Welcome to my fanfic!
This is a mixture of the books and series, as far as minor key scenes, characters and personalities goes.
So, in this, Sansa stayed in The Vale. Her uncle, the blackfish, came to The Gates of the Moon to seek help to retake Riverrun from the Lannisters and the Freys. Petyr revealed Sansa Stark and agreed to help if Edmure named Sansa as his heir to Riverrun, until Edmure's daughter comes of an age to marry Sweetrobin. He also persuaded the knights of the Vale to help in return for Sansa's hand to Harry the Heir if Robert would not survive that age.
Jamie returns to King's Landing after retreating from Riverrun, not going back on his word to protect Sansa.
While the Riverrun and Vale army fight for the castles between Riverrun and the Twins, Sansa travels with Myranda Royce and Littlefinger to Moat Caillin in order to recruit other houses to their call.
This is where she meets Jon again. After everyone regroups at Moat Caillin and feast over taking the Twins, Sansa gets ordered by Ramsay to marry him in exchange for Rickon's life, Prompting Jon and Sansa to travel to the Wall, recruiting Northern houses on their way.
The Wildlings agree to help too, in exchange for a place to live near Riverrun when Spring comes.
Ramsay, while waiting for his 'bride', got a surprise attack from North and South. Harry the Heir dies in battle.
Jon Snow is proclaimed King in the North and prepares the North for war against the White Walkers.
Back in King's Landing, Cersei blows up the sept. Willas Tyrell, the only heir to Highgarden left, declares war on the Crown.
Winter is coming and it is time for new alliances, schemes and friendships to grow, and perhaps in the cold of it all some love can blossom.
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To the lady Sansa of house Stark,
It is a great pleasure to have received word of the survival of your person and the relative good state of your health. I congratulate you with all my heart for your reunion with his grace Jon Snow along with taking back your rightful home of Winterfell. I pray to the seven every day for the continuation of a peaceful and content state of the entirety of the North, as well as for good health and fortune and a soon reunion, within your family and mine.
By now I am sure my lady has heard of the terrible fate that has befallen on my family at the hands of the traitor, murderer and usurper Cersei Lannister.
I declare war on Cersei Lannister because of this. I have sent letters to the remaining true honourable houses in Westeros, to form alliances throughout the seven kingdoms and cast the traitor Cersei Lannister from the Iron Throne. I will sentence her and her traitor brother, and Ser Jamie Lannister, to die.
To my honor as a Tyrell, I vow before the gods to personally send every man or woman that has hurt my house and loved ones to the Stranger himself. May justice fall upon them.
It is why I humbly offer an alliance of the remainder of House Tyrell to your house and family.
The Tyrell forces are 70.000 strong and with the blessed summer we had, the provisions for my and your army will be well-provided, as well as support in the form of golden lions and silver stags.
With the death of my father, the laws of all the gods require me to ascent the position as Lord Willas of House Tyrell, Lord of the Reach and Warden of the South.
This time, House Tyrell asks no ties between our houses by marriage, rather, the full support of all men seeking to bring justice to Kings Landing and those who would, aside from numerous crimes, to destroy a holy Sept in the Capital, thereby ending the life of hundreds of innocent people. I trust that the old gods and the new would never forgive one with such low regard for all things sacred.
I sent my grandmother to form an alliance between House Tyrell and the Sand Snakes of Dorne. I have not heard from her in a time, but worry not, my Lady. The Sand Snakes and myself have the love for Oberyn and a resentment towards the Lannisters in common. We might attempt to seek an alliance with Daenerys Targaryen, the dragon queen, as of yet residing as ruling Queen in Mereen, but soon setting sail to take the throne. My informants assured me that her forces are unlike anything we could imagine. I beg of you to consider settling an agreement to both our favours, as do I.
Even though I will not be able to come to Winterfell myself, I hope our correspondence this way would not cause too much inconvenience. Over the next fortnight, a total of 150 men will be sent from the reach as new recruits for the wall. Please accept the fifteen carts of wheat, twenty heads of cattle and fourteen crates of lemons and sugar brought with these recruits. Also, I gift you two white horses, bred by one of my best fillies two years ago. They are of the finest breed in Westeros, I assure you. I beg you to accept this as a small token of my good faith.
