Steam and smoke rose from the courtyard where broken glass and snow lived. Winterfell was a dilapidated hell and her dragons quickly made themselves the rulers. What of the Boltons? What even of the Kings of Winter? The queen of Meereen shuddered to think of those stone faces carved into eternity beneath her feet. No one would be thinking the same, not with Daenerys Targaryen here; the mother of dragons in the flesh, and perhaps blood.
Her plight for the north had caused quiet outrage amongst her council. Which truly meant that she needed to exercise her right as queen. It had taken time, much more time than it would have any other way, to change course for Winterfell than King's Landing. I have no allies, no friends in Westeros. I must rally the few that I can to my side. She was a Targaryen, which made conquering come easy, but Westeros and the Iron Throne were very different beasts than Essos and the slave cities.
Winterfell was a weak link. It had already been taken and burned to bits by the Boltons; the Lannister's lap dogs. Although she had things to fear from them; they were already notoriously ruthless, having slayed Robb Stark at the Twins. Not to mention word of Ramsay Bolton's intrigue in hunting women for sport…
But it wasn't the Lords of Bolton Dany was invested in. Her strongest and possibly sole link to Westeros lie within the daughter and heir of the man who helped overthrow her family. Sansa Stark.
What little she had heard of Lady Sansa painted the girl as a kind, sensitive soul. Little birds had whispered in her ear of the Stark girl's torturous stay in King's Landing in the claws of Cersei Lannister and her monstrous spawn Joffrey. After being pawned off to the Imp, she somehow managed to escape the capital and find her way back to her home; although 'home' was not a word Daenerys would use under similar circumstances. It was clear that Sansa needed, and would be amenable to, a friend. No matter the Bolton hold on Winterfell, Sansa was its true heir; the true Queen of the North.
Servants and housemaids welcomed her into the Hall with eyes ill-adjusted to light and skin layered in soot and grime. Perhaps she had not left Essos afterall. A chorus of hushed whispers rose into the atmosphere as the dragon queen stepped past the threshold and adjusted her furs. The clothing made especially for the unwelcoming climate felt awkward and heavy on a body that was used to light gowns and bare arms. These northerners had no reason to look at her the way the people of Astapor and Meereen had; she was not one of them, and she never would be. Of utmost importance, she had been warned that these northerners were loyal only to the Starks, no matter who burned down Winterfell.
Which brought her to the present: Ramsay Bolton, bastard made legitimate by decree of the cub king Tommen Baratheon. A child had scribbled his name on a piece of paper and made a Lord of the creature standing before her. Ramsay was not particularly tall nor broad, there was a severe handsomeness to his face which was quickly dashed by the most hollow eyes Dany had ever seen. They were ice personified; endless plates of cold loathing interrupted by two pinpricks for pupils. They gripped Daenerys in her place and chilled her to the bone. Before either made words, this Lord of Ice bent at the waist slightly and bowed before her. The gesture may have looked sincere but the expression in his eyes made a mockery of the courtesy.
"Queen Daenerys Targaryen." His voice was almost as alarming as his eyes.
"You have traveled a long way from Meereen. I was instructed to offer you supper immediately. I hope that suits you?" Again, there was such a lack of sincerity in his tone and gesture it shook Dany unreasonably. She nodded, knocking words into her mouth.
"Please. It has been a very long journey."
But breaking bread with a Bolton did not necessarily grant her safety.
Sansa Stark was a bird in a cage, and caged birds don't sing.
She was caged in King's Landing confined in manipulation and guilt and fear of her impending death. It seemed she was always under someone else's thumb; a puppet fastened on the strings of her innocence. Only, her innocence was quickly fraying.
All she had wanted in this world was to go home. She had prayed in the Godswood of King's Landing for her safe return to Winterfell, and inside of her head on the journey there. She had gotten what she had prayed for: her return to her home. Only, her safety here was of no guarantee.
Ramsay Bolton was so terrible a monster it became difficult for Sansa to decide if her fate would have exponentially better married to Joffrey. The late king may have been undoubtedly cruel and manipulative, but her current husband was no man at all but rather a beast in human skin. The way he looked at her made her flesh crawl, and when he touched her she wanted to cry. He had taken command of Winterfell, and in turn her life. All Sansa could pray for now was that his seed would not take to her womb; she could not have his children.
When she woke the morning of the dragons' arrival she still felt as though she were dreaming. At the very least Ramsey had allowed her to sleep in a bed of her own when he wasn't interested in forcing himself on her, and she stayed there beneath the furs for a long while. It was not until a maid came to her and urged her to take a bath that she pulled herself from her bed; a queen was coming to visit them after all. But any queen with interest in the Boltons was of no hope for Sansa, no matter if the name she bore was Targaryen.
