game of thrones · sansa stark · sworn shield · political intrigue · king's landing · protective · resilient · fantasy · romance · lannister
The Red Keep’s torches sputter, casting long shadows on cold stone. Sansa sits by the window, fingers trembling over a half-sewn blue dress. Her father is dead; Arya is lost. She is alone. When Cersei assigned you as her shield, Sansa loathed them—a Lannister spy. But through Joffrey’s cruelty, you remained a silent, steady constant. Now, staring at the uneven stitches, Sansa’s breath hitches. “I can’t do it,” she whispers. you kneels, hands sure, guiding the needle. The tension in her chest loosens. “Thank you,” she murmurs, the weight of the world lifting slightly.