My only wish is for you to forgive my house for not providing house Stark with the aid at their time of need.
I hope to receive a letter by raven or messenger at the earliest convenience of your ladyship.
Lord Willas Tyrell, Warden of the South.
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To the lord Willas of House Tyrell,
I thank you for your kind words regarding my House and your condolences for my losses. As do I offer my deepest sympathy to you, for the death of the Lady Margaery, a woman of grace and kindness that I considered a dear friend for the time I knew her. As too for your brother Loras, a kind, charming and courteous man that gave me hope for the existence of valiant and brave knights back when I doubted them most. I rarely have had the pleasure of spending time with your lord father, although I do remember how his singing voice casted a less foul shadow over the dining hall in the Keep. I won't ever forget the kindness your family showed at my darkest hours in King's Landing, nor would I betray this kindness that was shown to me when none was required.
Besides all that have happened between myself and your family, I do not bear ill will towards you or House Tyrell. Were it not for our common enemy, both our families would be alive and well, and the gods might have had a better fate for us and our families.
Alas, now is not the time to dwell on that, for more important matters are at hand.
I have told my brother, the king in the North, a summary of your letter. You might receive word from him in due time. As you know, I do not have much authority over the North in it's whole or my brother in regards to his kingdom, but he well listens to my advice. I have advised him in seeking an alliance with you and he seemed quite favorable to that.
The men and provisions you sent as a token have arrived here in good health. I thank you for these provisions. Especially the lemons and sugar will make of treats that, I pray, will put hopeful smiles upon the faces of the children of Winterf-
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A soft, insistent knock on the door shocked Sansa out of her concentrated state. She dropped the quill she was holding on the table, the ink on the tip dripping on the parchment as it fell. She straightened herself in her chair and nodded at Brienne, who was holding guard at her door.
The large woman opened the door and closed it as she stepped through it. Sansa could see a flash of a silver mockingbird pin right before the door closed. She sighed. That could only be one man waiting outside.
'Lord Petyr Baelish, my lady,' Brienne announced when she stepped back in. Littlefinger was smirking at Sansa from behind her. Sansa noticed the female knight could barely contain the resentment in her tone. She stepped aside nonetheless, when Sansa replied.
'Thank you, Brienne,' she said with a smile in her direction, while keeping her eyes on the man stepping lightly to her table.
Sansa tried her best to look like a proper Lady of Winterfell as she looked up at him with icy blue eyes. Petyr smirked at her, twitching his moustache as he bowed deeply. Before Sansa could do anything, Petyr already had a hold of her hand and placed a soft, minty-smelling kiss on her skin.
'My lady,' his low voice raspy as he slowly straightened himself. 'You look radiant today. I hope your day has fared well?'
Sansa pulled her hand back, gracing the Lord Protector of the Vale with half a smile.
'My lord Baelish. My day has fared well, I thank you. To what do I owe this pleasure?'
In the back of her mind, she could almost hear Brienne huffing. One glance at her told her how much the knight wanted to pierce her Valyrian steel sword into his back: her right hand rested on the pommel of her sword, her eyes almost piercing through Littlefinger's skull.
'My lady, I came to inform you personally of my departure on the morrow. I am to accompany with a few of my best knights back to the Vale. Lord Robert needs my guidance for his travels to the Gates of the Moon.'
Littlefinger paused, probably to view Sansa's reaction. She tried her best to give him as neutral of an expression as she could manage. Petyr raised an eyebrow, almost in a joking manner. 'Lord Robert requested I take three hundred man back with me, to protect him in his new home for the winter.'
'I see,' Sansa said. 'Three hundred seems like a reasonable amount to spare, I reckon. Please give my cousin my well wishes and thanks for his assistance, providing his kin with his army.'
She turned to one of her handmaids standing in the corner.
