When Sansa wakes that first morning in Dragonstone, she finds a gown has been brought to her rooms. It hangs on a peg across the room from the bed and once she rises up from the blankets, she crosses the room to finger the whispering silk. The gown is of the palest blue, the neckline cut so very deep it would surely reach just above her navel, where there it met an intricately designed gold belt that would wrap her waist. The skirt was all soft pleats and every stitch was of delicate gold thread. Perhaps on another woman, it would be a lovely gown, but Sansa drew back from the gown with a roll of blue eyes, a smirk toying with her lips. Did Viserys truly think she would don such a garment, just to please him? She's reminded of Margaery though, such a gown would have looked lovely on her.

"He had that sent to your rooms at first light," it's Brienne, come in so quietly that Sansa had not even noticed her. Sansa turns, a frown replacing her smirk as she faces her sworn soldier. Brienne was without a doubt the only person in all of Dragonstone that she could trust, that she was certain would keep her safe. Sword or no sword, Brienne would rip even the man's dragons apart if it meant keeping her safe. "You aren't going to wear it, are you?"

"Of course not," Sansa remarks with a shake of her head. It's then that she turns to her trunk, brought in from her ship the night before, opening it as Brienne stokes the small fire in the hearth behind her. "This shall do," she murmurs to herself as she pulls a gray gown from the trunk, shaking it out. It's not as heavy of a gown as the one she'd worn the day before and she hopes it won't be too thick for the warmer Southern air.

When she finally dresses in her own gown and breaks her fast, she escapes her chambers and wanders through the halls of Dragonstone. It's a large castle, old and dusty from its long years of standing alone. Stannis Baratheon had lived in its walls for a time, but even that had been short lived and years ago. Sansa puts out a hand to touch the dragons carved into the stone wall, fingers tracing the outline of its scaled back.

"Beautiful, aren't they?"

She turns at the voice, surprised to see Viserys standing there at the end of the hall. He comes towards her, well dressed in a black doublet trimmed in Targaryen red. A three headed dragon pin is pinned over his heart. "They say this castle was built with magic," he continues as he comes to stand before her, his violet eyes meeting her blue. "Magic that made its walls strong and fearsome as the gargoyles that sit upon its outer walls." His hand slides down towards the head of the dragon, with its teeth barred.

"Beautiful is not quite the word I had in mind," Sansa admits to him, her words bringing an amused sort of smile to his face.

"No, I suppose no Northern girl can see the beauty in a creature such as a dragon." He inspects her then, Sansa can feel his hungry gaze taking in the sight of her. "Was the dress I sent to you not to your liking?" Sansa could feel the danger in his question and so she smiles, giving a small shake of her head.

"In truth, far from it." She decides honesty is the best policy- if she offends the so called king, then he will look foolish for throwing a fit. She tilts her head as she watches his face, ever intent on capturing the truth of his response no matter what his words said. Again she was met with that amused sort of smile, his violet eyes narrowing for a single moment- though, not from anger. But rather he regarded her closely, as one might inspect something of value. He was inspecting her like a possession.

"You're an honest woman... I liket that." Viserys says a moment later, offering her his arm so they might finish strolling the castle. The young woman does not hesitate, much to his surprise, and Viserys finds himself wondering more about this self proclaimed queen. Her temperament was as fiery as her hair and Viserys wants to tame her. He wants to make her his as he had his dragons. "Though I must say that blue would have been lovely on you." Viserys is a man of fashion, Sansa knows this, and it's something she might even say they have in common. "You have the most beautiful hair, the blue would have complimented you well," he observes as they turn a corner, making their way towards the staircase that would lead down to the main floor of the castle.

"You're far too kind," she replies, ducking her head to hide that she's not blushing, but rather smiling. She can only hope that if he catches a glimpse he'll think she's smiling from pleasure, not mirth.

"And this is where I must take my leave of you," Viserys says as they come to stand before a chamber door, one which lead into the painted table room. His war room, Sansa knew it to be. "My lady," he raises her hand to press his lips to and she dips the quickest of curtsies, holding his gaze a moment longer. His eyes narrow ever so slightly but then he turns, disappearing into the room without even a backwards glance.

The moment he's gone, Sansa can't help but to breathe with relief.

