The paintings were still polished. Targaryens stared down at her with consistent arrogance. The dragon skulls looked rusty as ever. Many of the handmaidens she had known were gone, but the new ones looked nearly identical. In fact, all that seemed to have changed since Sansa Stark left the lair of liars were the liars themselves.
Ghost followed her wherever she went, which meant few members of court felt enamored to approach her. Since her arrival, Sansa had spent most of her time alone. Littlefinger was busy with matters of the state, and Brienne still on her mission at Riverrun. She had been insistent to stay with her, especially after the vow she had made at the Eyrie, but Sansa was equally adamant. “I will not leave the fate of another Tully out of my control,” she had told her, and that was that.
Being alone suited Sansa. At the present moment, Cersei was too busy warring with Daenerys to try to use her as pawn. But even if she had the time, Sansa would make it certain that would not happen. Her time at and away from the capital had given her great ideas. It was time to put them to practice.
Sansa found him at the godswood. She made it seem like she had stumbled by accident, but she had already seen the Kingslayer sneak there with his sword the night before. “Oh, I’m sorry, Ser Jaime,” she said pointedly, when their paths crossed among the cold woods. “I thought you would be at the Small Council.”
Jaime sheathed his sword upon her arrival, but his countenance did not look sheepish. “Of course not. I do not wish to attend another minute of that mummer’s farce from people who do not know what war really is. They do not know the harsh truths,” he said. Sansa felt joy in her heart. I thought he would take greater persuasion, but the man is practically begging to be heard.
“And what are the harsh truths?” was all she had to say for Jaime to launch into a tirade of tales about what it meant to be a warrior and commander. Sansa listened with wide, innocent eyes, with exclamations at the right moments, giving him the attention his sister did not. She felt pity when Locke severed his arm, and disgust when Jaime’s golden hand broke the teeth of the Highgarden boy, but she shrugged away emotions the moment she felt them.
It did not matter if she liked Jaime or not, as long as he felt heard. Brienne had told her enough about the Kingslayer to know that for him, ideas connected more than power or profit. “I am very sorry to have misjudged you, Ser Jaime,” she ended their conversation, with such weight in her voice it would have fooled Lady Margaery.
Sansa went back to her chambers feeling optimistic. She had thought Jaime would be the hardest to persuade, but he was practically a babe in man’s clothing. Her first battle she had won with ease, but it would be complacent to stop there.
When she reached her chambers, one of her guard was replaced by Brienne. She had grown so thin Sansa barely recognized her until she spoke. “Lady Sansa!” she told her urgently, the moment she saw her, but Sansa hushed her with her hands, pointing to the walls. They may be listening. “Was I right?” she said quietly.
Brienne tried to keep her calm, but her lips curled slightly when the nod came.
*
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