like imagine if you’d never seen a dog and you saw a saint bernard and you were like, what’s that and then someone was like, thats a dog. and then you saw a chihuahua and you were like ok whats that and they were like, that’s a dog. wouldn’t you feel lied to? wouldn’t you sense that something was amiss
When Catelyn suggests “Sansa” he agrees, because there hasn’t been a Sansa Stark in years.
"She was a Princess," Catelyn says shyly. "The Princess of the North."
At first Eddard remains solemn. “There aren’t many Princesses in this world,” he tells Catelyn. “And none above the Neck.” Nevertheless, he agrees with this lady wife and buries his uncertainty in tradition.
Eddard Stark names his first daughter Sansa, to honor his wife’s wishes and his family’s history. His Sansa is the true Princess in the North. In her name he feels that he honors his brave and noble father, and his fallen brother, who had been the first one to proclaim their sister, Lyanna, the Princess in the North.
"Here she is," Brandon had exclaimed, loud and exuberant, the day of Lyanna’s birth.
"The Princess of the North!"
His father’s bannermen had roared and toasted, cheered along with Brandon, their future Lord. Lyanna was their Lady. Karstark, Royce, Glover, Umber, and Flint alike had cheered to the new Lord and Lady of Winterfell.
When he introduces Sansa, his princess, there is that same roar. She is the symbol of happiness after such a dark time. She is the token of peace, after the war, after the North has lost their Lord Brandon and their Lady Lyanna.
His Sansa holds all the hope of the North in her, and she is perfect, and regal, and lovely.
Eddard’s Sansa is everything Brandon and Lyanna would rage against, and that is exactly what the North needs.
He says a silent prayer to his gods, the gods of the North, that Sansa might grow up strong, and sweet, and kind, and fierce— all the things that a Stark Princes should be— and Eddard revels in her.
Sansa is his Princess. The perfect combination of his Northern solemnity and Southron grace, even in just her first year, and Eddard knows she will bring nothing but praise to Winterfell.
His bannermen fight for her hand—each one presenting some new trinket or skill that makes them worthy for her, but none are. At just one, Sansa is a Princess, stronger, lovelier, and more clever than the best of them.
Catelyn says she will be Queen, and Eddard feels a pang, because Brandon had said the same of their sister, as he held her and rocked her, and loved her perhaps more than a brother should.
And when Arya is born, red-faced. grey-eyed. and squalling, exactly as Brandon and Lyanna had been, Eddard feels naught but panic. He remembers his mother holding Lyanna, her pride and joy. He remembers his mother telling Brandon, “Love her. She is yours,” and Brandon taking those words to heart, and riding hard to King’s Landing.
It gets worse when Jon sneaks into the nursery at night, when Catelyn won’t see him, and when he thinks Ned isn’t there, and gathers Arya up.
Ned braces himself for Arya’s screech, but in Jon’s arms she is content, just as Lyanna had been with Brandon.
"Sansa, is Papa’s Princess," Jon says to the small babe. "But you are mine."
There is a part of Ned that is broken that day, as he watches the incarnations of Brandon and Lyanna commit themselves to each other all over again.
happy birthday someone
I like reblogging this becaUSE WHAT IF YOU SAW THIS ON YOUR BIRTHDAY HOW COOL WOULD THAT BE