[ x x x ]

She hates this place.

It's hot, humid, and it's not the North. Sansa never realized how much she truly loved her home, how much she loved Winterfell, until she was gone from its walls. Ice ran through her veins and even now she could feel it melting beneath her skin. She stands on the cliffside, overlooking the sea, wondering to herself what Jon was doing right then. Did he miss her as much as she missed him?

A moment later, she hears approaching footsteps and she turns, surprised to see Tyrion walking towards her. He comes to stand beside her in silence, his gaze following the same path hers and taken only moments before. "I came down here to brood over my failure to anticipate the Greyjoy attack," he says, reminding Sansa of the events of the day before. Yara Greyjoy's fleet had been attacked by Euron Greyjoy and the attack had nearly demolished them in entirety. Sansa felt the familiar twinge of pain as she thought of Theon, who she knew had sailed for his home after helping her to escape Ramsay's clutches. She knew not if he lived or died. "But I see you are here already."

"I'm a prisoner on this island," she blurts without warning, turning to face the man she once called husband. Tyrion looks uncomfortable as he fumbles with his words, saying that he wouldn't call her such a thing. "I am a prisoner here as I was once a prisoner of Joffrey in King's Landing, as I was once a prisoner in my own home at Winterfell," Sansa spits, venom in her eyes and her tone. "You say I am free to walk the castle, to walk wherever I please. But I am unable to return to my ship, for you have stolen it from me."

"I wouldn't say we stole it from you-" Tyrion begins, his tone good natured, as if he means to placate her.

"I'm not playing word games with you." She snaps, interrupting him. "The dead are coming." She says with earnest, turning back to face the little man. "Perhaps they are already there and I am here, far away from my home and my family."

"Why don't you find out what to do about my missing fleet and murdered allies and I shall find out what to do about your army of the dead." Tyrion speaks, this time with more force, his tone bringing her gaze to his face.

"It's hard for me to fathom, it truly is... If someone told me about the white walkers, about the Night King..." She pauses, shaking her head before she turns away once more, sapphire gaze lingering on the roaring sea below them. For several seconds there is nothing but silence between them, the only sound that of the waves crashing against the rocks below, until she sighs. "You probably don't believe me."

Tyrion surprises her when he speaks. "I do, actually." Sansa turns back to him with widened eyes, a brow arching in her surprise. "I know your brother, Jon Snow. He is as noble as your father and thus, incapable of lying." Sansa can't help but to smile, knowing this to be true. "I trust the eyes of an honest man more than what everyone else claims to know." He's come closer to her now, so close they are just an arm's length apart.

"How do I convince people who don't know Jon... Who don't know me?" Misery is settling in. She's fearful that she's fighting a losing battle here and Viserys Targaryen will forever be her keeper.

"People's minds aren't meant for problems so large," Tyrion replies with a shrug, as if they speak of something mundane, not the lives of everyone in Westeros. "White walkers... The Night King... The army of the dead... It's almost a relief to confront a comfortable monster like my sister."

Sansa sighs, shaking her head. "I need to go home. I need to help prepare my people for what's coming." She thinks of Jon and how tirelessly he must be working to prepare the North for the battle that lingers ahead. Any given moment, the dead could be upon them, and she would be here. "I want to go home." She finishes, softer than the other words, speaking the honest truth from the depths of her heart.

"Something tells me you were not chosen as Queen in the North simply for being your father's daughter," Tyrion's words bring her head back, surprise yet again taking root in her sapphire eyes. "Are you to give up so easily?" No, she shakes her head, of course not. "Viserys Targaryen is not so inclined to go to war against anyone for a girl from the North that he barely even knows." Tyrion goes on and Sansa blinks, a new thought coming into her mind as she stands there in the afternoon sun. "Perhaps if you got to know him as I do, you too might see why he will be a good king. Perhaps you might even be able to work together so you both get what you want." He offers her a smile before he takes a step back and turns away, walking the same path that had led him down to the cliff's edge. Sansa watches him as he goes, until he disappears from her line of sight. Overhead, one of the dragon's shrieks as it streaks across the sky, reminding Sansa of the king that sits inside the castle behind her.

All this time, perhaps she had been tackling things in the entirely wrong way.

