Sansa knew her limits. She knew them well. She knew what types of situations she could not escape unharmed and unaided – and there were many of them.
But despite all of this, she had started to feel herself relax. She was home in the halls and rooms she had wandered as a child. She had protectors: Brienne and Jon – and, yes, Arya as well. She had begun to feel safe.
So much so that she felt no hesitation as she rode out through the gates on the back of Dawn that morning. The sky was gray and she was alone and the cool air made her feel like her younger self. She spurred the horse onward, southwards down the well-trodden Kingsroad. Then, on a whim, she veered off, directing Dawn into the trees. She recalled, from vague childhood memories, a clearing with a small waterfall where they had sometimes had picnics – she, Arya, their mother, and the Septa and the other ladies. As though reading her thoughts. Dawn made a slight turn and when they came through the trees, there it was. The waterfall was really just a river half-heartedly trickling down a rocky hill, but Sansa smiled anyway.
She hopped down, tying Dawn to a low-hanging branch, and made her way to the water. She sank to her knees, the hem of her dress folding around her. She pressed her hands to the cool rocky ground and closed her eyes. The forest sounded the same as it did then – as it likely had sounded for centuries. All that was missing was her mother's low voice, speaking quietly with the Septa, or another lady, and Arya off causing mischief or bickering with her. Her own voice was missing too – haughty and childlike. Gods, she had been insufferable.
This clearing had played a major role in her romantic imaginings as a child. She dreamt about meeting a suitor here in secret, about dancing under the moonlight and maybe sharing a kiss to the sound of the running water – nothing more of course. She tried to daydream once again, tried to picture some tall handsome knight or prince to sweep her off her feet like in the songs, but found the innocence of the activity slightly out of her reach.
Then a twig snapped, suddenly more real and louder than anything from the past. Sansa's eyes flew open to see a man entering the clearing from the other side.
He was not tall, but quite broad, which Sansa had learnt from watching Jon meant more. She rose quickly, resisting the urge to look back to where she knew Dawn still stood. Sher heart climbed up her chest into her throat.
"Milady," the man said, but his gaze held none of the respect implied by that greeting.
"Good morning," Sansa said. She brushed her hands clean on her skirts, gathering the fabric in her fists in the same motion. Before the man made another step into the clearing, she spun around and began to run.
What she had not counted on was the second man. He held Dawn's bridle and greeted her with the same superficial "Milady."
If it had been her childhood horse – Beauty – she could have called and, no matter who held her or what stood between, she would have come to her. But, as lovely as she was, Dawn was not Beauty.
But Sansa kept running as fast as the uneven ground let her until the man let go of the bridle in preparation for grabbing her. Then she turned abruptly, flinging herself at Dawn's saddle with a cry she hoped the horse would obey. Dawn began to move as Sansa scrabbled at the saddle, trying to pull herself further into it. She had just gotten a foot into the stirrup when she felt a hand close around her other ankle.
She was wrenched back so quickly that her foot caught in the stirrup for a moment, twisting her knee painfully to the side. When it came loose, she did not have time to put her arms up before she hit the ground face-first. She cried out as the pain of the impact arced through her skull. But despite her throbbing head, the scrapes of the rocks on her skin and her aching knee, the thing that nearly froze her in fear was the feeling of the hem of her dress sliding down the leg still held up by the man.
