The Provenance || Jon Snow | Game of Thrones

8.03

Gabrielle sits across from Sansa in the woman's sunroom, the flickering and cracking of the flames playing in a rare melody with the scratching of the quill behind her—Stannis writing at the desk. It's been a single day since Gabrielle's return, and while months had kept them apart, Sansa has never felt more at home as she does in this moment. Her sister, her best friend, Gabrielle. Her guard, her lover, Stannis. And while Sansa has not said a single thing about it, Gabrielle knows—the intelligence in her eye—that Sansa and Stannis have found themselves together in her absence. And it gives Gabrielle a sense of hope that fate can be a joyous force in this world. If anyone deserves a beautiful future, it's Sansa.

"So, I have to ask," Sansa starts, leaning forward in her chair and closer to Gabrielle, blue eyes sparkling with intelligence and friendship, "How did you know that delaying the troops and yourself for two months would not provide enough time for the Night King to take Winterfell?

"Remember those dreams I had years ago—of Robb's death and Jon's attack?" Gabrielle asks, and Sansa easily nods—those dreams being two of the stranger occurrences she's witnessed with the Baelish. "Well, I've been having those, but every night. And they show me where the Night King is at the present moment."

Sansa leans back, her blue eyes analyzing Gabrielle not in distrust but in due cause of concern, knowing how Bran was affected by the Night King in a similar phenomenon. But all the same, Gabrielle is the child of this monster—and it is more enthralling than worrying as she imparts, "That's incredible. Where is he now?"

"Long Lake as of last night."

Sansa hesitates and then pauses in full force of her strong frame, eyes staring at Gabrielle in shock before bolting from her chair and over to her desk, Gabrielle and Stannis both looking after her in question. She paces as she imparts, "I sent Ned Umber back to Last Hearth to collect the rest of the people. Do you think—"

"They're already gone," Gabrielle is quick to reassure her—in such a way that there is nothing Sansa can do. She couldn't have known. "There's no point in lettering him. He's fallen already."

Sansa sighs and leans over her desk, head tipped low as Stannis passes a hand over her back, comforting her. If the situation was any more jovial, Gabrielle would have remarked that this is easily the softest she's ever seen Stannis Baratheon—and yet, it is not appropriate. So, instead, she tells the Stark, "You couldn't have known, Sansa."

"I know, but it's still terrible. Is it not?" Sansa asks and looks to Gabrielle, watching the Baelish nods reluctantly before sighing and straightening to her imperious posture. Sansa pays Stannis no mind as she makes her way back to the fireplace and into her warm chair, feeling the death of the young child on her shoulders but knowing it has no place there. They will have a memorial later.

A knock on the door gratefully distracts Sansa from her guilt, followed by a simple second before the younger Stark sister peaks her head into the room, not looking for permission to enter as usual. Arya's grey eyes span the room as she steps fully through the door, landing upon Sansa as she asks, "You called?"

And while Arya is very observant per her training with the Faceless Men, she only then notices Gabrielle in the chair right before her, the woman's hair drawing her attention as blue eyes meet grey, and Arya comes to gaze upon the woman Sansa has such loyalty to. And like most Starks, Arya can see what the others perceive in this woman: the loyalty and strength of the North as in the Stark bones. She sees why Sansa gravitates to Gabrielle...why they all trust her. And yet, Arya is not one to believe the truth of even family, and she has to ask, "How do I know we can trust you?"