There were days when she forgot her grief. Clear days, when she was woken by the rare sound of migrant birds singing their delight of an open sky in a stifling city. These were the days when the heat and noise and stench of the people could not touch the coolness of the morning breeze, or the softness of the blue washed sky, or the gentle warmth from the still rising yolk-yellow sun. Most mornings, she awoke to the sound of a handmaiden clearing her throat or setting the table, shuffling her feet, sometimes humming an unfamiliar tune. On those mornings, Sansa remembered. Before opening her eyes to the day she remembered the sound of the sword sweeping through the air towards her father's neck. She remembered the memories she could have created – hugging her father, laughing with her sister, speaking the truth – and she remembered that she had chosen a path away from such simple happiness. On those mornings, she awoke to grief.

But when the birds sang, Sansa could forget. When the birds sang her chamber seemed light and open. Her bed felt soft, her sheets felt cool beneath her and her pillows were plump. On such a clear day she would lie very still and listen to the opus of the northern birds. She imagined that they were singing for her – singing of her, sharing her story. How does my story end? Is this a song of sadness or hope?

On this clear day, Sansa rose from her cool sheets and her plump pillows in search of the warbling visitors. Habit steered her first towards the armoire where she retrieved an embroidered muslin robe, imported from Dorne. It had been a rare gift from the Queen, given without meaning or malice, and was more beautiful than any robe should be. It would have been useless in Winterfell, too thin to serve its purpose, but in Kings Landing it was perfect. In her moments of madness Sansa imagined the reason she could not escape the city was because she had but one robe, a robe which suited the climate of one city. How can I fly North if the clothes I wear would betray me?

Sansa wrapped the robe around her before walking towards the open window. She rested against the wall made soft by the parted curtain and looked out. The people of the Red Keep were likely still slumbering and unaware that the air they were breathing was sweetest at this early hour. The northern birds continued their songs but Sansa could not see them and in truth she didn't mind. Their song was still sweet and lifted her heart, if only for a while. Softly she began to sing an echo of the song of the visiting birds, her eyes closed. Sansa imagined herself in Winterfell. She stroked the pale red stone of the window which, in her sightlessness, she imagined to be the warm grey stone of the north. A breeze pushed the fabric of the curtain against her bare hand and she believed for a moment that she felt her direwolf by her side. Oh Lady..

Continuing with her song, Sansa tugged at the blue ribbon holding fast her night braid and dragged her slim fingers through her hair. On other mornings she would wait for her handmaiden to brush her hair and style it in the southern fashion. But on such a clear day it gave Sansa peace to pretend that the hand combing through her hair belonged to her mother. Her song had drifted away from that of the birds to a northern tune her mother had once sung to her. It was a simple melody with no words that Sansa knew of, a melody made for humming and hair combing.

A loud tattoo of marching guards willed Sansa to open her eyes, but she did not stop her song. The changing of the guard. The day is here. At the pit of her stomach Sansa began to feel the familiar hollowness form. The whole castle will be awake soon enough. I should go back to my bed. But returning to bed meant having to wake again, wake again to remembrance and grief. Sansa remained by the window, humming.

A sharp rap against the door of the chamber shocked Sansa to silence. The handmaiden did not knock, not for Sansa. The hollowness in her stomach grew to living fear, but the memory of her mother helped Sansa restrain it back as she spoke.

"Enter."