for the first time.
❝ ━━━ mine to take? ❞ she questions, playing coy. while she does believe she knows where the targaryen queen is going with this, she doesn’t wish to assume & make a fool of herself. instead, the lady of winterfell lets daenerys spell it out for her. ❝ whatever do you mean, your grace? ❞
