Women are supposed to be soft-spoken proper and homemakers and Rhaella Lopez was everything but she was fierce, loud, blunt and deadly. Her family had never been able to accept her but the FBI loved her it was her home, the only place other than the...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Sansa Stark was once innocent and sweet, the daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully. She had been the Princess of Winterfell. But Sansa Martell was a different woman now—no longer innocent, nor as sweet. Living in Dorne had changed her, shaping her into someone more accepting, more honest, and decidedly more jaded.
The "winter rose of the Water Gardens," as people now called her, was delicate as a flower, but like any rose, she had many thorns. Thorns sharpened by the lessons of Elia Martell and the Sand Snakes.
Margaery Tyrell, now married to her brother Robb, was a problem that Sansa would have to deal with, eventually. But for now, her role was to be a good wife during dinner. Her gown, a combination of Dornish and King's Landing styles, had long sleeves, a plunging neckline, and a slit up the side that reflected the Dornish influence.
Her mother's disapproval was evident when they entered, but Sansa ignored it. As they took their seats, Sansa noticed the dress Arya wore and smirked, sensing that their mother was struggling to cope with the growing tension. Sansa glanced at her brother's wife but chose to ignore her presence completely, a deliberate snub that did not go unnoticed by the men at the table.
Jon Snow, ever observant, caught the exchange, glancing at Robb before his eyes settled on Arya, who calmly drank her wine, her expression unreadable. Robb frowned, sensing the tension in the air, but Daenerys, ever poised, glanced at Jon, a faint smile crossing her lips. It was clear that she still needed to speak with the head of House Stark.
"Lady Stark, it is a pleasure to officially meet you," Daenerys said, her voice sweet but laced with something more sinister. "Ayra and Sansa have spoken highly of you." The words came with a false smile, one that neither Sansa nor Arya acknowledged.
Catelyn Stark, her hands trembling slightly as she set her wineglass down, met Daenerys's gaze, blue eyes locking with amethyst. "I am honoured, Your Majesty," she replied, though her voice betrayed none of the calm composure she sought to project.
Daenerys's next words cut through the tension like a blade. "I was saddened to hear that my nephew could not give similar stories. Tell me, Lady Stark, do you make it a habit of taking your anger out on children?"
The kindness in her tone was sickening, and Catelyn flinched, her face falling into one of shame. She hesitated for a moment before responding, her voice tight with restrained emotion. "Family, Duty, Honor. These are the words of my house. Not only did my husband place his duty above his family on multiple occasions, but I found out he had also thrown away his honor." The words, filled with pain and bitterness, hung in the air.
Daenerys watched Lord Stark with an unreadable expression before speaking again, her voice smooth and cold. "And my nephew was a reminder of that pain and hurt, Lord Stark. I would hope your wife's words remind you of the vows you made to her."
For a long moment, Catelyn and Eddard Stark seemed to hold their breath, each processing the weight of the words between them. Finally, they both exhaled, as if releasing a burden they had carried for far too long. They resumed their meal in silence, the air heavy with unspoken understanding.
Ayra and Sansa exchanged a look, the corners of their mouths curving upwards into real smiles, as if a silent victory had been won. Robb, still stiff, noticed the silent exchange between his sisters and his wife's growing discomfort. Slowly, he rose from the table.
"My apologies, Your Majesty, but I'm feeling a bit unwell," Robb said, his voice strained. Daenerys gave him a polite smile, though it didn't reach her eyes.
"I hope you feel better, Lord Robb."
Robb left quickly, his eyes scanning the room for Margaery as he made his exit. He studied her gown—the Hightower green, so strikingly out of place—and his face betrayed a flicker of frustration before he turned away.
The Queen watched him leave, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. The Tyrell girl, on the other hand, sank lower into herself, acutely aware of the attention her dress had drawn. As if on cue, one of the Dothraki girls, carrying a tray of wine, "accidentally" spilled the drink on Margaery, eliciting a gasp from her.
"Oh, Lady Stark, our apologies," the Dothraki girl said, her tone dripping with false concern. "Please, go clean up in your chambers."
Margaery, clearly flustered, bowed stiffly and hurried out of the room. The moment she was gone, Ayra burst into laughter, while Sansa, ever composed, sipped her wine, a smug smile playing at her lips.
"Serves her right," Sansa muttered, her voice laced with venom. "Dressing like Alicent Hightower—has she gone mad?"
Catelyn's eyes narrowed in approval as she nodded in agreement. Margaery Tyrell, though now a Stark by marriage, was still very much an outsider. If it came down to it, Sansa knew they would abandon her without a second thought. And as it happened, Olenna Tyrell had her own backup plans, her grandson being one of them.
Missandei, who had been watching the scene unfold, found the entire situation amusing, though she knew better than to get involved. Daenerys, for her part, simply sat back and smiled, enjoying the sounds of laughter and bonding that filled the room. For once, it felt like everything was in its right place. She was surrounded by family, by those she trusted, and at long last, she felt at home.