[ x x x ]

"You need not do this, my lady."

Brienne's vocals are full of discontent, her eyes sweeping her lady up and down, taking in the sight of her in the blue gown. It was true, the gown fit Sansa in a way that none of her own did- the pale blue color complimented her vibrant red hair and brought a warmth to her ivory skin. But it was not a gown her lady would ever wear- even in her time in King's Landing, she had never dressed in such a way. This was a gown cut for a Targaryen queen, not a Northern one.

"I have to," Sansa says softly, staring at her reflection in the looking glass. She knows everything rides upon this alliance with the Targaryen king and if pleasing his ego in this way was the only way, then so be it. "I am still me, Brienne." She says this more to herself than to her sworn shield, though she's frowning when she turns to face her. "I will do anything to protect the North." Brienne holds her gaze for a long moment but then nods, swallowing down what other words she thought she might say.

Together, the two women make their way down to the main hall, turning a corner to face the double doors that will lead into the war room. Sansa gives Brienne the briefest of nods before she reaches up to knock, three short knocks that alert those within the room of her arrival. It is Mossador that opens it, giving her a quick bow before he steps aside, allowing her and Brienne entrance to the room.

Viserys' feels his breath catch at the sight of the woman when she steps into the room, her appearance catching him off guard to say the least. The proud Northern lady had set aside her black gowns and furs for the blue and gold gown he'd sent to her room days before; she wore it as well as he had known she would. Viserys can't help but to allow his gaze to linger upon the young woman's chest, the swell of her breasts barely contained behind the thin blue silk. "Lady Stark, you look... Beautiful." Viserys says, coming around the side of the table to stand before her, taking her hand and bringing it to his mouth for a kiss. His lips linger far too long on her knuckles but she smiles prettily, silently thanking her mother for her every lesson on courtsey, silently thanking her years in King's Landing that taught her to mind her face in every moment of every day. "It was as I said, the gown is quite lovely on you."

At once, he's Joffrey, full of flattery that is more for his own benefit than hers. Viserys is pleased in knowing he was right and therefore, he's happy with her. Sansa smiles and dips him a quick curtsy before he steps away, returning to the seat he's just vacated. "You've joined us at a most opportune time, Tyrion, go on then." Viserys gives his hand a wave, indicating for the small man to continue on with his thought that Sansa's arrival had interrupted.

"I was saying... Your grace, my lady," Tyrion shoots her a pointed glance but Sansa looks away, instead focusing her gaze upon the great map that's carved into the table they stand around. It is a map of all of Westeros and at once, her gaze falls upon the North. "If we were to retrieve one of these White Walkers... One of these wights you speak of, it will prove their existence to not only his grace, but to my sister Cersei, as well." Now Sansa's eyes are on him and their gaze is sharp. "If this enemy is as great as you say they are, we will need an alliance. My sister will not believe in stories, but she will believe if you bring it to her."

Brienne scoffs from where she stands, looking over Sansa's shoulder. "You expect who to do this?" She asks, swinging her gaze from Tyrion to the king and then back to Tyrion. "You surely cannot expect that she-" Sansa holds up a hand, silencing her sword shield, focusing her blue eyes upon the king that sits across from where she stands.

"A team will be provided for you, of course." Tyrion continues, his voice drawing Sansa's attention back to him. "And the king will remain close, with a dragon, should you fall into trouble."

"This is a suicide mission!" Brienne scowls, shaking her head.

"Fine," Sansa interrupts, giving a nod. It was as she had always said, always thought... She would do anything to protect the North. Even this. "I will go with this team of yours, even just to the Wall." She glances at Brienne who looks as if she would strangle Tyrion Lannister where he stood, but she smiles upon her, softening the scowl Brienne wore. "But when we have secured the alliance with Cersei, I would like to return home." She returns her attention to Viserys, who sits up a little straighter in his chair. "Winterfell will serve as the best place to fight back. It will prevent the Night King from spreading further into Westeros if we stop him there in the North." If nothing else, this would secure her return home before the fight begun.

It takes several long, silent moments before Viserys nods.

But that was all she needed. That was all she wanted. She would be home again. Oh, it would be so sweet to be home again. It would be so sweet to see Jon again.