[ She lingers long enough to find the girl with the sad eyes and the ruined face. No, she tells herself not ruined, not completely; but it is impossible to ignore the greyscale that stiffens her cheek, like a dead thing's skin. It makes Alayne think briefly of Jon's tales beyond the wall, of wights and terrible things that move beyond their death. She wonders if she should avoid the girl, but she proves flighty and skittish and more afraid of Alayne than Alayne of her.
She calls to the child, asks after her name and what she might fear, though she suspects the clang of bells in the encroaching distance. Sansa Stark knew a fool once, a man she saved from beneath the king's boot, and though she did not fear him, she loathe the way he breathed upon her face as he promised her the hope of home.
It is in flight of the child that she crosses paths with Lord Stannis, her dress still ruined and bloody from her passage through the ruins of Winterfell. Without hesitation, despite her fear and confusion, she dips in a bow, her knees weak and wobbly so she almost stumbles. ] Your Grace— [ she says, her look wary. Was it truly Lord Stannis or just an apparition? ] —it is you, isn't it?
no subject
She calls to the child, asks after her name and what she might fear, though she suspects the clang of bells in the encroaching distance. Sansa Stark knew a fool once, a man she saved from beneath the king's boot, and though she did not fear him, she loathe the way he breathed upon her face as he promised her the hope of home.
It is in flight of the child that she crosses paths with Lord Stannis, her dress still ruined and bloody from her passage through the ruins of Winterfell. Without hesitation, despite her fear and confusion, she dips in a bow, her knees weak and wobbly so she almost stumbles. ] Your Grace— [ she says, her look wary. Was it truly Lord Stannis or just an apparition? ] —it is you, isn't it?