Chapter XVIII: Sansa II – The Crypts
“Shall I come with you, Your Grace?” the guard asked when Sansa took the lit torch from him.
“No, thank you, Tom,” she told him. “This is something I have to do on my own. Besides, I’ll be fine. There’s nobody down there, aside from the dead.”
And the dead posed no danger to anybody. Not anymore.
The crypts of Winterfell were dark as she descended down the narrow steps, but they were changed, as was the world. The old plaster had been replaced by a new coat that was lighter in color when they reburied the kings of the North and the lords of Winterfell. Some were likely in the wrong tombs, but nobody could expect differently after all the chaos. Only with the new tombs were they sure they contained the right occupants. Her grandfather and Uncle Brandon had never risen and lay undisturbed. One had been burned to cinders, the other’s bones had been cleaned of all flesh before coming north, as had Sansa’s father’s and aunt’s.
At Aunt Lyanna’s grave Sansa paused, taking the wilted winter rose from the statue’s hands and replacing it with a fresh one.
“Jon asked me to pay his respects to you,” Sansa told her, remembering the sparse letter. “I hope you watch over him.” That was all she had to say to a woman she never knew.
The next three tombs were the difficult ones. Father looked at her, stern as always, with Robb standing next to him over his empty tomb. The fresh plaster on Rickon’s tomb she tried to ignore, as it was a stark reminder of the one member of her immediate family whose eyes had turned blue.
“Father,” she said, nodding at the statue. “Robb. These days, I wish I had your counsel. Both of you ruled the North, and I try to do my best, but there is much I never learned. Did I do the right thing with Glover, I wonder? Or would you advise forgiveness? Or should I have taken his head? What will the lords respect more? I wish you had taught me, Father, and not just Robb and Jon.”
In the flickering light, she could imagine her father’s kind smile, though the statue looked little like him. If she tried hard enough, she could hear him tell her it was all right, as he had done when she was an upset little girl.
Robb’s statue remained silent. She was older now than he had been when he died, and it was still strange to think about. He’d always been the older one, the brother she looked up to, even if his honor had ended up getting him killed while she had been trapped in King’s Landing.
With a sigh, Sansa closed her eyes. It was no use. Even down here, surrounded by Starks, she was alone. Arya, Bran and Jon were gone. Starks weren’t made for loneliness, she thought. They were made for a pack, and hers was gone.
Fin