Chapter Text
’ A thing of beauty to remember
But a sorrow to forget’
Sansa I
Sansa Stark is three namedays and she dreams of the lemon tree her Father has promised her.
She has left the keep, giggling, happy, and eager from the words that her mother had promised her. She thinks of lemon cakes upon lemon cake, rich and sweet and tart on her tongue. She giggles more, twirling in summer snow. She knows her lord father is to come soon. She knows it. Mother had promised. Mother never breaks her word, and if her father is to be here soon, Sansa knows he will be there. Before the heartstree, she will wait. She knows without fail, her Father will come here.
She giggles again. Won’t he be so happy to see her?
She hops, careful of her fine wool cloak, of the pretty velvet and wool skirts she wears. Dashes through the safe godswoods of the Old gods. Sansa wears her prettiest dress, blue and red from her Mother’s house, and she has brushed and brushed her hair to the prettiest shine. Her Father will find his Little Lady, beautiful and perfect and excited to see him and only him. Sansa has missed her father. He has been gone forever.
When the air grows warmer, Sansa Stark looks up at the ugly, scary face of the heartstree.
Father loved this place. That was why she was there. Sansa wonders if it hurts to cry so much, even if the face is scary and ugly. She doesn’t like to cry. She cried very hard when her Father left, and she hated every minute since he was gone. She reaches forward, slipping off her glove. Reaches and reaches as far as she can to touch at the stream of red tears.
It is warm on her fingers.
Sansa blinks. Her tears are warm too.
“Does it hurt?” she whispers, to the gods, quietly, “Does it hurt very much?”
She soothes a hand gently on the cheek of the tree, soft and careful. The leaves, red as the tears on her fingers and on that great face, move. She hears its rustles. Sansa tilts her head. Reaches forward her head, standing on the very tips of her toes. She kisses the great, wrinkled cheek of the tree. Just like her Mother and Father do when Sansa cries. She presses her head against the face, ugly and wrinkled as it is.
"I am here," she tells the tree.
The bark is warmer beneath her palm. She hums. Something breaks behind her. Sansa Stark turns. On her lips, she feels the warm tears of the heartstree. She licks her lips. The tears, she realizes, taste sweet on her tongue.
“Father?” she calls, and she feels excitement. She pats at her face to make sure she is clean of the tears. She must be perfect for her Father.
Mother’s words came true! I knew it, I knew it! Father would be here !
She slips off of the roots of the heartstree, almost stumbling in her excitement.
“Father!” she calls, running in the direction of the sound, “Father, Father!”
She stumbles to a stop. A man. Smaller than father. He is looking at her, dressed in a cloak and- Sansa blinks quickly.
“I apologize, my lord,” she whispers, and she steps back, curtsies as Mother taught her.
She looks up at him. He’s a man she’s never seen before. His eyes are gray-green, like a cat, with something sharp in them. He is bearded, but unlike the Lords of the North she remembers it is small, not long along on his pointy face. He breathes, his breath small and misty in the summer cold. Even from her distance, Sansa smells mint in his breath. His smile is not… Not finished. It takes a moment to see what it is, and she realizes that his smile does not bring light to his eyes.
“Hello sweetling,” he says simply, and he gives her a proper bow in response to her, “No offense given. I am simply… admiring the wood. I didn’t expect to find anyone here.”
She shuffles in place.
“It’s the godswood. Our heartstree is here. That’s why I’m here. I’m waiting for Father!”
The man is still smiling. Wind blows. Shifts her pretty Tully skirt and her dark red hair. The man tilts his head.
“Ah. It is a wirewood, is it not? I have never seen one.”
“It’s father’s favorite. I wish to wait for him. Mother says he is to be home,” she explains.
“Your father?”
She beams.
“Father is Lord Eddard. Lord Eddard is Warden! He left with the King. He is to come home. Mother said so!”
“How lovely. You must be excited, sweet Lady Sansa Stark.”
She nods.
“I have missed father so very much. I wish he had taken me South. I ever so wish to be South.”
Something changes in his cat eyes.
“Do you?”
She does. If it means she will be with her father sooner, yes, she would very much like to be South.
“More than anything!”
The man nods, slowly to himself.
“Will you show me to the wirewood, my Lady? I very much wish to see it.”
She nods. A lady must be kind! She reaches a hand carefully to the man. Something hard and heavy slams into her head. She falls to the ground. She blinks, crying, and sees that what has come from her is a red bright and vivid on the snow. The same color as the wirewood’s tears come from inside her. Her small glove, from the pocket of her cloak, lays beside it. She looks up.
The man, the stranger, holds a dagger in his hand. The scabbard is in his palm. The hilt, black, is also red. Tears of the heartstree... Mine. I did not know that the body could cry as the eyes. It hurts.
His cat eyes are cold as he looks down. Sansa scrambles to her feet. Takes a half of a step back. The man lunges forward. The man swings down. The blow makes her see black spots. Sansa cries out again. She screams. The trees and snow echo it back to her. The man hums .
And he swings again.
And again.
And again.
Sansa Stark tumbles down.
Alyane Stone rises in the arms of her father, bleeding, held carefully to the mockingbird embroidered on his surcoat.