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A Prayer for Rescue
"Believe me, you will be rescued, Miss Stark." Those words lingered in her ears long after they were spoken.
He would not lie to me. Thinking of that handsome face, those beautiful and gentle purple eyes—he was both elegant and brave. He had announced the covenant with the North before the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms. He must be the knight on a white horse sent by the gods to save her.
Sansa buried her head beneath her pillow, his image filling her mind.
"I don't want Highgarden, nor Willas Tyrell. Please ask the gods to let Lord Cole take me back to the North," the girl prayed silently.
The girl from Highgarden had suggested that Sansa marry her brother Willas. But Sansa didn't want to go to Highgarden. She wanted to go home, to return to the North. She missed her father, mother, Bran, Rickon—everyone.
The Northern girl even fantasized whether he would be like the hero in the poem, like "Mirror Shield Florian" who defeated the giant to rescue Princess Jonquil, freeing her from this red cage.
Knock, knock, knock—the sound at her chamber door broke her reverie.
"Lady Sansa!"
Sansa knew the maid had come with dinner, and she sprang from the bed with joy.
She asked the maid to place the dinner tray on the table: lemon cakes, roasted pigeon, a cup of hot mulled wine, bacon, garlic sausage, blackberry pudding, honey-glazed apples, and soft, fragrant warm bread.
"This is truly wonderful," she said, hugging the maid happily and planting a light kiss on her cheek.
For dinner, she ate more cakes, pies, and bread than usual, savoring every bite.
After drinking her wine, Sansa decided to lie down on the bed.
She tried to close her eyes, but all she could think of was him.
The girl opened her eyes again, but his figure continued echoing in her heart.
When would they meet again? She hoped it would be soon.
His voice had been so gentle, though they had exchanged only a few words.
Sansa didn't know when she fell asleep. It wasn't until the following morning, when sunlight streamed into her chamber, that she woke from her dream. This time it was neither a bloody nightmare nor filled with green wildfire.
She had dreamed she was wearing a beautiful wedding dress in the godswood of Winterfell. Her father held her arm; Robb, Bran, and Rickon stood beneath the heart tree surrounding a silver-haired figure. He held a beautiful winter rose in his hand, a faint smile on his face, and slowly turned around.
Her father gave her hand to him, and together they walked to the great weirwood, knelt on the soft woolen cloth, and recited their wedding vows.
Under the witness of the old gods, his purple-blue eyes gazed at her softly before he leaned down slightly.
She saw her brothers cheering, her mother covering her lips as she wept with joy, and her father's face lit with a smile.
Just as his warm kiss was about to touch her face, she woke.
She looked out the window. Would her prince charming come to save her today?
"Sansa, don't be too anxious," she told herself. "There are Lannisters and gold cloaks everywhere. He is alone, or perhaps with just a few knights. He will come—he will certainly come."
"You have waited long enough. What harm is there in waiting a few more days? That monster has declared he wants to marry a girl from Highgarden. You need not fear bearing his children. You will be free once you return to the North," she reasoned.
But the waiting always seemed so long. Why didn't he come to visit her?
"Oh, stupid girl," she thought suddenly. "There are Lannister spies everywhere. If he came here openly, it would be foolish. I should go out for a walk." The wolf girl had an idea.
The Lannisters had not confined her completely. She could walk freely within the castle, though certain places remained forbidden—Maegor's Holdfast and the Tower of the Hand.
Perhaps she could inquire about Ser Jon's residence.
No, that would be too obvious.
Sansa quickly dressed, removing her nightclothes, donning silk smallclothes first, then a long skirt. Soon the girl realized she should dress more beautifully.
She went to her wardrobe and searched through the boxes and cabinets.
Finally, she stood before the bronze mirror with satisfaction, though when she thought of his handsome face, she suddenly felt somewhat inadequate.
"Don't be afraid, Sansa. Even the queen has praised your beauty," she encouraged herself.
She quietly opened the door. A Lannister guard stood outside—they truly treated her as a prisoner.
"Good morning, ser," she greeted softly.
The guard glanced at her coldly and replied, "Good morning, my lady. Where might you be going?"
"The king's wedding approaches, and I am going to the godswood to pray for him, my lord." In truth, she wished the monster would die sooner.
The guard nodded and allowed her to pass.
She walked from the tower into the morning sunshine. Birds sang in the distance. A leaf fell, and she gently caught it—the dew upon it sparkled like pearls.
She walked through the castle corridors, smiling and greeting the occasional servants she passed.
Sansa found herself approaching the courtyard.
From a distance, she saw the flaming white bird banner fluttering before the yard, and her heart quickened—he must be there.
Sansa did not approach rashly.
Though she appeared aimless, her eyes remained fixed on the doorway, hoping his figure would appear.
Sansa passed by several times, once even peering through the gate.
No, she did not see him.
She walked away again in disappointment.
Suddenly, laughter rang out, and she looked up.
The figure she had been thinking of finally appeared.
The laughter was not his, but a girl's.
She wore an emerald green dress, with brown curly hair and a cloak adorned with autumn flowers.
She stood beside him, looking so perfectly matched.
Why was the Highgarden girl here? Sansa felt her heart tremble and wanted to flee, yet she couldn't help wanting to hear what they discussed.
She quickened her pace, feeling tears threatening to fall.
How desperately she had wanted to see him.
Her long skirt caught beneath her foot. She cried out as she fell to the ground.
No one came to help her. She held back her tears and ran swiftly back to her tower.
She touched her scraped knees as tears streamed down her face.
Another day passed, and she had a nightmare. Once again, she dreamed that Joffrey had her beaten, and her knight did not appear.
In the morning, maids suddenly rushed into her chamber and took her to the bath.
They said her new clothes were ready.
The maids poured hot water into a tub filled with flower petals. They undressed her and washed her from head to toe until her skin flushed pink.
They trimmed her nails and hair, styling her auburn locks into soft curls that cascaded over her shoulders, and dabbed perfume on her skin.