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Jun. 6th, 2017 05:22 pm
theladyofwinterfell: (a kaleidoscope of color)

Sansa Stark
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Jul. 17th, 2016 02:02 pm
theladyofwinterfell: (sansa002)
SANSA STARK
GAME OF THRONES
AGE: 19
DOB: 7 July
ORIGIN: Winterfell, Westeros
HOUSING: Beta Building, Floor Three, East Unit
PB: Sophie Turner
HAIR: Red
EYES: Blue
HEIGHT: 5'10"
COMPLEXION: milk-pale
My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel.

Sansa Stark is a girl who has been tempered by fire and has let that which burns her simply make her stronger. Born the eldest daughter of a noble family, Sansa has gone from treasured lady to political pawn and has learned, over time, to shift from being played to being a player in the never-ceasing game of thrones. Originally naive and concerned only with the fanciful notions of love and chivalry, Sansa’s eyes have been opened to the cutthroat world of politics and all it entails. She knows that love and trust are crib-tales told to girls long before they learn the truth and she knows that her greatest weapon, aside from her name, is her ability to convince men that she does, in fact, care for them while she’s twisting the knife in their back.

Sansa knows how to sing a pretty song - both figuratively and literally. She knows how to say one thing and mean another entirely and she knows, all too well, how to suppress her own wants and desires in order to achieve a higher purpose. None of these lessons have come easily. Sansa’s tutelage has been the cruellest trial by fire she can imagine and has been paved with angst, betrayal and pain. She knows that wars aren’t always won with swords and that sometimes words and gold do a lot more to change a man’s mind than notions of honor. Sansa has learned to operate in shades of grey, infinitesimal layers between black and white, and that right and wrong seem to be dictated by who is wearing the crown and writing the history and not the gods themselves.

In spite of that, she still holds close to her heart that family and honor are the important things in life and that there are some, albeit few, people who hold those same ideals close to the chest. She isn’t completely jaded and hasn’t been turned entirely from the little girl she used to be, she’s simply learned how to suppress it and keep it close to herself while showing the world another face. Sansa has learned that courtesy is, in fact, a lady’s armor and she has armed herself to the teeth with it. She knows exactly how to phrase something that seems innocuous but can cut to the quick depending on the delivery and the intended audience. While she has no desire to sit the Iron Throne, she has an all-consuming desire to be free of it and see Winterfell held by House Stark once again so that she can be free to be the girl she’d been before treason took her family away. There is a sweetness beneath her steel that will never go away, a softness that Sansa is careful to keep hidden away from those who might want to exploit it. She knows how to play it false, to manipulate it to get what she wants or to seem less than she is but her true self is buried impossibly deep, locked away so that no one can touch it.

Sansa’s enemies are numerous but unlike her sister, her weapons are words and not swords. She has spent the last six or seven years of her life quite literally in a den of lions and has learned how to say the words that keep her head upon her shoulders while harboring other feelings deep within her heart. Sansa is the sort to observe what happens to others and keep that knowledge locked away so she can avoid their fates; she knows firsthand that royalty can be fickle and just because something seems pretty on the surface, it is often rotten underneath. She handles adversity with grace now, having been subjected to more adversity than a girl her age should ever experience, and refuses to let her enemies see weakness.

Sansa has lived through harrowing experiences as a prisoner of first the Lannisters and later the Boltons and has learned to keep herself and her desires close to the chest. She is savvy politically, knowing when to leverage for an alliance and when to leave a card on the table as she deems fit. Less prone to rash action than her brothers Robb and Jon, Sansa is coolly analytical of most situations and tries to see the board from all angles and predict what her enemy will do next - predict how best to wound them. She learned, after all, from those quite adept at cruelty.

