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“Mother?” the Princess of Westeros asks as her mother rises from her bed.
“Yes sweet girl?” Sansa Targaryen replies, sitting beside her only daughter once more.
“Will you sing me a song?”
Sansa smiles, reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind her daughter’s ear. She loves her child, more than anything in the entire world, but sometimes Sansa cannot bear to look at her. Her daughter is the physical embodiment of everything that’s been taken from her. Her dark brown locks and Stark eyes remind Sansa so much of Arya.
Sansa sighs as she leans forward to gently stroke her daughter’s face. She begins to hum the beginning cords of The Song of the Seven. If her husband were not dead, she knows he’d be here beside her, playing his lap harp in time with her melody.
“The Father 's face is stern and strong,
he sits and judges right from wrong.
He weighs our lives, the short and long,
and loves the little children.”
Lord Eddard Stark sits at the head of the high table, observing the feast. His eyes are hard but inquisitive. He’s watching everything and everyone, from his children that run about the room to the drunken lords that pull women onto the dance floor.
He smiles only when little Rickon calls to him, running towards him with a large smile on his face. The man rises, stepping around the high table to sweep the boy up and into his arms.
“Father?” Rickon asks, looking at his father with his beautiful blue eyes that so match his mother’s.
“Yes son?”
“Robb says he will be Lord one day, what will I be?”
“A knight like your brother Bran, or mayhaps you’ll take the black like your Uncle Benjen, but whatever you will do, remember that you are always a Stark of Winterfell.”
“The Mother gives the gift of life,
and watches over every wife.
Her gentle smile ends all strife,
and she loves her little children.”
Lady Catelyn Stark smiles down at the distraught noblewoman, rubbing soothing circles across her back. The girl is a woman grown in the eyes of man, three and ten, but she seems a child suddenly as the tears pour from her eyes. The woman is to be the wife of one of the many northern lords. At the time Sansa hadn’t known why she cried when she was about the be married, but she had. Catelyn smiles at her as if her worries are nothing at all, and shushes her gently, assuring her that the wedding night will not be so horrible.
“Why does she cry mother?” Sansa asks as the handmaidens dress the woman.
“I will tell you one day Sansa, but not today. Lady Anna will be alright, her betrothed is a good man and will treat her well.”
“I won’t ever marry!” Arya declares.
Catelyn Stark smiles as she takes Sansa and Arya’s hands to escort them to the wedding.
“The Warrior stands before the foe,
protecting us where e'er we go.
With sword and shield and spear and bow,
he guards the little children.”
Jon Snow stands fierce, even as young as he is. The sword in his hand has no true blade, but Sansa knows it matters little. She trusts him, she does not love him, but she trusts him. He will defend her.
“Step aside boy, you don’t have to die today. Give the girl and we’ll let you live,” one of the two criminals taunts, his spear aimed straight at Jon’s heart.
“Jon,” Sansa whispers, fear filling her eyes, unable to tear them away from the criminal.
“I won’t let you take ‘er,” Jon tells them.
“Then we’ll have to kill you.”
Sansa screams as the two men attack Jon. He outmaneuvers them with ease, having trained with Robb all his life. He doesn’t need a real blade, managing to hit both his attackers in the head with the hilt. As they crumple to the ground, she hears her father’s men in the background.
“Lady Sansa, are you hurt?” Jon asks her, kneeling beside her.
“I am alright… thank you,” she whispers, looking up at him. It is the first time she sees him as something other than a bastard.
“The Crone is very wise and old,
and sees our fates as they unfold.
She lifts her lamp of shining gold
to lead the little children.”
The blizzard has everyone trapped inside, confined to the larger rooms where the fires are going day and night. The children are confined to Robb’s room, the biggest of all their rooms. The Stark children piled into Robb’s bed along with Jon and Theon, listening as Old Nan tells them stories of the ice dragons from the rocker.
Arya is at the foot of the bed, listening with wide eyes and perked ears. Bran is beside her.
Robb pretends he doesn’t want to listen, but both Sansa and Theon know better. They exchange an amused look before returning their attention to the old woman in the rocking chair.
“The Smith, he labors day and night,
to put the world of men to right.
With hammer, plow, and fire bright,
he builds for little children.”
Mikken laughs when Jon Snow approaches him with a request.
“A sword? For Lady Arya? Lady Stark will not like that,” he tells his Lord’s natural son.
“I know, but you know Arya, she’s never been meant to be a Lady. If she must go to King’s Landing I want her to have something to defend herself.”
“Alright, for Lady Arya I’ll make the sword. King’s Landing is a terrible place, make sure she learns how to use this right.”
“I will.”
“The Maiden dances through the sky,
she lives in every lover's sigh.
Her smiles teach the birds to fly,
and gives dreams to little children.”
Jeyne Poole laughs as she dances through the Godswood. Sansa smiles as she watches her friend scoop her youngest brother into her arms. Her friend may not know it, but she is one of the prettiest girls at Winterfell. Men stop in their tracks to watch her pass and women sigh as they watch her play with little Rickon and young Bran at Winterfell or the children of Wintertown with Sansa.
She is a light in the darkness and Sansa knows she’ll be happy one day, with a handsome husband and beautiful children.
“The Seven Gods who made us all,
are listening if we should call.
So close your eyes, you shall not fall,
they see you, little children.
Just close your eyes, you shall not fall,
they see you, little children.”
Tears are in Sansa’s eyes as she leans back, away from her daughter’s sleeping figure. All those people are dead now. Only Sansa lives now.
The tears slip silently down her cheek as she brushes her lips against her daughter’s forehead. She rises and turn see her husband's aunt standing in the doorway. The other Queen of Westeros says nothing, simply wraps her arms around Sansa and leads her away.