Wounds (Sansa & Sandor)

Chapter V

15 days later

Sansa rests in the tents, which the Northerners have raised to the outskirts of King's Landing. The immaculate have opened the doors that closed when Jon killed his Queen.

Jon is going to be released and Tyrion is already the new king's hand.

Sansa watched, carefully, what was left of the city, from the door of the tent they had raised for her, during the siege of King's landing.

It had been more than 15 days since Daenerys's attack, and still, one could smell the smoke and the stench of burnt meat. She closed her eyes, remembering to feel like the ashes that the wind carried, fell on her clothes. The dead burned by the mother of dragons, were gradually falling apart, until there was nothing left of them.

Since the raven had arrived in Winterfell, Sansa had not slept, until he put the whole North on a war footing, to go down south to save his brother, and again, nobody missed the cam.

The terror she felt for Jon to die had disappeared, but even so, she didn't quite assimilate that she would never see him again. she could not help thinking that fate had not been fair to him ... he had sacrificed everything for Westeros, and now he had to hide ... having killed the woman he loved. she shook her head from side to side, feeling like her, the immense sorrow her brother could feel.

He was not going to be the King, not even King in the North, when by lineage he was the authentic King of all the inhabitants of Westeros ... and that hurt her, it hurt a lot ... because she was sure there would be Been a great king.

She sighed and went outside, without a coat, wearing only a leather bodice and a long skirt of thick wool. She needed to feel the cold inside her, she needed to feel the snow fall.

Tyrion was right. Bran would be a magnificent king, he was the true memory of Westeros, but he who was really going to rule was the only one who could do it in the absence of Jon, Tyrion, the last Lannister ...

Sansa knew he would do well ... and he would respect the North ... and of course, she would respect him and that mutual respect, it was what made them agree when making decisions.

she smiled thinking about what had reached her ears. Some nobles saw with good eyes a possible union between them, and recognized that it did not seem entirely bad; put to have to look for a suitor, possibly the best option, ... but, there were two issues that made it impossible: the most important, she did not want to lose the independence of the North ... and the most difficult to understand, she continued remembering the kiss he had shared with Sandor in the crypt of Winterfell.

The discipline she had imposed on herself had not allowed her to think about Sandor.

Everything told her that he was dead ... but he didn't want to know. She hadn't asked anyone about him ... nor about the Mountain. She knew that she had other obligations much more important than her feelings, and they had already dedicated themselves ... and she also knew that if someone corroborated the fatal news, something inside her would break, and she could not fulfill, in the best conditions , with the immediate obligations of the future Queen in the North.

She was mired in these thoughts, when she heard a few steps approaching from her right, and turned to see Arya heading towards her. She was walking with a determined step, taking a needle from the belt, leaving her small footprints in the snow that had just fallen.

When Arya arrived, she joined her, looking towards the dark horizon above what was left of the city wall and the bustling camp of the people of the North who began to prepare to return to their land.