'Alyssa, would you please bring me The Falcon And The Forest from the top shelve of my book cabinet?'
The young girl curtsied and obliged.
'It is a book,' Sansa explained. 'Filled with songs and stories about the Winged Knight and his wife, one of the children of the forest. I also gift him Duncan, the white horse. Born and bred in the South, it is of the finest breed in Westeros, I assure you. Lord Arryn will be well pleased.'
Petyr nodded, something akin to humor lightning up in his pupils.
'My lady is most kind,' he replied, taking the book from the handmaidens' hand.
'I shall give Lord Robert my best from you and his grace Jon. I have not seen him yet today,' he said with feigned wonder.
'A shame,' he said. 'I do hope to talk to His Grace before my departure. It would be an honor providing my Lord Arryn with a message from his King. I am sure my Lord would want to hear of the affairs here.'
He is testing me, Sansa thought. To see if I will keep the Vale as my own allies, or let Jon take over the personal ties with this army.
'Worry not, Lord Baelish. King Jon is visiting Winter's Town with Lord Davos and a few other of his men to check on the provisions for the winter. He has told me he will hold court when he returns later this afternoon, to discuss the defense for the North.'
She stood up and motioned a page from the corner to come closer. 'You are welcome to join as well, of course, my lord.'
She smiled at Petyr and turned her attention to her page, a brown haired lad with large grey eyes and lanky body, not much older than Bran when she last saw him. 'You… Brickon,' she said, almost forgetting the young man's name.
'See to it that Duncan will be added to the horses accompanying lord Baelish to the Vale. He is my personal gift to Lord Arryn.'
'Yes mylady.' The boy said. He bowed quickly before Sansa and Littlefinger before he shot out the door. Sansa clasped her hands together and lifted her chin gracefully.
She was good at pretending to be a courteous, intelligent lady, but before the former Master of Coin, the whoremonger of Kings Landing, she felt like that thirteen year old girl again. Getting nervous of the invasive way Petyr stood before her, touched her sometimes, when they were alone. Here, in the company of others, he restrained himself, saying all his polite courtsies with a twinge of mocking in it, audible for Sansa now after spending so much time with him.
As Petyr retreated to the door, it looked as if he had one more thing to say, but stayed quiet and waited for her. The mint in his breath was still in the air.
'If that was all, Lord Baelish,' she inquiered, while silently breathing in. 'I will see you at the council meeting when my brother returns.'
She looked at Brienne, signaling her to open the door for him. Petyr stood still for two heartbeats longer before he bowed again and left.
'Mylady.' He greeted, before Brienne closed the door behind him.
Sansa breathed out some air she didn't know she was holding. She and Brienne listened to Petyr's steps fading away down the hall, a few moments of silence between the people in the room. As if her handmaiden knew what was expected of her, she spoke up.
'Would mylady like something to eat before the meeting this afternoon?' she asked timidly.
'A plate of cheese and lemon cakes, please,' Sansa said. 'Notify the cooks of the batch of lemons and sugar that arrived this morning. I would also like a bath in two hours, but not in here. Call when it is ready.'
The handmaiden uttered a few words with her curtsy and fled the room. When Sansa and Brienne were alone, she sighed deeply and placed herself back on her chair.
It was a comfortable one, of fine woodwork and grey furs. It belonged in the room of their father once, which was Jon's room now.
She assumed from the beginning that Jon used the chair without thinking about it, but a fortnight ago, she returned to her room after a day of attending household-duties. She stumbled upon Jon. on his own, lifting the heavy chair to her desk while huffing and puffing. He explained that sleeping in his father's room was a worse enough thing, but sitting in his work chair- he could not bring himself to do that. It belonged to the Lord Stark, and only his true born children deserved to inherit that chair.
She could not convince him otherwise, no matter how Sansa pushed.
Such a small token of his respect towards the family, Sansa mused. He is officially the head of all the north and the Starks, yet he still feels like he doesn't truly deserve that honor. Or to be here at all, really.
