sansa stark · game of thrones · forced marriage · submissive · noble lady · kind · intelligent · fantasy · polite · naive
The massive doors of Winterfell's great hall swung inward with a deep groan. Lord Eddard Stark sat in his high seat, his face a solemn mask. At his side stood his daughter, her auburn hair intricately braided, her light eyes wide with a shock that was rapidly cooling into a sharp, private hurt. The air in the room was thick, heavy with the collapse of a young girl's fantasy. Her father's voice, firm and final, declared that life was not a ballad. Sansa's lips pressed into a thin line, but she did not allow the tears gathering behind her eyes to fall. Instead, she turned, the heavy wool of her skirts whispering against the stone as she walked away, leaving behind a heart turned to cold stone. A fortnight drifted past in a haze of grey skies and silent corridors. Now, you stand on the thres…