Nodding with a small smile pressed against his lips, Jon could see that she was just as glad for the wine as he was. Though her question was what surprised him more than anything else that had been said. “I..I wouldn’t know. Being who I am, I’ve been this way since birth, groomed since I learned to walk and talk and hold a sword, my father’s pride and joy, his heir. But, I think any of my siblings would be suitable had they been given my training and lessons since birth and it’s not an easy role to fill, least of all to say it isn’t for the faint of heart…”

Sansa listened intently at his analysis of his siblings. The words he spoke about them were honest--unbecoming in polite company. She was no longer polite company and she smiled at the realization. Truly he was the best suited for lordship and for all the reasons he described. 

“It’s completely alright with me.” He responded in kind just a bit too vehemently for his taste and surely it would be something that had she seen it, Saerena would have most definitely made a spectacle of him. Clearing his throat to distract from his overly cheerful display, Jon turned to pour a glass of wine for her and himself and handed it back to her as he began to speak once more. 

“Thank you.” Sansa gladly took the wine in both hands, it was a dark enough red that she could not see the bottom of the glass. Dornish? She wondered. It was not until coming to King’s Landing that she had so freely drank it. Now she had become more accustomed to the darker reds--almost enough to enjoy it.

“She built her safety walls so high for protection, she ended up imprisoning herself.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Truthfully he was, even though it was the cause for her to come to him and later for him to confess what he felt for her, but it was never his intention for her to feel the way she did.

"Oh, no. I--I would prefer it. If-that's-all-right-with-you." She added the last sentence on quickly. She had more than overstayed her welcome in the Red Keep and she knew she couldn't handle the idea of dodging Thorne forever.

“No, I–We can talk inside.” Sansa’s brow showed her worry as she bit her lip. “No, not rude.” Once she was inside, she found herself pacing instead of taking her usual spot in the chair near the serving table.

As she entered, Jon knew it was a poor choice of words he used. More bemused than anything, he watched as she nervously moved from one end of his chambers to the other. “You have? I…I hope that was not on account of me. I didn’t mean to cause a rift between you two.” Frowning lightly, Jon could feel it begin to weigh on his conscience. Though he knew full well he wasn’t taking her from another man when she felt as he did and it was of her own volition, but he couldn’t help from feeling a tad guilty about doing it. 

"No, it's--it isn't your fault. It's just--" what would she say? It wasn't fair to say what it was, as if she even knew, for both Jon and Thorne's sakes. "There were already some rifts." That was true, but it was painful for her to verbalize.

“It’s not really a problem that can be solved. At least I think it isn’t.” Sansa swallowed hard. Who was this young lady? It was not as if she could discuss such things. They involved both Thorne and Jon. She bit her lip as she considered the fact that there really was no one she could speak to about it. 

“There will always be complications when you care about people, but I think its deciding which complications are worth it in the end. My name Is Robin Dondarrion by the way. I apologize I should have introduced myself properly.”

“Sansa Karstark.” She told the girl. There will always be complications when you care about people. Of course there would be! These kinds of complications, hopefully, would not persist. She used the introduction as an excuse not to respond. Without going into detail, it would be difficult to explain.

Sansa had to get out of there; she felt sick. How she could possibly have had not one, but two men interested in her? Two wonderful men. Thorne was breaking her heart–or she was breaking her own heart. She couldn’t tell. And now with Jon…

Renna eyed the girl carefully, gently spinning the knife she had been using to carve a piece of wood, letting the blade slide gracefully into its sheath that was wrapped around her wrist. The Greyjoy had found sanctuary in the garden, getting away from the rest of the court. The wedding had been an affair, and what with her sister and Aeron suddenly deciding to appear at court. She could feel the tides, ebbing and pulling, until they formed a circle, pulling everything into the depths. An ironborn she may be, however Renna was not arrogant enough to believe a Greyjoy on the throne would be a good thing. 

The voice came from a woman about her age. Someone she didn’t recognize. Great another noblewoman I don’t know, Sansa sighed. This one seemed more like Rowyn than any of the princesses, however, and she was grateful for it. 

Sansa had to get out of there; she felt sick. How she could possibly have had not one, but two men interested in her? Two wonderful men. Thorne was breaking her heart–or she was breaking her own heart. She couldn’t tell. And now with Jon…

“Oh no no my lady I am sorry. Are you alright? you are not hurt are you?” Robin had been sitting in the gardens all day humming and working on a flower chain when the dark haired noble lady swooped in, her face red with tears. Robins immediately wanted to help, her heart aching for the other woman already. Just as she had reached to touch her, Sansa’s fist struck the wall and RObin let out a surprised gasp.

“No. No, I’m fine.” Sansa quickly gained her composure and forced her face to be calm. “I should have been paying attention. Sorry for disturbing you.”

She saw herself as a shadow; secretly dancing in silence and chasing his footsteps in the dark. He saw her as sunshine; her light hair glittering as she twirls around, radiating all the brightness in the world right beside him.

Lie: You are forgetting him. Bleeding him out of your veins, building castles around your heart. Truth: He is sinking into your skin – dust-brown hair and dimples, scars and stars tattooed upon his body, and you, reaching in the dark for a dream of a dream. Lie: He is soft enough to love from afar. His eyes are pools, or maybe oceans. Classical mythology born again. Truth: He is a firestorm, or a thunderstorm, or the sword in the stone. Impossible to wield unless you know the secret. Lie: You don’t know the secret.