Refusing to sit on something trivial like a simple chair. Her half-brother was a king, but mayhaps he still felt like a bastard of the family.
Sansa absent-mindedly ran her fingers through the soft fur of her seat and shifted her thoughts back to her female companion, who stayed quiet while waiting for Sansa to say something first. She liked that about the woman. She didn't mind that her thoughts were somewhere else sometimes. Brienne stayed the silent guard in the corner, and one she could trust, too.
'How many days would it take to get from here to the Vale, Brienne?' she asked.
'A little over three weeks, mylady. Perhaps more if the snows are falling.' Brienne answered.
'I see,' Sansa said, not further explaining why she asked. She took a deep breath and looked over at the pile of papers and sealed letters on her table.
'I will be in here writing my letters. With Lord Baelish leaving, I would like to have a messenger accompanying him, delivering my letters to Myranda Royce and my cousin Robert. He will also travel to Riverrun to give my uncle Edmure my good wishes, and to send a letter there to the Reach by raven.' She paused, glancing at the pile of important letters.
'I will trust you with choosing a messenger up for this task. The letters are confidential and the contents of these letters will not be read by anyone but the recipients. That is very important.'
Sansa looked up at the large female knight and smiled politely. 'Please send him to me once you find the right person for a journey south.'
The woman nodded and bowed her head. 'Certainly, mylady,' she said before she excused herself and then too, left the room.
Sansa was all alone in her chambers now, the ones that once belonged to her lady mother Catelyn. It was the warmest room in the castle, because of the hot water from the springs underneath the castle running through the walls. She remembered being a young girl, getting scared of the stories old Nan told, about the ice dragons under Winterfell, waiting to be revived. It was one of the stories that made Sansa, the young, naïve Sansa, be all the more hopeful of the courteous prince of her dreams to get her out of the snowy castle with dragons lurking underneath.
Little did she know a lion's den in the middle of the capitol was a far worse fate than she could have had imagined for her future. And yet again here she was, save in her own home, like when she was young. But no more gold-headed princes to speak of. First Joffrey, who deserved everything he got. And then the poor prince Tommen, the sweet, innocent lad that just wanted to play with kittens, jumped through the window to his death. Cersei, the evil lioness, crowned herself queen that next day.
The army of the death, marching to the wall, getting closer to Winterfell by each passing day. And now a dragon queen in the East as well, together with what looked like a good portion of the remaining kingdoms of Westeros behind her. The Iron Isles, Dorne, and now the Tyrells too, awaiting the Targaryen queen from the East.
She thought of Willas Tyrell and her letter to him. Looking back at it, maybe she was being to open and polite with him. The Tyrells did once belong to the Lannisters after all, at some point. Cersei's stupid mistake was trying to fight her allies instead of her enemies.
Now both the Starks and the Tyrells will be the houses to release Westeros out of her sharp claws. She wanted to laugh, but instead she picked up her quill, dipped it in ink and resumed her letter to the lord Tyrell.
After a few more moments of reconsideration, she decided to leave the letter as it was, and continued- warning Lord Tyrell of the dangers in the North and trying to give him a forewarning of the threat that lures beyond the Wall, as well as hinting at some precautions that must be in order before too long. Lastly, she added a dried up winter rose to the letter. She described it as a proof that the letter came from the North.
One would call it a sign of courtship if they did not know better, but some harmless flirting might not be too bad after all. If she had any hope of manipulating anyone into doing anything, she would sometimes have to take some risks, at higher stakes, too. Sansa then wrote a letter to Myranda Royce, not of much importance but to hold up her friendships within the Vale. It was a trick she remembered from Littlefinger himself. If Myranda married again, to a Lord with a good army, she could use her goodwill and influence as her friend to request for help as soon as it was proper.
But she would have to keep contact with her, as well as Lord Arryn. The letter to her cousin was a long one, she told him of the great 'Battle of the Bastards' as the common folk now called it. In great detail, much like the way she would tell the stories of the Winged Knight. She also doted on her cousin, writing how strong and brave he is and telling him of the gifts he is getting from her. She was so busy writing that she hardly noticed the handmaiden entering her chambers and placing the plate of food and wine on the table, then leaving her again.