Sansa jealously guards her trust and having been hurt so much by those who profess to love her, it is very difficult to earn that trust. She engages the world warily and with caution, skittish now from having learned the hard what love and trust can earn her. She will carry this into Cadelle as well and, with patience and understanding, will slowly learn that things are not quite so bad as they seem on the surface. Having encountered the worst of the world first hand, it will take Sansa some time to realize there are good people, even if they aren’t the lauded figures of stories and song but if she is shown kindness, she will return it twofold. A stable environment will allow her to blossom and while she will not be the girl she’d been before, she will no longer be the tightly-guarded woman she has become. Given the opportunity to see honorable and trustworthy people once again, Sansa will slowly begin to let down the walls she’s built and become lighter, if not light-hearted once again.
theladyofwinterfell: (determined; wolf queen)
Sansa has somewhat gotten used to surprise visitors of late and when she's told there's someone at the gates bidding entrance and wanting to see the Lady of Winterfell, she decides to go down there herself. She doesn't want a repeat of the situation with Arya and, considering she has no family left to make an appearance, she wonders who this might be. Jon wouldn't need to be granted entrance to his own castle so this must be someone begging favor - there's been a lot of those lately considering the bitter winds have blown and the snows have grown deep. Sansa tugs on her leather gloves and her fine fur cloak before heading down to the gates to inspect this visitor for herself.

Lord Baelish, of course, wants to come and see and Sansa doesn't stop him. When the visitor at the gates turns out to be the tallest, broadest man she's seen outside of the Mountain, she's pleased enough to let the ghost of a smile touch her lips before setting her face in the placid, blank expression she so often defaults to these days. The Hound. She hasn't seen him since the Battle of the Blackwater but he'd saved her that night and to hear Brienne and Arya tell it, he'd kept Arya alive and tried to get her back to Winterfell. That's enough for Sansa.

The sour look on Lord Baelish's face is enough for Sansa too and so she leads him inside, heedless of his road-stained clothes or his gruff manner. Sansa has handled quite a bit worse than The Hound in the years since she's seen him and she knows he's all bark and very little bite where she's concerned. "Come, then, I'll show you to some chambers and get you something to eat," she says, leading them through the bailey and into the castle proper. Part of her is pleased to show him her home, a girlish and stupid part of her, and she tamps that down; there's no place for frivolity any longer.

Once there's a bowl of stew set in front of him and he's settled in front of a fire in a snug set of rooms (with the doors firmly shut against interlopers, thank you), she tugs off her own gloves and cloak and gets a good look at him. He's as scarred as before, yes, but his is a welcome face. They need men like him for the war to come and Sansa is glad to take him into service, if that's what he wants.

"Ser Sandor, what has brought you so far North? The smarter thing to do would have been to go home to your own keep, I would think. You're a lord now."
theladyofwinterfell: (Default)
The journey from Winterfell to White Harbor in winter was a long enough one but once Sansa and Brienne had secured a boat from the Manderleys to head south, the trip was much faster; the winds favored them and the seas weren't against them in this trip from the north to the protected bays of Dragonstone. Convincing Jon that she should be the one to go south had taken some doing but eventually he'd relented; he was King in the North and sufficed as a Stark in Winterfell and while Sansa was a Princess and had a great deal of negotiating power, she had no ability to bend the knee for Jon. It was an ideal situation.

Once she landed, though, she'd been brought to an imposing audience hall to announce herself to the new Targaryen.

Meeting Daenerys Targaryen is something of an experience. The so-called Queen of the Seven Kingdoms has quite a few titles and they've all been rattled off by her herald, a slim woman called Missandei with an accent that Sansa cannot place. Brienne looks to Sansa as if to ask if she should announce her lady but Sansa lifted a hand, preferring to announce herself instead.

"And I, your Grace, am Sansa Stark, Princess of Winterfell and heir of the King in the North. I am also the Lady of Casterly Rock and Lady of the Dreadfort, titles bestowed upon me by my marriages to Queen's Hand, Tyrion Lannister, and the recently-deceased Ramsay Snow, former Warden of the North."

Sansa does not meet Tyrion's eyes just yet, focusing instead on this new queen. She's as lovely as any Targaryen in a story, yes, but Targaryens are known for madness. She stands slim and straight with her heavy furs and her dark gown and argues with this upstart queen about her credentials, about what makes her head and shoulders better than any candidate for the Iron Throne.

