1 – Knights & Stolen Steeds
Sansa Stark absentmindedly walked through the darkened halls of Winterfell as her newly appointed lady-in-waiting Beth Cassel struggled to keep up with her long strides. Beth was a tiny girl, much shorter than one typically sees in the north, with petite features aside from her bushy brown hair and large brown eyes. She had arrived a few weeks ahead of the rest of her family who would be arriving at Winterfell soon for the coronation festivities.
Suddenly, Sansa halted as something had caught her eye, and turned to face the grand tapestry, easily the length of two men, draped over the otherwise empty south wall across from the dining hall. It had been her favorite as a child, done in the Stark colors of rich green and white, and woven into it was the story of a noble's daughter who was kidnapped and raised in squalor, until one day when a knight, enchanted by her beauty and grace, saved her from her captors and whisked her away to his castle.
Sansa remembered Lady Beth standing next to her, and explained the story, pointing at the interwoven figures as they came up. "I always wondered if she was able to find happiness in that castle with her knight. Or if she ever missed the captors. They were, after all, the only family she'd ever known." Sansa resumed her pacing and Beth set to keeping up with her.
"I was once promised to a knight, you know." Sansa's eyes seemed glossed over, distant. Lady Beth only knew a fraction of what the princess of the north had been through, but she knew enough to understand the icy distance she kept from people.
"Ser Loras of House Tyrell, the queen's brother." she continued. "It was a happy fantasy for a while, that we'd ride off to Highgarden and live a happy life far away from the evil grip of House Lannister. But you can never truly escape evils, not once they've had you. It is all you can do to keep from becoming them yourself."
Lady Beth looked up at her, slightly horrified but doing her best to nod supportively. She thought to herself that she maybe preferred it when Sansa was distant.
They walked further through the castle and before they came to her parent's bedroom, they came across what Sansa remembered to be Arya's favorite tapestry. It told the story of a princess who falls in love with a neighboring prince while she's being held captive by a dragon. The girl manages to sneak past the dragon one day just to find that the dragon has claimed by her prince who had come to rescue her. So she takes up his armor and sword and slays the dragon herself.
She remembered how her mother used to huddle her and Arya close and relay the stories of the tapestries. She'd pet their hair and explain the morals in her soft voice, "Even if it isn't much, and it often isn't, a woman must use everything she is given in this world."
And she remembered little Arya, absentmindedly plucking at her own split hairs, simply responding, "If the world doesn't give a woman much, she should take more."
-.-.-
The tavern was dimly lit with just a few candles and a corner fireplace, the ale was somehow frothy and watery, and the patrons were far too chatty, but Lady Brienne of Tarth and her squire, Podrick Payne were weary after several long days of traveling on foot. She drank her watery froth and scanned the room for anyone who resembled a threat. She heard a creak and turned to see a bearded man pulling up a seat next to her. He was clad in pieces of armor and had fresh battle wounds, likely a soldier.
"I couldn't help but notice that you and your boy over there are dressed in southern clothes. Even overlooking that you are both dressed in men's southern clothes, m'lady, it seems rather strange that two southerners would be headed north as the weather worsens."
She ignored the stranger, half hoping he would get bored and leave her alone, half hoping he would give her a reason to smash his head to pieces.
The northern soldier leaned in closer than most would have dared to address the sizable lady who reluctantly sat next to him in the dim tavern.
"If you two were looking to join in the Battle of the Bastards, I'm afraid that's already been won by the true King in the North."
Brienne arched her eyebrow, it seems he was offering her the first piece of useful information in their mostly one-sided conversation.
"The King in the North? And who may that be?"
"Why, Jon Snow, of course. He may be a bastard, but I'd take him any day over those detestable Boltons. Amazing that that house could get anything done with the thick, round rods up their arses!" The soldier burst into raucous laughter at his own joke. The lady allowed him the moment because of the good news he offered with it.
"It was a mighty battle, I heard. Bolton boys and Stark boys hammering away at each other until they were just piles of bloody pulp."
Brienne blinked. "And you chose not to participate?"
"No, I—Ha, ha—I'm not the one at trial here, m'lady. You're a southern lady running around in drag with some boy. Now, I have a few theories about you— you two may be play performers fugitives, thieves or murderers in hiding. If that's the case, though, I'll wager there's a pretty reward on your heads." He stroked the arm of her armor. "I'll bet your armor alone is worth a mint."
"We are knights, sworn to duty by our lords and currently have a mission that I don't need to go about divulging to any tavern drunkard. Do you understand that?"
"Knights? That's likely." The man scoffed. "I'd sooner believe you and your trained monkey over there were whores."
A flash of metal was followed by a hard thump as Lady Brienne's knife was thrust into the narrow space between two of his fingers splayed out on the wooden table between them. "Watch your language when addressing a lady."
At this moment, her squire, Podrick Payne, darted over, brandishing his sword with the hopes of intimidating the drunk soldier.
The soldier's eyes darted between the young squire and the woman dressed in man's clothes.
Brienne yanked the knife out of the table, bringing it up to his throat. "How many horses did you say you came here with?"
"I didn't," The man gasped.
"And?"
"The black spotted stallion tied up 'round the back," He reluctantly let out as her knife pushed further into his neck.
"We appreciate your kind donation." Brienne dropped the knife to her side and hastily rushed out of the building to gather the horse.
Following suit, Pod scrambled and grabbed the wolfskin he had been drying over the fireplace and fled the premises after Brienne.
He wrapped the animal skin around his shoulders and shuddered under the sudden weight and warmth that enveloped him. "You were merciful in there, not to finish him." He hesitated a bit before adding on, "Besides, whoring is a noble profession. It's treacherous and—and strenuous, not to mention undeniably selfless. To be a whore requires bravery, talent, and skill. Disrespected, but very noble."
Brienne looked down at Pod and opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it immediately, ultimately deciding to let him have this one.
They mounted the stallion and took off. The air was so rigidly frozen in place they could hear wind whistling through it as they traversed the northern tundra on their way to Winterfell.
"It seems that the Starks have been right all along," Brienne said to her squire.
Winter has come.
.
.
.
A/N: Hey party people! So that was chapter one, lotsa exposition, I promise a lot more will happen in later chapters. If you like it, leave a review please! Even if you just wanna say "hey," anonymously, I appreciate it. I'll try to post pretty frequently, though I'm writing the story out of order, so it may be a little sporadic.
One other note: this fic takes place in the TV show canon! (in case that wasn't apparent with the situations these characters are in)
