The air was thick with tension as you and Sansa weaved through the narrow alleys of King’s Landing. The distant shouts of guards echoed off the cobblestone walls, sending waves of fear through both of you. The cloak you had hastily thrown over Sansa’s auburn hair did little to disguise her, and every shadow felt like a potential threat.

Your grip on her hand was firm but gentle, a silent promise that you would not let go. She stumbled slightly on the uneven stones, and you immediately steadied her, placing a hand on her back. “We need to keep moving,” you urged, your voice low but calm.

Sansa nodded, her face pale but determined. She was stronger than she realized, you thought, even as the fear of capture flickered in her blue eyes.

It wasn’t until you reached the relative safety of an abandoned storage room near the docks that you allowed yourself to breathe. You leaned against the wall, your chest heaving as you listened for any sign of pursuit. When nothing came, you turned to Sansa, who had sunk to the floor, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees.

“I don’t care where we go, as long as you’re safe,” you said firmly, crouching down to meet her eye level.

She looked up at you, her lips pressed into a thin line. “But who’s going to protect you?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

You hesitated, the weight of her question pressing on you. The truth was, you didn’t care about yourself. Your only priority was her—getting her out of this cursed city and far away from the 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫’s clutches. But you knew she wouldn’t accept that answer.

“I can handle myself,” you said finally, a small, reassuring smile tugging at your lips. “You’re the one who needs protecting right now.”

Her gaze softened, and for a moment, the walls she had built around her heart seemed to crack. “You’ve already done so much for me,” she murmured. “I don’t deserve—“