"No offense, your Grace, but what you know of Westeros could fill my thimble. You should listen to your hand more if you think the houses are rallying for your return. The Seven Kingdoms are fractured. The North is concerned with the army of the dead, not the doings of the south, and it is that purpose that has brought me south to treat with you. You speak of being bought and sold. I have too, my lady, first to House Lannister and later to House Bolton. While your Hand was a kind husband and gentle, one I still consider my husband, my second husband subjected me to every horror except the death I begged for. I do not need a lecture on the place of women in this world. May I retire and speak with you later? I would like to continue treating but I am exhausted and of ill company."

Daenerys graciously accepts, smiling slightly, and Sansa turns on her heel to go to the rooms she's been allotted for this stay. She pauses just outside the audience hall, though, wanting to speak with Tyrion alone and sending Brienne ahead.

"Tyrion? May I have a word, please?"

okCuddle

Jul. 22nd, 2017 08:09 pm
theladyofwinterfell: (a kaleidoscope of color)
Sansa Stark (19)
Princess. Lady of Winterfell. Lone Wolf.
( ✔ ) ( ✗ )
theladyofwinterfell: (sad songs)
The past year or so had been a whirlwind for Sansa and she has found her brother again only to lose him - this time not to the Wall but, instead, to House Targaryen. He's apparently the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, not the bastard son of her father as they'd always known him to be and as part of the treaty with Daenerys in the south, the north would be allowed to keep its autonomy provided there was a Targaryen king on the throne.

What better king than that which was Targaryen and Stark? Of course, such a king needed a queen and Sansa suddenly had the best claim on the throne of Winterfell than anyone in the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms and it was natural enough that she was matched to her cousin to be his queen consort. This made her a bit nervous; this is her third marriage, after all, and Sansa has not been successful in marriage. She has scars and pain from Ramsay still and she's afraid of being in bed with Jon.

At least she's had a little while to know Jon as a cousin now instead of a brother and the idea of him as husband is less strange that it might have been a year or so before. After the wedding feast, Sansa had requested that everyone enjoy the fine casks of wine sent from the south while she and Jon retired to bed for the evening.

For her part, she didn't particularly look forward to this portion of the ceremony but she had a duty to fulfill and she would fulfill it to the fullest. Her third wedding gown is silver and black, direwolves and dragons. It's very lovely, all told, but feels foreign against her skin. Too light, she thinks, for a winter wedding.

"He hurt me badly, Jon," Sansa says softly, hands folded in her gown. "It might still be painful with you. I still have pain sometimes."
theladyofwinterfell: (such fast friends as these)
Silks, velvets and floss in hand, Sansa seats herself near a window to work most days. The house she has in Kirkwall is snug but comfortable. There are only four rooms in it, yes, but she would rather have four rooms with Tyrion than an entire castle without him. Tyrion makes her happy most days; the days she is cross with him occur, yes, but they are few and far between. For her part, she's quite in love with him and while it's strange because he is not the handsome knight she had dreamed of as a girl, Sansa thinks she's done with handsome men. Give her a plain man with good intentions and she is much happier than a cruel, handsome one. She can be beautiful enough for the two of them and Tyrion's pretty words and soft touches go a lot further to make her giddy with attraction to him.

Today, she's working on a velvet surcoat for the Orlesian, the front of which is embroidered with thousands of tiny white blooms. It is a fine thing in midnight blue and Sansa hopes there is enough of the velvet left over to make herself a gown once she's cut out the cape the Orlesian has requested to go with it.

In her pile of things to be sewn she has personal things too - handkerchiefs for herself, shirts that need mending for Tyrion, a pile of delicate, tiny baby things for Pel's baby Sina.

As she sews, the window affords her a view of passersby and when she sees a face she recognizes, she lifts her hand a bit in greeting and flashes a bright smile.

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Sansa Stark

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