Chapter Text
It was odd seeing such a diverse array of soldiers and bannermen in winterfell. From the brutish Dorthriki, to the Unsullied, even Wildlings, new allies and old. Surviving Starks and Lannisters were preparing to fight alongside a Targaryen and her dragons.
Winterfell's halls were filled with men and women alike. Sansa was unsure if she’d ever heard so much noise, even after her residence in Kings Landing. It seemed the only area that was quiet was the godswoods where her little brother Bran would spend his time. What was once a place of peace and holiness was transformed into a dreadful memory after her wedding to Ramsey Bolton. The clutter of the castle halls were leagues better than those memories.
Her furs hugged her shoulders, heavy and warm as she walked through the stone halls. Quietly heading upstairs, Brienne follows closely behind, lightly opening her bedroom door for her. It was really her parents bedroom, but they were gone now and now it was hers.
Sansa remembered being scared of old Nan’s stories when she was little, rushing from her room and into her parents bed. Her mother would hold her, sing her softly to sleep as her father brushed his fingers through her auburn hair. Now when she shut her eyes for the night she tries to think of those memories instead of the horrors that happened to her in the same castel.
The evening was what Sansa dreaded the most. More than giants or the cold. Walking though the halls of Winterfell was her excuse to avoid sleeping. She was a ghost haunting the castle. It didn't matter that walking meant facing the brisk cold of the northern night air, it was better than what awaited her once she closed her eyes.
Brienne would stay with her until she fell asleep each night. Most of the time they would spend the evenings in quiet peace, but every so often they would talk. Sansa would ask her many things. What was it like riding a horse with so much armor? How did she manage to defeat the Hound in battle? Brienne never made her feel embarrassed or guilty asking questions. Sansa hadn't had the freedom of being a curious child since she was with Septa Mordane.
She loved Brienne's company. She was tall and looked nothing like a lady, but she was brave and kind, a true friend. As the nights got longer and the battle drew nearer, Brienne's eyes became tired. The strain of staying up past midnight with her had begun to show. Sansa had closed her eyes for bed on a stormy night, snow falling down hard. She dreamt of Brienne fighting. Her sword- Oathkeeper- dripping with rotted blood, ice freezing her face. She dreamt of Brianne slowing, her lack of sleep exhausting her. She was ripped to shreds while catching her breath. Sansa had jolted awake in silent tears. The concept of Sansa's insomnia causing Brienne to fall in battle horrified her.
The following day, Sansa had Brienne's straw bed replaced with that of fine goose feathers, ordering her to sleep. Brienne had refused at first, insisting her duty outweighed her need for sleep, but after little convincing Sansa had gotten Brienne to comply.
While wandering back to her quarters Sansa had fully realized that from now until the battle, she would now be sleeping on her lonesome. She would be completely alone, as she was every night after Ramsey had brutalized her. Stopping to watch the snow flutter down into the courtyard her gloved hands tighten around the woodland rail. She was at home, her siblings were here with her but they had all grown into such different people.
She had wished she had been nicer to Arya and Jon when they were children, maybe then she would have felt confident enough to approach one of them to ask if they could sleep by her side at least for one night. She had adored her little brother Bran, but time had changed him. He was now cold and distant, with powers she could never understand.
Down in the courtyard, Jamie Lannister stood besides his younger brother, the dwarf and her first husband by law, Tyrion. The brothers blond hair shone brighter than the icy snow that caked the ground. Tyrion seemed to be making quippy jests as the two walked. She wondered where they were sleeping. Sansa had certainly not arranged them rooms to stay in. Tyrion had been pleasant to her when they were married, referring to touching her even in his drunken state, but he was aligned with Daenerys. And Jamie had pushed Bran from a tower. Now Bran was distant and crippled, the opposite of the knight he had once dreamt of becoming. They were both sad and lonely men who Sansa did not envy.
She sometimes dreamt that she was the one falling from the tower. Those dreams haunted her.