The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 28

Sansa Stark

Hawley, the eldest daughter of the Fenwicks, and I sit outside in the back of their cottage house as I help her stitch intricate patterns onto her wedding dress. The dress, simple yet elegant, is a testament to her skill with a needle, and I find comfort in the rhythmic motion of my hands as we work. We've been staying with the Fenwicks for two days now, though the original plan was to leave after just one. But with reports of raids in the nearby villages—raids carried out by Umber soldiers—Harlon and Morticia Fenwick insisted we stay longer, urging us to remain hidden in their home for at least a week. Truthfully, their insistence wasn't just about our safety; they were eager for us to witness Hawley's wedding to Alastor, which is fast approaching, only days away.

As I focus on the stitching, I glance up from time to time, watching Rickon playing with the youngest Fenwick girl, Helena. The two of them are lost in their own little world, chasing paper windmills Helena had crafted herself. The Fenwicks are a family rich in creativity, each member possessing some talent or another. Mr. and Mrs. Fenwick, with their impressive culinary skills, seem to make every meal a feast. Hawley, with her talent for garment making, clearly has an eye for detail. And Aurelia, I've learned, sometimes travels the roads during the summer to act in plays across Westeros. They're a close-knit family, resilient and resourceful, true people of Coveyland.

Hawley's voice breaks through my thoughts. "I can't thank you enough, Sansa, for helping me with my dress. I was terrified I wouldn't get it finished in time for the wedding."

I smile at her, shaking my head. "No thanks needed, truly. It's the least I could do after all your family has done for us." I thread the needle through the fabric again, taking a moment before I ask, "So, how have the wedding preparations been?"

Hawley shrugs modestly, a small smile on her face. "It's nothing grand, of course. We're just common folk, after all. But we've sent letters to a few friends, and they'll be coming to attend."

"No family?" I ask gently, noticing the slight shift in her expression.

She shakes her head, her smile fading. "Only Alastors, All my extended family died with Coveyland," she says softly, making my heart sink.

"I'm so sorry for bringing it up," I say quickly, feeling the weight of my words.

Hawley glances up at me, her eyes steady but filled with sadness. "You don't have to be. I didn't really know them. I was just a little girl when the massacre happened."

I bite my lip, hesitating before asking, "How many of your family were lost?"

Her voice is calm but heavy as she answers, "Too many. My uncles, aunts, cousins... gone. My parents' friends, their families—all of them dead."

"That's tragic," I murmur, my heart aching for her. "My friend Aida... she never got to know her parents or her people because of the massacre. I wish she could have met you all. Maybe she would've felt more connected, like she had a piece of home with her."

Hawley looks at me with a sadness that mirrors my own. "I'm sorry for what happened to her—and to your family. No one deserves that."

I feel a lump forming in my throat as my emotions start to surface, and I shake my head to ward them off. "It's alright," I say softly. "I just need to make sure I get to Jon in one piece."

She nods in understanding, and we fall back into the comfortable silence of our stitching. From a distance, I hear soft laughter, and I look up to see Aurelia and Carlisle walking around the side of the house. Carlisle is carrying a large wooden basket for Aurelia, and together they head toward the clothesline, where they begin hanging up just washed clothes. My gaze lingers on them for a moment longer than I intend, and I quickly lower my head, not wanting to be caught staring by Carlisle.