Chapter Text
Ordinarily, breakfast time in Winterfell was a hectic affair. Lady Catelyn would be preoccupied with whichever of the Stark children was currently making a fuss, Father would be preoccupied with his duties for the coming day, the various children would be preoccupied with various small complaints or squabbles, and the servants would be preoccupied with keeping the hall as tidy as could be expected. That morning was no different in that regard. In others, however… Well, Sansa was a touch unused to being said Stark making a fuss, to say the least.
“Sansa-“ Father began, “have you thought over your actions from last night?” His tone was pleasant, Sansa noted, but his eyes were tired. It made a part of herself tucked deep inside her stomach quail. How late had he been awake, pondering what to do with his disobedient child? What sort of scene had she left behind after she stormed away from dinner?
“I have, Father…” she replied, her head lowered. Her head was lowered, her thoughts swirling as she remembered her own outburst and Rinahon’s shocked face as she fled from his chambers. To her right she heard Arya whisper “looks like she’s back to her prissy, perfect self.” At the tables below Theon and his group of friends were talking amongst themselves. To her left Rinahon shifted, his chair creaking a bit. Her Mother’s eyes seemed to bore into the back of her neck, despite her gaze being lowered.
Sansa straightened her back, meeting her Father’s eyes. Arya was right, it was long past time that she minded the expectations placed on her as a Lady of the House of Stark. “I apologize for my tone, but I’m not sorry for what I said.”
“Sansa!” Mother’s scandalized gasp was almost enough to shake her convictions, but Sansa had sworn to the Old Gods and the New that she would do whatever it took to fulfill her obligations, and what kind of Lady would Sansa be if she abandoned her charge now?
“And just what makes you say this?” Father did not seem truly angry yet, thank the Gods. His brow was arched, but his tone was even. Maybe, just maybe, Sansa could convince him to see reason.
“Because I saw Theon and his friends go out riding while I was practicing my sums, and that means that Jon couldn’t have left the stables a mess since he finished cleaning as I was doing my embroidery with Jeyne. Therefore, you were punishing Jon for something he didn’t do, which was mean and unfair. Theon should have been the one to clean his mess up instead!” If the memory of last night’s argument were not fresh in her mind Sansa would have punctuated her final words with a stamp of her foot. With her newly rediscovered convictions in mind, she settled for crossing her arms and scowling.
Mother and Father exchanged looks as the hall (or perhaps just the head table) erupted into whispers. There was a silent debate echoing between them, conveyed with the slightest tilt of the head or tick of the mouth. Sansa would have studied them intently on any other day, committed to learning all she could of Courtly Ways. Today, however, she used their silence to her advantage.
“Come along R- Jon, we’re going to see Maester Luwin,” she declared, grabbing Rinahon’s sleeve and dragging him along. After all, it was only proper to have a child’s injuries looked after. She would have done it last night, honestly, if it were not for her own lack of knowledge in the healing arts. Perhaps she should ask the Maester to teach her some? Thank goodness that she had decided to undertake these lessons, imagine how terrible it would be to be caring for a baby only to realize that you could not treat it!
Sansa resolutely ignored her parent’s cry and the sight of Rinahon’s confused face as the doors to the hall ground closed behind her. She just had to have Maester Luwin take care of those scraped palms and everything would be alright