Sansa's hand was cold, but her grip was tight.
"I'm not leaving."
She repeated it once more.
King's Landing was hell.
But only in hell could she forge claws sharp enough to tear everything apart.
She no longer wanted to be a lady at the mercy of others.
Sansa was a rose of the North, forced to bloom too early amid blood and fire.
Lynn could feel the trembling in her palm and see the fear that had yet to fully fade from the depths of her eyes.
But she did not back down.
"All right."
Lynn did not try to persuade her again.
He closed his hand around Sansa's icy little hand, slowly driving away the chill with his own warmth.
"Since you've decided to stay, remember this feeling."
Lynn's voice was low, like a lover's whisper, yet it carried a teacher's authority.
"Remember today's fear. Remember the humiliation when your father knelt. Remember the king's maddened face."
"One day, all of these will become your sharpest weapons."
Sansa nodded firmly, fighting the sting of tears.
She looked at Lynn, at those deep eyes that seemed to see through everything, and felt the steady, powerful warmth flowing from his palm.
That warmth seemed to shut out all the bloodshed and madness of the world.
At that moment, she suddenly felt that as long as this man stood behind her, she would dare to hold up the sky even if it came crashing down!
Sansa's body leaned slightly forward of its own accord.
Her lovely, tear-streaked face slowly drew closer to Lynn.
She closed her eyes, her long lashes trembling gently like butterfly wings.
She did not know why she was doing this.
Perhaps it was gratitude, perhaps dependence, or perhaps... some feeling she could not quite name or understand.