The Provenance || Jon Snow | Game of Thrones

3.05

Sansa finds herself in a peaceful state of meditation despite the rather burdensome heat pounding on her neck and the pains of kneeling for such a long time. Her hands, too, tire in their firm posture, knitted together and held in front of her chest. And though she does not pray--she no longer believes--Sansa finds herself again at peace beside the stump of the weirwood tree, wondering again if this was what her father felt sitting beneath the one in Winterfell. And despite her inability to ever truly know, she thinks it is.

Suddenly, the girl's state of remembering is broken by the subtle brushing of her skirts by another, her right blue eye peeking over to see Gabrielle staring at the tree trunk before then, kneeled at her side. Sansa smiles deeply at her presence but does not look up, knowing this to be an opportunity for Gabrielle to confide in her, voices unable to be heard over the water below.

"I come with a warning," Gabrielle whispers and then pauses, forcing Sansa to look over at her, head still tilted downward. But apparently this is what the Mock Queen wanted, meeting Sansa's eyes quickly before adding, "They're planning matches for you, to marry."

Incapable of hiding the sure shock to her system, Sansa's head whips up and her hands drop to her side, pretty red eyebrows creased in question, "Who's planning?"

"Everyone from the Hand to the Spider," Gabrielle does not pinpoint the fiend, though Sansa is not particularly surprised at this development, knowing that is was coming all along. But--ever a woman who understands--Gabrielle does not just suppose Sansa to be ready for such a step, instead asking, "Do you want to be married, Sansa?"

Sansa does not know what to say, for she certainly is not ready to lay with a man or promise herself to a husband at this point in her life. But like a properly raised woman, Sansa knows this is her duty and will be expected of her soon. And besides, it provides valuable opportunities to better her life. So she just shrugs and looks down, "I guess it depends. I want to go home, but maybe I'd be safe elsewhere. I just want to leave."

Gabrielle's green eyes gaze at Sansa's profile for another moment, before they're rather rudely interrupted by a polite cough behind them. Turning to look at the intruder, Gabrielle and Sansa gaze upon the queen-to-be, Margaery, who's looking particularly lovely today. Standing to their feet, the two courtesy in sync, Margaery smiling as she remarks, "I didn't mean to disturb you. Thick as thieves, you two."

Sansa smiles at the rather cunning girl, "You haven't."

Turning to the Kingsguard behind her, Margaery requests their absence, "We'd like some privacy, please. If you wouldn't mind waiting back inside the Keep." But as only typical of these daft knights, they make no move to answer her order. So Margaery's tone harshens, "Or if you'd be kind enough to give me your names, I'll ask the King to speak with you himself."

That seems to knock some sense into the lot, the clang of arm resounding loudly and then softly as they disappear into the shrubbery nearby, leaving the three women to themselves and the spies. Margaery gestures for them to walk at her side as she meanders down the stairs nearby, turning to look at Sansa beside her as she asks, "What did you pray for?"

"I can't tell you," Sansa responds solemnly.

But it proves to baffle the southern woman, "Why not? I'll tell you what I prayed for in the sept this morning. Let's see, for my family's health and happiness, for an end to the war, for a short winter. Boring and traditional, I'm afraid. And you?"

"I'm sorry," Sansa stutters, "I just can't."

Gabrielle leans forward then to properly address Margaery, "She fears her prayers are not appropriate, your Grace."