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

Sansa watched the King mull over her words, no doubt unsure of what to make of her offer or of her resolve to see her unexpected plan to the end. She did not begrudge him his uncertainty, would not be surprised if he brushed her off like the inexperienced, sheltered girl that she obviously was. He knew nothing of her save that she was Eddard Starks pampered daughter and, apparently, that the Lannisters had been unkind to her. That was hardly extraordinary, and certainly did not make her a strategist of any kind. As the silence wore on and he did nothing but stare at her with that permanent scowl of his, Sansas courage deflated to uncertainty. She felt foolish and childish under his gaze now, shrinking ever smaller as she scrambled for ways to apologize before he voiced his displeasure or, worse, mocked her silly attempt at gaining some semblance of control over her destiny through what was left of Stannis army. She knew better, didnt she? Did not Joffrey and Cersei and Littlefinger teach her her place as an ornament? Spoils of war did not think. They did as they were told, stood where they were placed, loved who they were told to love. Was that was he waiting for? A retraction? A return of the mask of harmlessness that she wore like armor in the Red Keep? She almost let the words, practiced and bitter, spill from her lips I am loyal to King Stannis, my one true love. But he finally spoke with the solemn surety she had already begun to associate with the man before her. Sansa was stunned and all her experience at masking her features was rendered useless if only for a fraction of a moment. Ser Davos she repeated, bewildered wonder and still that hint of worry in her soft voice. She would have questioned the wisdom of allowing her, a child and a woman, to advise the man the king had named his Hand, but that seemed a ridiculous point now since she had just advised the king himself. And had been heard by him, it seemed. She caught herself finally and, just like that, reigned composure about her like a cloak. She straightened ever so subtly as she considered his question, seeing it for the probing inquiry that it was. Sansa Starks aversion to those below her station must have reached the kings ear. Or was it her obvious distaste for ugly injury that his majesty was curious about? Did he expect her to shrink from the suggestion? Sansa who left Winterfell with her father, her sister, and her direwolf would have. To sit at a table with the Onion Knight and dull, old Stannis Baratheon would have been a nightmare to the child who lied to King Robert to get in the good graces of his queen. But the woman before him nowshe would sit with a thousand common men and just as many scarred knights if that meant she could stay in the North for just a while longer. If it pleases you, Lord Stannis, she answered with a small nod and turned so that she was by his side again, her dainty hand laid once again in the crook of his arm. She was ready to continue the pretense of walking aimlessly with her betrothed. Is it true? she asked then, letting the subject of their destination rest if he would allow it. My lord husband murdered his father? She did not bother to conceal her pleasure at the old lions fall, nor did she miss the small bloom of pride, somewhere within her, at Tyrion Lannisters daring. For all of his faults, the Imp had tried to protect her. She could not forgive that Lannister blood flowed through his veins, but he killed the man responsible for the death of Robb and her mother. That counted for something.