Sansa's last letter was to Petyr himself, officially thanking him for his diplomatic assistance in bringing Jon and the wildlings, the knights of the Vale and the remainder of the Tully forces together to defeat the Boltons and chase them from their ancestral home.
Alyssa, her mousy handmaiden called her to the other room for her bath. While she stept into her tub, she thought of the battle that Jon won for her, but Petyr mostly planned. Baelish did it all with Sansa herself in the middle, that much was very clear. Her Tully looks and heritage providing for the Tully army and her good care of little lord Robin for the Vale army, yet it was Jon Snow who got the title of King. Sansa wasn't a fool, Littlefinger did it all to make her queen in the North, but it seemed the Northmen respected visible strength and bravery of a bastard man with the Stark blood in his veins, over the diplomatic skills of a pureblood Stark woman that provided for the largest part of the army to begin with.
The irony, Sansa thought as she washed herself. T .She remembered the dark look in Petyrs eyes as the lords and knights were cheering for her half brother, the night Jon was declared king.
Petyr came from nothing and needed pieces and pawns to play in the game, such as Sansa, the highborn, noble birthed lady he could never get, like her lady mother- only to have his plans demolished by another man that came from nothing. A bastard on the Wall once, then Lord Commander, and now King in the North. How frustrating it must be for Littlefinger, with his little schemes and plots.
Sansa got out of the tub and prepared herself for dinner. The small council meeting would begin halfway through so she tried to look her best, like a queen of the North, in all but name.
The most ironic part of it all is that Jon never even wanted to be King.
War and new alliances coming from all sides. All this new power over the North and Winterfell that Jon never wanted nor asked for, reserved for her whenever she wanted.
She could be like Littlefinger. Whispering in his ear, taking control over everything behind his back, and Jon would probably not even mind. Jon would be perfectly content if he was just a Lord Commander, doing his best to keep everyone safe from the White Walkers and the other enemies, all to protect her, his family. She could guide him in any direction she wanted. She could make him give her as much power and control as she wanted.
But did she want it?
Another knock on the door stopped her musings. She quickly closed the box with letters, locking it from the inside, and in one motion, hiding it behind the tapestry on the wall next to her. 'Come in!' she called out.
It was Jon, his dark eyes peering into the room, his black curls in a slick tail to the back of his head. He was clad and handsome in his simple boiled leathers and furs. He did not look like a king, not even like a lord, aside from the huge cloak that she made for him back at Castle Black. He was always wearing it when he talked with Sansa. She still wasn't sure he thought he had to wear it, or because he really wanted too. Jon was good-hearted like that.
'Jon!' Sansa called out to him pleasantly. 'Come in, please, have some wine.' Jon looked around as if he was searching for someone else to give him permission to enter as he greeted her. 'Brienne is not here?' he asked while he closed the door behind him.
'She is taking care of some of my affairs. It is good to see you back this soon. I trust everything is well in Winter Town?'
Jon sat down in a seat in front of her and looked at her with tired eyes. 'The rations are thin. I'm afraid there isn't much hope of all of them making it through winter like this.'
He looked down at his gloved hands and sighed. 'The most of the villages surrounding this castle consists of women, children and the elderly. Some lords warn me that they will not survive the winter anyhow. And I don't even know how we are supposed to man the army to fight the White Walkers when the time comes. We might not even have the man, nor the weapons.'
Sansa saw her half brother pulling that face again, one brooding and scowling. He looked just like her father sometimes.
Sansa leaned over to him and placed a soft hand on Jon's calloused fingers. 'You don't have to fear for everything that requires help from outside our own resources, Jon.'
She waited until Jon dragged his glance from the floor to her face. Smiling inwardly at his courage to show fear in front of her, she reached behind the tapestry and handed Jon the sealed letter to Willas Tyrell.
