The girl seemed so extremely nervous around her Queen, that Rhaella felt bad for her. The boy - on the other hand - seemed to positively hate his Queen. Which - in a way - also made her feel bad for him. He clearly did not want to be there, and Rhaella could not blame him. Could not blame either of them. They had been torn from their home and family to be brought to a hostile environment.
“Do not fear, my Lady,” she said kindly. “There is no need for embarrassment, you could not have known days pass differently here.” She reached out to place her hand on Sansa’s upper arm. “You will get used to it soon enough. I did when I came from Dragonstone with the King.”
She was glad though, to see that Sansa seemed to like her chambers and - when she glanced at him from the corners of her eyes - couldn’t help the smile that slid onto her features when she saw the surprised on his face. “Anything you need, just tell your handmaidens and they will get it for you as soon as possible.”
She strode into Sansa’s chambers and waved her hand, the handmaidens of the girl instantly started to move around to fill the girl’s bathtub. When the Queen glanced over her shoulder, Robb had already disappeared, so she shrugged it off for now and sat down on the bed. “Come sit with me, child,” she said, patting the spot beside her. “While the girls fill your bath. Tell me about your life and your home. I am afraid to say I have never been in the North.”
:: 〖 ❣ 〗――— ::
The words of her queen causes her cheeks to heat up in embarrassment. Was her apprehension so clear that even the queen can’t miss it? She will have to do better. She must. Everything has to be right, everything has to be perfect. The fate of the North, the fate of her family, lies with her. She can still remember the vivid nightmares– dragons may not exist anymore but fire can still burn and what if the two Stark children are sent the way Rickard and Brandon Stark were?
Her lady mother would be devastated. Father will find march and maybe they will not win again. Maybe they will all perish under the rule of the king. Just the thought makes her shiver, a cold that seeps right through the flesh into her bones.
Stop it, Sansa. Stop these crazy thoughts. Do not give up yet. Nothing is set in stone, the queen will love you and in a few years, you will be homebound, safe and set to marry.
Seeing as she cannot deny her queen anything, Sansa moves to comply, sitting primly next to her queen, smoothing down the sides of her long skirt. She can’t help but notice the speckle of mud at the hems and it makes a furrow form between her eyebrow. Her dresses are too heavy for these Southron airs.
“Your Grace– I am not sure what you wish to know. The North is cold, far colder than here. It is vast– father rarely lets us follow him when he visits other keeps, but they visit us often so Winterfell is always bustling. I like it when they do, it makes Winterfell very merry.”
“–Much like the red keep is, I would presume. We’ve passed many lords and ladies looking for an audience with the king, your grace. He must be very busy.”