To celebrate one of the many stolen chances of ASOIAF, we proudly present SansaWillasWeek!
Our little ship has been making strides lately, so let’s help it along!
Any and all fanworks centring on the relationship (potential or otherwise) between Sansa Stark and Willas Tyrell will be welcome, be they fic, art, graphics, or mixes. Whatever your creative minds can dream up, we want it!
The week will run from Monday the 21st of July to Friday the 25th, with a fill day on Saturday the 26th. Each day has a different prompt, all of which can be found here. If you don’t get finished on time, don’t worry - Saturdays are for catching up, right?
Further information can be found here, and our ask is always open!
"Willas," Sansa says, ducking around his arms on unsteady feet and taking his face in her hands. Her skin is clammy, her eyes glassy but determined. "Willas, enough."
"What he said-"
"Enough," she says again, and Garlan barely lets go of him before he has to catch Sansa. Her knees buckle as he catches her up against his chest, her whole body trembling and shivering madly, but her eyes are still determined. His heart swells with love for her in that moment, and he almost forgets that his family are in the room with them. "I have been called worse."
Her face is ice, hard and cold and unmoving, and he thinks it’s been that way for a long time. She is so young, this She-Wolf of Winterfell, yet men of three kingdoms bend the knee for her, and her name is said with respect from Dorne to beyond what is left of the Wall.
He could have been her husband once (and that’s right, he thinks, he would have been her’s. He can’t imagine this woman, with her up-turned chin and eyes like daggers, ever belonging to anyone.) He could have married her in the sept at Highgarden and placed a crown of yellow roses on her head. He could have protected her from the lions that clawed at her without mercy. He could have made her happy.
Instead she’d crowned herself, the Queen of Winter, queen over the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale, before bending the knee to the Dragon Queen and King. She reminded the entire realm that the North remembered, and direwolves bit and clawed as fiercely as lions.
He doubts he could make her happy now, though. This is a woman with winter in her bones, not the girl in love with chilvalry and songs that his sister had described to him years ago. He doubts anyone could break through the walls of steel and stone and ice that she has erected around herself. He doubts she would even let anyone try.
But then the king calls an end to court, and suddenly she is there, all red hair and blue eyes and gods, smelling of roses. She is every bit the refined lady he’d always imagined, despite her polished mask of indifference, or perhaps because of it. She surprises him by being utterly forward and inviting him to sup with her, and he seems to surprise her when he agrees a tad too quickly. There’s a smile on her face that doesn’t appear forced when she takes her leave of him, and it makes him wonder if he could make her smile again.
After all the pain that Joffery, Littlefinger and everyone else did to her, she could not give everything to Willas but as time went by Sansa soften to her Tyrell husband and learned to let him into her heart.
It had been everything she had ever dreamed of. Highgarden itself was heaven. The ladies were always polite, the men always gentle. Even the smallfolk took a liking to her. The days of beatings, manipulation, and humiliation were gone.
She had been frightened of meeting Willas at first. She was nervous that the heir to Highgarden would be like Joffrey or worse. These thoughts seized when they finally met.
He was as handsome as a dream with dark lucious curls and kind blue eyes. He was quite tall as well, despite his bad leg. She turned red when he had spotted her looking at his cane. Instead of being offended, however, he did a little dance with it to make her laugh. And it did.
From then on their meetings with each other obtained the happiness that Sansa had once felt at Winterfell. Willas was a breath of fresh air. A sweet release.
Soon enough they were married. That day was one of the best days in Sansa’s life. No longer was she a hostage to torment. No longer was she a silly little girl with stupid dreams who never learned. She was now a woman grown and finally free from the Game of Thrones. She only wished that her family were there to be a part of her happiness as well.
He did not even know whether he should be angry with his wife – his wife, whom his family had bought for him no differently from the way men bought horses here and now. Was her blood tainted, as mad soothsayers always claimed of traitors’ children? He’d assumed these months there was something beneath the polite smiles and the courtesy.
As Margaery had said, she was a perfect wife for a lord: her grace and conduct in all things were spotless. Willas disliked perfection. He had a powerful desire to see beneath Sansa’s mask. [winter rose]