Chapter Text
When people looked at the Stark children, they all shared a similar thought but would never utter the words out loud lest Ned or Catelyn Stark hear them speak. People would notice that Sansa stuck out. Especially in the North. She had inherited her mother’s looks. She is the only one of her children to inherit the red hair. It stood out when she was standing with her siblings. A contrast to the brown and black of the others. A great beauty, Cersei had called her. Sansa would think back to the look of disdain as she had said that. She had cast her ire onto Margaery after that.
She missed Margaery. She had taken Sansa under her wing. Magaery knew how to play the game and had nearly won.
Sansa felt warm; she felt light. Like she was in a warm bath, as before her mother would come and wash her hair. Something she had longed for after Ramsey, and she had crawled into the bath on their wedding night. It had been cold and stung.
Flashes pass by her, Arya screaming for her, reaching for her. The White Walkers.
Why was her little sister covered in blood? She wonders.
A pain blooming in her side, a knife sticking out of the side. Theon rushed to her. They had never gotten to figure out how they felt about each other. She collapses.
The light dims, and cold seeps in. Someone is shouting her name, and she is pulled out of her warm bath. Sounds come rushing back.
“Sansa! Talk to me!” a man’s voice says to her.
Someone was shaking her. She didn’t recognize the voice. Her eyes felt heavy. Her limbs were slow to respond to her want to move.
Something warm was placed on her. It felt furry, like her brother’s cloak. It felt like home.
“Sansa! Please!” The voice begged.
Her eyes slowly opened, and a man stared back down at her. He had dark hair and a slight scruff. He looked so distressed.
“Wha-” She tries to say.
He holds her tighter. Every situation she has experienced has taught her to get away immediately.
She struggles to move, to push him off.
“Shh, Sansa. It’s okay. You are okay. Your brothers are here.” He says.
She looks around. She doesn't see Jon or Bran anywhere.
“What were you thinking, Bennard? You know how dangerous the river is during this time of year!” The man holding her yells.
The man, Bennard, comes closer.
“Sansa, I am so sorry. I thought the ice would hold. Rickon, you know I would never do anything to harm our sister. She had said she had wanted to skate.” Bennard apologizes.
He kneels closer to her.
Sansa had no idea what was going on. She recognized the names, but she didn’t know these faces. Bennard had called her his sister. She did not have any siblings named Bennard, and the sibling she did have, named Rickon, was dead. He had been struck down by Ramsey. They had buried him in the crypt quickly before the Long Night. Before she had been killed, she supposed.
Rickon helps her sit and then stand.
“Let’s get you back to Winterfell. We don’t want illness to have you.” Rickon says.
He walks her to a waiting horse and helps her before getting on behind her. She heard Bennard do the same.
She shivered, the cold finally getting to her. She knew she shouldn’t trust these men. She, however, didn’t know where she was.
Her hair was soaked, as was her dress. She notes that the dress is not the one she remembers last wearing.
They ride at a fast pace. One of Rickon’s hands is tight around her. They approach Winterfell; she knows it’s Winterfell. This was the Winterfell of her youth. No destroyed buildings. She had a bitter thought that she had still been in her youth when she died.
The gates open, and they pass through until they reach the castle, and Rickon helps her off.
“Let’s get you warmed.” He says.
He leads her inside, and Sansa looks around. She does not recognize the people who pass by, but they nod and call her ‘lady’ when she does.
He leads her to a room and lets her inside.
A woman quickly approaches and shoos him out.
She turns to Sansa.
“Alright, Lady Sansa, let’s get you out of those clothes and into a warm bath.” The woman says.
Sansa supposes she is a lady’s maid, but none of this makes sense. None of the stories she had been told or the poems she had read said anything about this.
What kind of fever dream is this? She wonders as she sinks into the warm bath.
She glances over herself, no bruises, her body feels different.
The woman brushes her hair after she gets out and dries her off. She starts to braid it.
“Those boys need to grow up soon. One day, Lord Rickon will be Warden of the North.” The woman tells her.
Sansa nods along.
Her brain tries to process, and it rings a bell she can’t quite place. She wonders if she has been placed back in time, but when?
Rickon, she tries to think of a Rickon Stark. There were a few she had learned of in her lessons. She would be embarrassed to admit it, but Arya had always paid more attention than she had. She had been more into princes and knights, coming along to save the day and those kinds of stories. She had been a foolish child.
“There, you stand out in all the dull colors here with the pretty colors of your hair. Luckily, one of your great-grandsires had some of that color,” Maggie tells her.
Sansa nods again.
Once she is dressed, there is a knock at the door. A man appears and looks her over.
“My Lord.” The woman says.
This must be Rickon’s father.
“Maggie, you may go.” He says.
The woman, Maggie, leaves.
“Sansa, my dear girl, are you alright?” The man asks.
If Rickon says she is his sister, then he must be her father. She could see it in a way. The Stark features were there. There was a pang in her chest. She missed her father. Her last image of him was of his head on a spike as Joffrey taunted her. She was glad Joffrey had died as he did. Gasping for air and helpless.
“Yes, just a little shaken, is all,” Sansa responded.
She would not give away that she didn’t know him and raise all kinds of questions.
He sighs.
“I don’t know what they were thinking, and just days before Rickon’s wedding, too!” He tells her.
Sansa nods.
“You know, you are getting some proposals yourself. I just don’t want to lose you just yet,” He tells her.
He wraps her in his arms, bringing her comfort.
“I know you’ve expressed interest before, so I will let you know. The king is getting remarried to Lady Alicent Hightower. I received a raven this morning. I know you said you wanted to go to King’s Landing. Maybe you’ll be able to go down for the wedding. I’ll need a representative when it happens. It won’t be for a year at least.” He says.
The king, she tries to think. It was Alicent who stirred something. Alicent Hightower, Queen Alicent.
The Dance of the Dragons, she thought. That meant this was before that.
She still didn’t understand why she was here. Did the Gods want her to do something? She didn’t want to play that stupid Game of Thrones again. She had survived it once already; she had already lost too much because of it.
She stares out the window as he leaves, wondering why she is here.
What Gods did I upset? She wonders.
There was a warmth coming into the cold, snowy air. It made Sansa shiver.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sansa Stark, the youngest daughter of Benjen Stark and the sister of Lord Rickon Stark- Stark Family Line found in Winterfell.