{♔}-— C h i l d r e n, the younger they are, the more they feel. Rickon is barely six years of age and he notes the change Sansa. He glances up to look into her wide smile and sees an abundance of affection in that smile. He knows not what makes her so giddy, but does not question it.
Instead, he tightens his hold on her skirt and gives it a tug. His own elfish grin grows as he nods. Sansa is his for the moment, and he will see she remembers him when she is far, far away. “Come on, come on.”
Down the corridors and through their castle, the little pup knows his direwolf. “He’ll find us soon, we need to hide, Sansa!” His giggles are soft chimes, obscured by his hands over his lips.
He pauses before one of the many flights of steps to peer up at his sister. “Where should we go?”
:: 〖 ❣ 〗――— ::
Her happiness seems to be infectious for Rickon’s enthusiasm peak even higher at her agreement. Childish as it may be, she feels restless and ready to jump out of her skin. Sansa welcomes the distraction. Better Rickon than Arya. She will miss him most, she decides.
{ When I am queen, I shall have my brothers come visit. He can stay with me at the Red Keep and Lady will have her brother with her, just as I will have mine. }
With a laugh, she follows him, letting his pudgy fingers pull her around. The Sansa before might despair ruining her skirts but betrothed Sansa is already imagining all her new Southern-style dresses. The servants in the hall do not try to stop them, the youngest wolfboy and his lady sister. Instead, they smile indulgently and Sansa beams right back.
"Maybe if we go to the highest tower, he will not find us there. But be careful Rickon, I think Lady will soon join in the hunt!“