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XVII SANSA "Lady in the Capital" ⚜️
Sansa tossed and turned about her corner of the wheelhouse, huffing as the bounce of the wheels against the rough pathway jolted her from the seat. There were bags under her eyes. Heavy black things that had the Septa pinching her cheeks in an attempt to bring back some colour. Sansa didn't care. After that fateful evening at Lord Darry's keep, Sansa had slept little. They rode hard for King's Landing, with the white-cloaked kingsguard accompanying King Robert's party closely, but even while leaving her horse to ride with Jeyne in the wheelhouse, Sansa had managed no rest.
Faces crowded her throughout the day. Septa Mordane was forever by her side, although softer than she usually was with her pinched face holding back her normal orders. Often, Jory would be riding slowly beside the wheelhouse, his dark hair pulled back from his face with a binding of thin rope. Sansa found him looking through the makeshift window of pulled-back drapes when the heat grew too much for northern blood. There was always a smile on his face when pointed to her. But it was tainted by a sense of sadness, and something Sansa could recognise from her father's expressions: sympathy. She could do nothing but look away when she noticed those looks. No pity or solace would bring Lady back.
Her father had sent Lady's bones to Winterfell to be buried with honour. Her direwolf would lay to rest in the lichyard, the graveyard where all of her family's loyal servants had long rested. It is pretty there, Sansa thought, with the green-growing headstones and inches of skylight, Lady shall like it.
When Lady died, Sansa felt a part of herself break. There was a hollowness settling inside of her- inside her heart- but it felt false. False enough that Sansa wondered how good of Stark she could be if she could feel so detached from the loss of her wolf. Surely she should feel it more- a dark, gaping hole where Lady use to lay? But all she felt was tired.
They could smell King's Landing before they could see it. Sansa had to pinch her nose, eyes widened as Jeyne pretended to gag. It reminded her of a rotting deer the siblings had found in the woods when they were younger and would still play. Sansa had screamed bloody murder at the sight, her face paled and hands clenched over her eyes. It was the first dead thing she'd seen, its stomach ripped out and fur matted with blood. Jon had said it must have been wolves, then, upon seeing her face, had tried to calm her but only Robb could move her along without her sniffing.
There was little time to see anything as they were rushed from the wheelhouse and into the Red Keep towards their chambers. Their father was nowhere to be seen as Vayon showed them to their bedchambers. Arya walked the whole way with her arms crossed, Jory on her heel, sent as a guard by their father no doubt.
After the events of the Trident, the Stark household had ridden ahead, arriving at the capital first. She had not spoken to Arya in those days. Each time she looked at her sister, she grew annoyed, anger flushing her cheeks red. It was Arya's fault after all. If she had not been playing with fake swords instead of getting ready to meet with the Queen, then Joffrey would not have provoked her. It was her fault, her direwolf. Lady...
