The light hit her first, then the warmth. The warmth of summer… how could that be? As her eyes became adjusted to the light, the room came into focus, and while it was the same room that she fell asleep in, it had changed. The stone walls were illuminated by the intense stream of sunlight entering through the window, and despite said window being wide open, the room was warm in comparison to the bitter winds of recent times. Funny, she could not recall opening the window, nor would she, now winter had officially arrived. A knock at the door silenced her thoughts, "Lady Sansa, Miss, it's about time you got up", a voice spoke, and the door opened slowly, revealing a handmaiden. Wait…her handmaiden, Missri, her handmaiden when she was a child, back before- well, before everything. She could not believe it, after all this time, she looked not a day changed. But why was she here? She had not had a handmaiden in some time now, nor did she particularly see the need anymore, these are times of war, she could happily make do on her own.

"Let me help you with your hair Lady Sansa Miss,", Missri spoke walking towards her. Quickly Sansa jumped out of bed, "No, no, no, it's quite alright, I can manage on my own, but thank you." Her handmaiden's somewhat puzzled, even shocked expression surprised her, she had been managing fine on her own for years, however, recalling her younger self, she had been slightly too proper, and maybe a little vain too, and had consequently always been uptight with her handmaidens, Missri included. "Very well Miss", curtseying before she turned around and left, closing the door gently behind herself.

Perhaps it was Jon's doing, seeking out her old handmaiden for her, to make her more comfortable, to satisfy her stupid desires to be lady-like and constantly perfect, or to remind her of her past life? She could not decide whether to be grateful or angry with him for doing so. Any which way, Missri was right, it was time she went to break her fast, for no doubt plans on what they were going to do next were to be discussed in the morning, and she was determined to be a part of them, if she was wanted there or not.

However, as she sat down in front of her mirror something was wrong… her reflection, instead of being of a young woman with a thin narrow face and long red hair, was of a child. She looked down at her body and saw that of a child. Her hair only just went past her shoulders, her skin was porcelain, and where scars used to remain on her body it was clear and unharmed.

What… How in seven hells…

Then it all made sense. The room, the feeling of summer, Missri… this was her past, a memory, a dream. One of the strangest of dreams, it feels so real, but perhaps too good. Her body too fresh, and the air too warm, she should have known. Yet her dreams of late have been never so good, consistently of Joffery, of Littlefinger, or even worse, of Ramsey. Yet this is good, she is in Winterfell, but not as it is now, a ruin tainting her childhood memories with horrific ones of her marriage, but how it used to be: a place of joy and comfort, a place of warmth despite the underlying chill of the North. It feels too real… but is can't possibly not be a dream, right?

Entering the hall, Sansa could see her family sat along the table located at the top of the room. She was rendered speechless. The sight of her family, even in this dream, was too much to bear. Her Lord father, Eddard Stark, how long it had been since she had looked upon his face, sat in the centre, with her mother at his side, and Robb at his other. From what she could see both Bran and Rickon sat across from them, but as she entered the room none of them saw her. As she made her way closer, the conversation became audible, "…a great knight, he is, isn't he father! He killed Rhaegar Targaryen, the last dragon, in single combat." Bran spoke, father eating in silence, staring at his food. "Sansa, my dear, we were getting worried with you up so late." Catelyn interrupted, her eyes full of concern as she glanced up at Sansa. Just the sound of her mother's voice made her eyes fill with tears, for it was too painful, only reminding her of everything she has lost. "Oh my dear, Sansa you are not ill are you? That cannot do, for you know the King is said to be arriving today". The King? What is this? For sure she believed that this dream was much like heaven, a chance to see her loved ones. Why then was she then reliving her past? This is not a dream…

"The King?" She replied in question. "Yes Sansa my dear, goodness! The King and the Queen and their whole party is on their way to Winterfell, you have known this for nearly a month. What has happened to you? This is all you have been talking about, I thought you were excited to see the royal prince!" The prince? Joffery… Of course, what an idiot she had been. A naïve, stupid, blind idiot. Her prince is shinning armour. Long ago however, had she stopped believing in songs. Stopped believing in a happily ever after, and a knight coming to save her. Yet here she stood, supposedly reliving her life, if that is even what was happening, and if indeed that was what was happening, she could change it. Maybe she could stop the whole thing before it even happens. Maybe she could save them, save her father, her mother and Robb, save Rickon and Arya. Even save Bran and Jon from their unpleasant fates. Save herself…

Maybe…