[The young Queen has survived battles by hiding herself away under stone, praying that the men who fought outside would hold. That they would see the dawn. Luckily, this was not that sort of battle. Instead of arrows and swords, the weapons of choice are buckets of water, the screaming is all of pure joy rather than abject terror. All the same, she chose to remain uninvolved, creeping along the sides of the battle, in hopes that no one spot her.
She thought she was doing a great job, too, until someone ran up behind her and dumped a bucket of water over her head. She lets out a shriek of surprised, tensing up as the water dripped down her back. At once she thinks of her little sister, having more than once done the same thing when they'd been growing up. But it wasn't Arya, it was someone else, some stranger. Never the less, Sansa called out after her assailant:] You're lucky that's just water!
[See? This is why she liked to hide during battles.]
suitcase full of summer-time
[This was something she could do. A bright, happy celebration. The music that was played was unfamiliar, but she found herself enjoying it all the same. As the night wore on, Sansa found herself a few drinks in, having had a few dances with the young men who dared to ask. They did not know who she was here, she did not demand their respect or allegiance. These people had never heard of Westeros. Here, perhaps, she could have the opportunity to enjoy a sort of reprise of the youth she should have had. A taste of What Could Have Been.
Glass of wine in one hand, the music changes and she turns to the person nearest her:] What sort of music is this? I've never heard it before today.
see me in a flower crown [The flowers in her hair were a great deal less heavy than the crown she wore in Winterfell, but she found herself liking it far more. It had been years since she'd worn flowers in her hair- wildflowers she had picked with Jeyne Poole, woven into intricate braids and chains. The one that had been handed to her, white flowers and pale purple, silver ribbons holding it together, was far more ornate than anything she'd managed to create in the scant summer years she'd had.
Sansa Stark | Game of Thrones
[The young Queen has survived battles by hiding herself away under stone, praying that the men who fought outside would hold. That they would see the dawn. Luckily, this was not that sort of battle. Instead of arrows and swords, the weapons of choice are buckets of water, the screaming is all of pure joy rather than abject terror. All the same, she chose to remain uninvolved, creeping along the sides of the battle, in hopes that no one spot her.
She thought she was doing a great job, too, until someone ran up behind her and dumped a bucket of water over her head. She lets out a shriek of surprised, tensing up as the water dripped down her back. At once she thinks of her little sister, having more than once done the same thing when they'd been growing up. But it wasn't Arya, it was someone else, some stranger. Never the less, Sansa called out after her assailant:] You're lucky that's just water!
[See? This is why she liked to hide during battles.]
suitcase full of summer-time
[This was something she could do. A bright, happy celebration. The music that was played was unfamiliar, but she found herself enjoying it all the same. As the night wore on, Sansa found herself a few drinks in, having had a few dances with the young men who dared to ask. They did not know who she was here, she did not demand their respect or allegiance. These people had never heard of Westeros. Here, perhaps, she could have the opportunity to enjoy a sort of reprise of the youth she should have had. A taste of What Could Have Been.
Glass of wine in one hand, the music changes and she turns to the person nearest her:] What sort of music is this? I've never heard it before today.
see me in a flower crown
[The flowers in her hair were a great deal less heavy than the crown she wore in Winterfell, but she found herself liking it far more. It had been years since she'd worn flowers in her hair- wildflowers she had picked with Jeyne Poole, woven into intricate braids and chains. The one that had been handed to her, white flowers and pale purple, silver ribbons holding it together, was far more ornate than anything she'd managed to create in the scant summer years she'd had.
At least, as it was back home, Spring was here.]