The Many Faces of Truth

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Hello, my lovelies! I'm back again with a new one—except this one is a little bit more special than the others. This is a request from one of my wonderful readers, who had an idea and wanted to see it written. So I did my best! 

So this one is for you MinaMoon! I hope I have done your idea justice, Mon Cher! But if I haven't, please let me know and I will happily try again if you wish! <3

So this one is for you MinaMoon! I hope I have done your idea justice, Mon Cher! But if I haven't, please let me know and I will happily try again if you wish! <3

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He found her, where he knew he would. Where he always found her since they'd been back in Winterfell. The Godswood, in a small grove the entrance of which was between two weirwood trees, whose branches reached out to one another and entwined creating a beautiful natural archway. The grove was surrounded on all sides by more Weirwood trees, tall, old and reaching high above their heads. The canopy of their branches and leaves created a ceiling of sorts, that allowed sunlight to filter down through in multiple streams, to scatter across the surface of the freshwater pond that lay in the centre. That's where he found her now. Where he always found her, sitting with her legs tucked neatly beneath her.

Sometimes she was dressed for court, other days she was dressed for sparring. Today was a courtly day, so she was draped in a lovely deep emerald and silver gown, her hair curled and twined atop her head, in a pretty style, the rest of it left to fall in long waves down her back. Like this she was almost a picture of Sansa, if the older Stark sister's colorations were reversed. But he knew she was more like her Aunt Lyanna, a woman who's portraits could be found throughout the keep alongside other relatives dead and gone. They'd been back in Winterfell for four years now, after defeating the White Walkers and toppling the Lannister empire. Both of them had fought side by side and she'd been the one to save him from falling to a fiery death from the steps of the Red Keep, when he'd had to battle the undead form of his older brother.

He'd almost gone over with The Mountain, except Arya had appeared at the last second and with a tight grip on the back of his armour, she had delivered a heavy kick to his brothers chest, unbalancing the bastard even more, her blade quickly finding purchase through Gregor's eye, causing him to lose his grip on the front of Sandor's armour. And that was all it took for his older brother to fall hundreds of feet into the fiery pit below. She had saved him, pulling him back from the edge. Both of them stumbling backwards to land heavily on their asses, slamming their backs against the crumbling walls. He'd almost yelled at her for risking herself to save his wretched hide, but her look of relief as her pretty grey eyes grew watery was enough to stay his tongue. She'd been terrified of losing him and recognised how close a call it had been. If she'd been even a split second later, he would have been a goner. So rather than yell at her for risking herself, he had instead pulled her close and hugged her tight, thanking her for saving his life.

After that they had fought their way through enemies left and right, until they finally escaped the Keep. Turning their efforts to trying to help as many civilians as they could, get to safety and escape the walls of Kings Landing, as the Mad Queen continued to lay siege to the city with her Dragon's fire. It had been hell on earth and the things their eyes had seen during would stay with them for the rest of their lives. The horrors of those two battles forever visiting their dreams. But it had brought them that much closer, and now he viewed the youngest Stark girl like a daughter he'd never had. And as much as she didn't want to admit it, he knew that she felt as though her place was no longer here. No longer at Winterfell. She did what she was supposed to for Sansa, but he knew she wasn't happy here.

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