Chapter Text
Sansa Stark
Age:20
Timeline: end of season 8.
*doesn’t follow the cannon story*
Dabi
Age: 24
Timeline: end of manga.
*the time when he finally saw reason*
The year 305 AC was the year the mad queen had fallen.
Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Lady Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons.
She had finally perished by the hands of her lover, Jon Snow.
After her reign of terror on Kings Landing, where thousands of innocents as well as the surrendered soldiers were burned by dragonfire of Drogon, she was slain by Jon Snow of North for breaking her vow, as he stabbed her in the heart with a dagger. In the fit of grief and rage, Drogon, child of Daenerys, burns the Iron Throne and just like that the throne of tyrants is no more and the mad queen and her dragon were never to be seen again. Some say that the dragon had taken his mother’s corpse and flown to the ends of the land to a place where no one knows, others speculate the dragon would burn his mothers body by his own flames and wait out his days to fade away, sitting vigil for the queen that went mad in her grief.
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Sansa scoffs in amusement at the letter she was holding. Truly, no matter what happens she can always rely on Arya and her wild nature to stay the same. No matter where, she always leaves a mark. Although it seems that this time her dear younger sister, Arya, has managed to offend a noble in the west. Well it was hardly a matter for her to fix, after all Arya had somehow decided that she had wanted to be independent and travel the unexplored lands in the west of Westeros. After staying in Winterfell for at least two years she had begun her pursuit of freedom 2 months before, stating the noble life was not meant for her. Hugging her goodbye she had wrote a letter to Jon and decided she would give her farewells to Bran on the way in person.
Her thoughts went to John, who was exiled to the Night's Watch. He was the only one she had not had the chance to see as often as she would have liked. However, such is the price for his sacrifice, or as the other lords of the west say betrayal. She pursed her lips in displeasure as she thought of what had happened. She was still cross at those who had wanted Jon dead for saving their miserable futures. How could they have not seen that Daenerys was well in her way to become just as mad as her father had been. How could they not have seen the suffering that she would have brought in. Granted she wasn’t like that before, oh no, she had wonderful visions for the kingdom. She had kindness in her… but as it has always happened to every woman, tragedy had struck her over and over, and snuffed out any kindness she had in her heart. While Sansa had never liked Daenerys, that didn’t mean she hated her for who she was. The only reason she had loathed Daenerys was because she had wanted the North to bend the knee and suffer yet again in the hands of Western whims. And oh, her naive and foolish brother (because that's what he will always be, her pack, her brother) had done just that and left the North at a disadvantage. She knew he had fallen in love with the Targaryen woman. She saw how he looked at her with desperate longing and affections. Of course the feelings were mutual from the other party. Sansa was happy for Jon, truly she was. Jon deserved to find love for himself, god knew he deserved it after everything that had transpired in his life, she just wished it wasn’t at the cost of the North’s future.
She signed as got up from where she was resting. So much for a peaceful rest she was hoping to have. She walked the halls towards her chambers to turn in for the night. Tracing the walls with her fingers as she walked, she reminisced of when she was younger, when everyone was alive, together and warm. Her left hand clutched the letters she had written for the day. Four letters in total, three to be sent out tomorrow and one to be opened and read tomorrow.
Sansa paused as she coughed, feeling as if her lungs were on fire. Her years old wounds flaring up again, inflicted by the Night King while shielding her brother, Bran, from his wicked sword. It had stabbed her in one of her lungs. Right as she had collapsed, she had seen the Night King get stabbed by the ancient dagger made of Valyrian steel. Arya had somehow managed to sneak up behind him and delivering the final blow plunging the dagger to his chest, shattering his icy heart. Oh the relief she felt as she was closing her eyes. The Long Night was finally over. They were safe. Later she had woken up in her chambers in castle of Winterfell. Arya, Jon and Bran had rushed to her side as soon as they could informing her of her 1 month long sleep. The maester had rushed in and shooed them out. He gravely informed her, after he had checked her over, that one of her lungs would no longer serve its function properly. The Night Kings sword had almost put her to permanent rest, and now she would have trouble breathing. The sword had also left a ugly mark on the right side of her chest.