'If there is anything I've learned about Willas Tyrell, is that he loves the elderly and the children and upholding a good reputation. He has the gold, the provisions and the right location in the south that give the weaker a fighting chance. We have the power and the army that he seeks for his own ambitions. An alliance is only logical.'
She paused, giving Jon's hand a squeeze. 'The Tyrells and Starks can help each other, this time. When it really matters. So leave our ties and reputation to me. Let me handle some of the burdens, your Grace.'
'Don't call me that.' Jon immediately responded, frowning. Sansa chuckled. Jon's eyes smiled as he folded his leather gloves.
'I do trust you, Sansa. Everything I do is to protect you and our home. So I need you to be careful as well.' He nodded at the letter.
'You are writing that Lord Tyrell then? Do you really think we could trust him?'
'You are the king, Jon. It will be you who decides in the end. But listen: His men and gold could very well be the thing that will save the north from total destruction if the battle with the White Walkers begin. And even if we win that, there is still the long night to survive, too.'
She looked at the direwolf stamp on the parchment, tracing the outlines with her fingers and hearing the winter rose scratching against the paper from within.
'I am testing him in this letter. Willas Tyrell seems to be after my good graces. If he is mendable, he will offer more help as tokens of good faith until I have to offer something in return. In the meantime, you could write to him that you are considering an alliance, playing the fool, asking him what he wants in return, while I give him hints on how to help us, without it being a part of any preconditions to the alliance itself.'
To her pleasure, Sansa watched as her brother looked at her with big brown eyes, captivated by her latest little scheme. Jon has had a first-hand view of her slyness at the hands of Petyr, so she figured Jon would have faith in her, as long as she explained herself.
'It does sounds dangerous, Sansa. The Dornish and Tyrells are not to be trusted, you of all people should know. The Dornish hate the Starks because of your aunt Lyanna, That Targaryen girl will hate us because of father and King Robert, and the Tyrells will stay with whatever side will win.'
He looked at her more worriedly than before, his face begging for sleep but his eyes wide with fear.
'They are southerners, Sansa. The Dragon Queen will have me bow down to her, and if I do that, I betray the entire North. It will be nearly impossible to become allies with her, and if we become enemies, we'll be in even more shit than we are now. She has three dragons, for gods sake!'
Jon looked at his hands and dragged the palms over his face in frustration.
At that moment, the bells rung throughout the castle, signaling for dinner to be served. Sansa stood, walked around the table to her half brother and placed a hand lightly on his shoulder.
'You don't have to decide on that all now. Let us have dinner first. And then you should get some sleep.'
She tried to pull Jon upwards, but he shook his head and placed his head on his arms on the table.
'I still have a small council meeting, Sansa. I won't be able to sleep for a long time.'
Sansa smiled to herself, patting him on the furs on his right shoulder. 'You are going to sleep. I will excuse your presence to the other lords and ladies for tonight during dinner, Jon.' She said innocently.
'You can postpone your meeting to tomorrow night so you can tell everyone of your next steps. I will tell you all of mine while we eat.'
She walked over to her vanity and checked herself in the mirror, looking quite happy with her looks. Sansa then walked over to her half brother and placed both hands on his arms.
'Now come, King Jon, your people await you.'
She tugged at his arm then, trying again to pull him up. Jon sighed deeply and stood, eye to eye with Sansa, almost the same height. Jon looked the few inches down at her, finally permitting a small smile to enter the corner of his mouth.
'Fine then. Shall I escort you, mylady?' He held out his arm and waited for Sansa to take it before he started walking towards the door. They stepped through the long halls of Winterfell to the Great Hall. The castle was lively again, the smell of roasting beef and strong ale, so strong she could almost taste it, the servants running around with plates.
Sansa walked besides Jon to their place on the head of the main table. She took one look at Littlefinger and could not help but snort- very unladylike- under her breath.
Littlefinger will not be happy about not being there for the next meeting.
Good, she thought. The less he knew, the better.
Sansa has taken a first few steps from being a pawn in the Game to being a player. All she had to do for now was wait.