━ in which; Sansa Stark, Queen in the North, receives a raven from across the sea, speaking of how her dear sister had come into contact with another race of people from the mysterious, rumoured magic of the sea on Arya's desire to answer the age o...
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Sansa stared out at the muddy grasslands anxiously. Her hair was loose, the humidity of the summer in the English lowlands having added a wave to it she had not held since Kings Landing. At least more than half of the group of Vikings had left, including Ragnar, Floki and most of the others she had met. The sun was drifting over the horizon, smothering the realm in bronze and gold and pink and fire. The campfires and torches around the settlement were burning bright already, warm and smoky as a fish stew simmered away in a cauldron.
The night was becoming darker and darker, and Sansa found herself growing concerned for them all, as it was likely only by the will of the leader and his companions that she was still around, being treated as well as the rest of them. They had begun to talk every night, and even socialise throughout the course of the day. Ragnar and his brother were also upon her mind. The leaders of the Vikings, what warranted them leaving, and the camp having split in half tonight. Less people were about, the large, noisy circle having all but dissipated into three small groups of three instead of the meeting of twenty plus individuals. Where were they? She thought to herself, fiddling with her pendant.
It would be a perfect time to escape. Limited guard, almost dusk, enough that her hair blended with the sun, and dim enough that even long grass would be able to hide her away. No one would notice until she had already disappeared into the night.. but should she really run? After all, no one had tried to force themselves upon her and they fed her and took her along with them and treated her with the decency most would confuse for kindness. Decency she had hardly received from anyone.
Yet decency was not kindness. Not leaving someone to die was not kindness, it was decency that few had. Providing food and water for the helpless was kind, but it was also plain decency. She could not, would not stay in a place that could turn on her in the blink of an eye. She had family to return to, people to return for. People to survive for, if not for herself. Blue eyes focused over the spiked fence, then glanced back to the fire. But was it smart, to run with no food? No water, weapon or provisions? Even she and Theon had prepared better when fleeing Winterfell, bread and water packed into pockets and small bags hidden under clothes. It didn't last them more than a week, even with rationing, but it provided them time if nothing else.
Should she stay, or should she go? The question lingered over her head like a bounty and she paced around behind one of the tents, avoiding the sight of the few that had stayed. Softly and shakily, the queen kissed by fire inhaled, the cool air like ice upon her tongue. Sansa gazed up at the small specks of stars to see what appeared to be different constellations but if she turned her head and squinted, they were the same arrangements of stars as in Westeros. The dragon, the wolf, the bard and the North star.