Arya, Jon and Bran re-entered her domain, after the maester had left. She had listened in horror as all of them recounted what had happened for during the month she had slumbered in a comatose state. She had listened how Daenerys had gone mad and destroyed Kings Landing by the help of her dragon. Thousand of innocent, common folks had died that day. It was a cruel and unnecessary massacre, one that gave Tyrion the awakening he had needed. Tyrion had been taken to the dungeons after confronting her and in the end It was her brother, Jon, who had played the executioner. As they recounted everything to her, Jon eyes had clouded with emotions of pain, betrayal, and sadness. She felt sadness for her brother Jon, he had lost yet another person he held dear. Sansa couldn't feel anything for the Daenerys that had killed the innocent, however she could pity for the kind yet confident woman Jon had fallen in love with. She pitied the child that Daenerys once was, she pitied the strong willed yet stubborn and infuriating woman she was. After that, all the lords of the realm had come together and crowned Bran the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Sansa managed to get the independence for North and had crowned herself the Queen of North. Arya had refused to take the burden of running a kingdom. And Jon could not take the crown for obvious reasons.
Sansa and somehow wandered to the crypts of Winterfell. The air was solemn as it always was in this place. Paying her respects to her family she walked back to her her chambers. All the people had turned in for the night save for the guards. It was silent as made her way to her private domain. Her room was dark except for the candle that was burning giving out enough light to make her way to her bed. She put the letters down on her bedside so the maids would find them tomorrow, once they enter her room to wake her up and clean.
It was time for her to go. With a heavy heart she laid on her bed and looked up at the ceiling.
Her thoughts had gone wild yet again as she stayed chained to the past. The what if’s flooded her brain as she thought of every one her loved ones. Her mother who she shared her innocent, naive and foolish dreams with. Her father, full of honor, who she would look for safety and comfort. Robb, her older brother, who was so bright and caring. Oh how he was ready to tear apart anyone who had hurt their family. Of Jon, who had remained ever gentle and caring to her even after all the wrongs she had done to him as a child. How she had been foolish and thought of him as a stranger, an outsider because he was seen as a bastard. How she had let her mothers unjust fears of Jon wash on her. She thought of every heartbreak he had suffered yet still remained gentle and honorable. She thought of Arya who was now free from her burdens and duties. Free from the horrors. Sansa had selfishly wished she had stayed in Winterfell so she would not be alone. But in the end she had to let go of Arya who was already grown out of the small nest and ready to fly. She thought Bran, sweet Bran of before who was still dreaming the same naive dreams as she was of shiny knights and pretty princesses. Looking at Bran now he was almost unrecognizable as he sat as the King of the Seven Kingdoms. There were times however, whenever they could find time to see each other, that he would give her or Arya the tiniest of smiles, as if to let them know that he was not lost. That a fraction of him was still in there, alive in his body. Sansa thought of Rickon. Her youngest brother, who was as wild as the forest themselves. Who was the most untamed out of her siblings. Oh how she wished he was here with her. How she wished to see him and tell him how sorry she was over and over again. How she was heartbroken because she couldn’t save him in time. How he was too young for the fate that was handed to him. How she wished to run her hands through his wild curls, to tell him stories of the old past, to lay him to sleep every time.
How she thought of the memories that would never let go of her.
As she sinks into her bed, Sansa thinks about her Lady, her beautiful, gentle and innocent dire wolf, who had to die so early. A tear slips out of one of her eyes as she drifts to sleep and never to wake up again.
This world was cruel to everyone, true. However, it was the cruelest to the good and gentle souls.
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It was recorded the next day that Lady Sansa of Winterfell, Queen of North, had passed away in her sleep. The entirety of the North joined to mourn their first queen after Torren Stark. Crowned at 19 and died at 21, she had reigned for 2 years. Four letters were to be found on her bedside in the morning, Queen Sansa's will and the three letters for her family to read. One for Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell. One for King Brandon Stark, the one eyed raven, of the Seven kingdoms. And finally one for Jon Snow, the commander of the Night Watch.
The will reads that the regent King of Winterfell shall be Lord Mormont for the time being and the appointed Heir of the Winterfell will be the first child of any of the three Starks that now remain, King Brandon Stark, Commander Jon Snow and Lady Arya Stark. The letters were to be delivered to the respected owners immediately, and the will to be sent to the Red Keep, for King Brandon to read.
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The Old Gods were awoken.