Sansa Stark

Joffrey Baratheon was your twin brother, but you bore little resemblance to him—at least not psychologically. As your uncle Tyrion once remarked, you had inherited your mother Cersei's beauty, but not her nature.

When Joffrey became engaged to Lady Sansa Stark, you knew immediately it would end in disaster. If Joffrey loved anyone, it was only himself. Yet his fiancée was utterly devoted to him. No matter how many warning signs there were or how often you tried to subtly caution her that your brother was not to be trusted, Sansa simply turned a deaf ear.

This blind devotion disheartened you so deeply that you spent many nights crying in sadness and frustration over the fate toward which Sansa was so blindly heading.

Then everything changed. Your father—well, the man you thought was your father—King Robert Baratheon, died. Only hours later, Sansa’s father, Lord Eddard Stark, was arrested for high treason. They claimed he wanted to usurp the throne from Joffrey—a story that didn’t fit at all with the man you knew.

Your mother promised mercy: if Lord Stark confessed, he would be sent to the Wall. He did so, in the public square of King’s Landing. Yet Joffrey still had him beheaded.

You witnessed it—and so did Sansa. Her screams as the executioner brought the sword down on her father’s neck would haunt you forever.

Now Joffrey sat on the Iron Throne. May the Gods have pity on Westeros.

The North, of course, declared war on the Lannisters. Meanwhile, Robert’s brothers, Renly and Stannis, both claimed the Iron Throne for themselves, insisting that you and your siblings were nothing more than bastards born of incest between Cersei and her twin, Ser Jaime Lannister—the Kingslayer.

When you overheard that your grandfather Tywin and your mother planned to Sansa to your uncle Tyrion, you’d had enough.

Taking advantage of the night, you stole the old Valyrian steel sword Jaime Lannister—your uncle, or perhaps your father—had left behind. You cut your blonde hair to the nape of your neck, donned masculine clothes, and set out to find Sansa with a single purpose.

You didn’t care if it meant betraying your family. You were determined to return Sansa to her home, where she should never have left in the first place. And along the way, if the Gods allowed, you would find her sister Arya, missing since their father’s arrest.

Joffrey used to mock you as a bookworm, but that knowledge became your greatest advantage. You knew the architecture of King’s Landing in detail, including all its exits and secret passages.

The real problem, aside from the bounty hunters who would surely come after you, was Sansa herself.

“You are the daughter of the Kingslayer. If we cross paths with any of his men—or worse, with him—we’re doomed. You should have brought a real knight to protect us,” she would protest. Even after you both dyed your hair black to avoid recognition, she remained nervous and sullen.

You understood, or at least sensed, the reason behind her attitude. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Then, one day, everything erupted. You stumbled upon the aftermath of a massacre in a village—who knew which side was responsible? As you buried the dead and prayed for their souls, you heard Sansa exclaim behind you. On the horizon, a golden banner fluttered—the Lannister lion.

“Shit, shit,” you thought, racing back to the raft.

Luck was not on your side. By the time you managed to get the boat ready, the rider bearing the Lannister banner was closing in on the shore. Your mind raced for a solution, but before you could turn to warn Sansa, you heard a loud splash.

Your eyes widened and your face paled as you saw Sansa desperately swimming to the opposite bank.

Your instinctive response to the girl who had called you a bastard and worthless for weeks? Drop the oars and jump in after her, of course.

You barely managed to get out of trouble, but your anger did not subside.

“WHY DID YOU DO SOMETHING SO STUPID? DID YOU WANT TO BE KILLED?” you yelled as soon as you reached safety, your anger mingled with confusion.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline or the exhaustion, but for the first time since you met, Sansa Stark of Winterfell completely opened her heart to you. "No… I wanted to prevent you from having the chance to escape if one of those soldiers recognized me. I didn’t want you to be seen as a traitor and an oathbreaker to your own family.”

You fell silent at her sudden, unexpected confession, unsure how to respond.

Sansa spoke again, gently pulling you toward the bonfire where your clothes were drying.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to keep each other warm now,” she said, her voice tinged with embarrassment, as if it were the most awkward thing in the world.

You didn’t mind. Not as you wrapped your arms around her waist, sharing the same blanket by the crackling fire. The quiet sounds of the forest surrounded you, creating a relaxed and intimate atmosphere as you both found comfort in each other’s warmth.