Familiar Stranger

Alayne/Sansa

Alayne wasn't sure who the surprise visitor would be, but Father had made it clear that she was meant to dress to impress and wait for her cue so that he could present her.

As she heard her name announced, she smoothed her dress and stepped out from behind the doors; pasting a smile on her face, she swept into the room.

Father had a pleased smile on his lips and a Littlefinger look in his eyes that caused her confident bearing to falter for a breath of a second, before Alayne braced herself and turned her focus to their guest.

She nearly took an involuntarily step back as a heavy weight slammed into her chest and the air refused to flow to her lungs.

The bitter taste of regret filled her mouth and guilt lingered on her tongue. Would he haunt her now? Was this to be her new torment? And how had Littlefinger managed this? To confront her with her deepest sorrow?

On the Sept of Baelor she had watched Father's head roll, she remembered. She had sobbed and fallen to her knees, wanting to wake up. But the nightmare had persisted, getting realer by the second.

But yet here he stood. Alive and well. Looking as real as could be. Safe.

But his grey eyes were narrowed. Those familiar grey eyes that had always looked upon her with love.

Sansa cringed, not sure what she would find in those eyes. Hurt? Disappointment?

Her heart tore at the thought. Father, forgive me. It was a silent plea.

Sansa slowly lifted her gaze, determined to face what she had buried deep inside for so long. Before she had stared without really seeing, lost in the memories; but now she really studied him, memorizing his beloved face once more . . .

It wasn't Father, Sansa realized. It couldn't be. There was something off.

But her heart knew this man.

It had to be . . .

Jon.

She stifled a gasp.

The tears caught her by surprise. She hadn't cried in so long. And she couldn't start now with Littlefinger standing beside her.

Sansa hurriedly wiped her eyes and felt herself sink into a curtsy. "Lord Commander."

When she straightened, those grey eyes were latched onto her, burning a hole through her with their intensity. And then they widened and Sansa saw the recognition that filled them.

Her shoulders relaxed as she returned his gaze, her eyes locked on his as if he were a lifeline.

The warmth in his stare washed over her, and Sansa saw home reflected in those beloved grey irises that resembled so well, the proud walls of Winterfell, the only home of House Stark.