Thread: let no man steal your thyme || for xlilxmissx

Sansa did not miss the fleeting surprise that passed, almost undetectable, across the Kings features. If she dared look at him, she knew that her brother sported the same confused look. Did they expect objections from her? Denials? Pleas that she be allowed to cower in some forlorn corner while Westeros descended into madness? She was sure she would find herself thrown there any way when this all ends, discarded when she was no longer of use, perhaps when the North was firmly in someone's grasp, whether in this King's or another's. She had resigned herself to the fate long ago, so what of it if she decided to play at war while walking her fated path? Sansa suffered the rest of the Kings announcements, only barely caught off-guard by his nonchalant revelation that they would be marching to her childhood home sooner than either Jon nor she could have anticipated. Still, though the girl had been the one to offer her hand, she could not still the faintest trembling of her fingers when he took them in his calloused palm. At least he was kind enough to pretend he did not notice and, with the gruff brusqueness that matched everything about him, Stannis Baratheon was gone. It took all of Sansas strength not to collapse where she stood when, finally, she was left alone with Jon. Sansa he began but did not seem to know what to say. He would give her shelter here if she asked, she knew. Her contempt and indifference towards her half-brother rivaled only that of her own mothers, this much had always been clear, but Jon would be loyal to her line to the end. While the Lord Commander might have defied the kings offer for legitimization, Jon Snow would succumb to dishonor and defy thousands of years worth of the Watchs neutrality if he thought for one second the last of the Starks needed him to rescue her from a betrothal to yet another Baratheon. Wine, Lord Commander, she supplied in place of all the words she could have said to Robb, to Arya, even to her little brothers, but never, never to this man before her whose blood she might share but whose name will forever mark him a bastard. Please. -- They drank in almost silence for most of the night, until she could adequately fool herself into believing they were still the young children who huddled by the fire so long ago. Jon, for his part, did not send her away or leave her alone, as if he too was more than happy to sit in silence with the young woman who reminded him of days long gone. Ghost stumbled in at some point and Sansa would have wept then if she had not been so lost in the fantasy of being home. It was freezing cold, the soft heat of a direwolf curled against her leg, and in the haze of her sleepy drunkenness, her wearied brother looked almost like the father who laid his life down for his unshakeable honor. -- Two days passed in a blur. She spent most of it in seclusion, the first because of liquor-induced illness and the second lost in all the preparations for the journey ahead. She had little in terms of possession, but two servants had been sent her way anyway, along with guards who fetched, sent messages, and provided whatever other service the future queen required. A septa, too, came on the arm of a maester, though she had no idea where Stannis managed to find either. She dutifully bore their examinations with as much dignity as she could muster, though if her eyes looked a little redder hours after, well, she could easily blame that on the biting dry air or overwhelming exhaustion. Farewell to the gruff, decrepit court at Castle Black was brief. To her surprise, Jon embraced her and, despite her determination to keep her expression blank during their goodbye, she shed her own tears in the privacy of her carriage as it sped her from the only family she had left.