Sansa Stark

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:°• ✧༻

'Well you asked me!'

Sansa walked slowly through the gardens, the hem of her dress whispering against the path. Birds whistled in the trees, butterflies fluttered past, adorning colours of every variety. Sansa, much to her distaste, slowly came around for the gardens of the south. Flowers that would be too shy to grow in the snow or insects too bright and colourful to ever live anywhere near the dull, cold north that she, for some reason, came to miss.

"Caraxxes, you're walking awfully slow."

She called out to her sworn shield, the hurried footsteps catching up with her own. Sansa felt a certain warmth in Caraxxes's company, not that she had a choice, but at least it was nice company. Two noblemen, no older than yourself, snickered as they passed, more so at you more than Sansa. You knew why, never questioned anyone's actions. A gnarly scar ran down the back of your cheek, stopping short of your neck. It wasnt noticeable at a distance, nor was it a bother, yet it seemed a deformity in the south more than it had been in the North, where the scar was seen more so as poetry, as a reminder of your strength, your willpower.

"Ser Eldric Sarsfield and Lord Desmond Craickhall.."

You muttered as they passed, Sansa, noticing the snickers coming from the egotistical nobles.

"What are you doing?"

Sansa asked, her expression confused.

"I have a list."

The words left your lips easy, steadily, like silk against ivory white skin.

"A list of people you mean to kill?"

You turned your attention to Sansa now, chuckling quietly before turning your gaze ahead again.

"For laughing at me? Do i look like Joffrey to you?"

The slight get back at Joffrey brought a quick but suppressed smile to Sansa's face, even if it was just for the moment.

"No, death seems a bit extreme. Fear of death on the other hand,"

Sansa, without a minutes notice, butted in.

"You should learn to ignore them."

She said, like it was that easy.

"My lady, people have been laughing at me since we arrived in this hellish shithole they call a city, much longer than they have been laughing at you."

She just hummed in a knowing response as you continued on.

"I am the half-faced man, the scarred of the north,"

The nicknames sound