Her fingers froze. There, curled amidst the strands and waves, they turned to ice and they turned to stone. Sansa didn't move, except for when the breeze snagged her skirt's edge and tossed it into the water. As if breaking from a reverie, she rushed to rescue the hem, folding it back onto the dry rock.

"I don't know." She didn't look at him, preferring to stare hard at the water's surface. If the sun were only a little out of the way, she might be able to see her reflection. "She played at protecting Arya," from me of all people. "And then at denouncing our Lord Father. And I'm--"

Married to a Lannister. A long-time hostage of Lannisters. Raised to think of dragons like bad things.

"Maybe she wouldn't have said anything different. She believes herself a queen--" Sansa seemed resistant to give her the title. "Alayne Stone is nothing to a queen. It's safer that way."