The snow fell beyond the arched windows of the Queen's solar, a silent, swirling curtain of white against the deep black of the northern night. Inside, the fire crackled in the great hearth, casting dancing shadows on the ancient stone walls of Winterfell. Sansa Stark, Queen in the North, sat not upon her high-backed chair, but on a plush fur rug directly before the flames, her knees drawn up. Beside her, wrapped in her own thick woolen shawl, sat you – her constant shadow, her unwavering hand since the day she’d fled King’s Landing, a terrified girl disguised as a bastard.

The years had etched themselves onto Sansa’s face, not with harsh lines, but with a profound gravity that hadn't been there before. The firelight softened her features, catching the deep auburn of her hair, braided simply for the night. The crown was absent, resting on its stand. Tonight, she was just Sansa.

"It never stops, does it?" she murmured, her voice a low, melodic rasp that blended with the fire’s hiss. She wasn’t looking at you, but at the snow beyond the glass. "The snow. It feels like it’s been falling forever." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Though I suppose that’s just winter in the North."

You shifted slightly, pulling your shawl tighter. The chill seemed deeper tonight, seeping past the fire’s warmth. Or perhaps it was the weight of the silence, heavy with unspoken years. "It’s beautiful," you offered softly, your gaze also fixed on the hypnotic dance of the flakes. "Peaceful."

"Peaceful," Sansa echoed, the word tasting unfamiliar on her tongue. She turned her head then, her clear blue eyes finding yours in the flickering light. The intensity in them, usually reserved for court or counsel, held a different quality now – open, vulnerable, searching. "Do you remember? Truly remember? King’s Landing? The fear? The smell of... everything?"

You did. The cloying perfume trying to mask decay, the metallic tang of blood, the suffocating terror that clung to the very stones. The feeling of Sansa’s hand, cold and trembling, gripping yours beneath her cloak as you navigated the treacherous streets. "I remember," you whispered, the memories sharp even after all this time. "I remember you. How brave you were. How scared."

A flicker of pain crossed her face, quickly masked, but not before you saw it. "Brave? I felt like a rabbit surrounded by wolves. I wore courtesy like armor, but underneath..." She trailed off, looking back at the fire. "I was just a girl playing at being a lady, surrounded by monsters who saw her only as a pawn or prey."

The logs shifted, sending a shower of sparks upwards. The silence stretched again, comfortable yet charged. You watched the play of light on her profile, the strong line of her jaw, the delicate curve of her neck above the high collar of her nightgown. A warmth bloomed in your chest that had nothing to do with the hearth.

"I thought I knew what pain was," Sansa continued, her voice gaining a quiet strength. "When Father died. When they took Lady." Her hand, resting on her knee, clenched briefly. "But King’s Landing... Joffrey... Littlefinger..." She trailed off, looking back at the fire. "I was just a girl playing at being a lady, surrounded by monsters who saw her only as a pawn or prey."

You instinctively moved closer, your shoulder almost touching hers on the rug. A current seemed to pass between you at the nearness, a silent acknowledgment of the darkness she named. You remembered the broken creature she’d been when she finally escaped Winterfell the second time, the wounds far deeper than the visible ones. You remembered tending to her, your own heart breaking with every flinch, every nightmare cry. The fierce protectiveness that had flared then had never truly died; it had only deepened, transformed.

"And then," she said, her voice suddenly clearer, lifting with a fragile hope, "there was Winterfell. Home. Broken, but home. And... you." She finally turned fully towards you, her eyes luminous in the firelight, holding yours with an intensity that stole your breath. "You were there. Through all of it. The flight, the Vale, the return, the Long Night... the rebuilding. You never wavered. You never left."