Still being a creature of courtesy and kindness, Sansa donned a lovely winter gown of forest green, brushed her long coppery hair, and fixed a brooch worked into the shape of a direwolf between her breasts. She looked like a true Stark, but she felt like a mess.
However when a deafening vortex of wind and snow appeared from the sky, the girl rushed to the best view of the courtyard from within the castle walls and beheld a sight she never believed her eyes would see in her lifetime. They were large but certainly not fully grown although their leathery wings expanded the length of Winterfell's tallest tower. All the snow had melted beneath the heat of their bodies while more smoke poured from their nostrils. There were three and they were beyond magnificent and frightening. Sansa held fast to this sight; dragons in the north. The last time this had happened was when Queen Alysanne visited the Wall of the back of a dragon she called Silverwing. Only now there was a queen named Daenerys and she brought three of the scaly creatures with her.
Supper time arrived before Sansa realized she had not eaten anything that day. As much as she would prefer to take her meal in her room, it would be beyond rude to insult Queen Daenerys like that. She trudged to the Great Hall, allowing herself the composure time she would need to face this dinner as the gracious Lady of the castle. At the very least she was certain that Ramsay would be expecting his wife to be on her best, most lady-like behavior; wasn't she always? Sansa wore her courtesy like armour.
She entered the Hall to see the table set and prepared for the food to arrive in front of them; whatever the cook prepared smelled lovely, surely fit for a queen's visit. She kept her eyes down after spotting her husband and going to stand beside him as an obidient wife should. She felt Ramsay tense beside her as if she had already done something to embarrass him. "My wife," he now introduced her. "Sansa Stark of Winterfell." The girl bowed deeply to the woman standing before her, keeping her gaze averted. The one called Daenerys shifted, and Sansa could feel eyes on her. "My first meeting of a Stark of Winterfell. I am honored, Lady Sansa." Her voice was kind yet strong; clearly one that should belong to a woman in command. Sansa allowed herself to look at the queen's legs, clothed in riding pants hidden beneath a woolen blue slitted dress. Her gaze followed the length of the legs to the hands clasped in front of the torso, a ring donned on a slender index finger. Then Sansa could not stop herself from reaching the rest of the way to the face. She felt her eyes widen at the sight of a true Targaryen standing in her home. The hair white as snow, and those unusual purple eyes stared back at her. Sansa had once thought Queen Cersei to be the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, but Daenerys was much more so. Her face was perfectly womanly yet fierce, while her hair fell in loose ringlets almost to her waist. Suddenly Sansa felt like a child under the scrutiny of Her Grace.
"Your Grace," she addressed the silver woman. "It is my greatest pleasure to welcome you to Winterfell. Please, do not hesitate to make yourself comfortable during your stay." It was a courtesy to say so but Sansa felt it genuinely; the more time she had to study this woman, the better. Suddenly Ramsay spoke again, his voice grating into Sansa's daydream. "Enough idle chit-chat. Queen Daenerys has come a long way and our food is getting cold."
The three seated themselves at the table; Ramsay at the head as Lord and host, with Daenerys to his right side in the place of honor, while Sansa sat opposite the dragon queen. The meal they were brought came in several courses; clearly Ramsay had not wanted their esteemed guest to think poorly of the North and the House of Bolton. Much of it was fare common to the north but food the queen had never before tasted. Sansa watched as Daenerys sipped at the winter soup carefully. She was polite in her praises, and whether or not it was genuine it made Sansa feel proud. Ramsay on the other hand ate and slurped like the animal he was, drinking far too much wine and asking the queen inappropriate questions about her personal life. The boy was and would always be a bastard, no matter any piece of paper that named him otherwise. But Daenerys was perfectly poised in answering in a way appropriate for a guest, especially when it came to her dragons; Ramsay's favorite new topic.
"Those beasts of yours must put the fear of the seven hells into your subjects." He said in between picking his teeth with a pheasant bone. Sansa grimaced, and Daenerys caught her. "They may very well, but my children are protective of those they see as worthy. They would never harm without my command." The mother of dragons smiled secretly at Sansa, and the girl hid her face in her wine cup. Ramsay grunted. "Well if I had a triplet of dragons I wouldn't waste their potential. No, the whole damn realm would know about them and what they can destroy." The table fell silent aside from the smacking noises of Lord Ramsay's chewing. Sansa snuck another look at the woman sitting across from her to see her pushing her main course around on her plate. Clearly Daenerys was offended and annoyed with Ramsay, but the Bolton was too cocky to realize it, or to care. He drew his wine glass up, after having it refilled for the fifth time, and declared between mouthfuls, "a toast to Queen Daenerys Targaryen, mother of dragons and protector of her people." The two women raised their own cups in suit although neither looked pleased with the mocking way Ramsay drained his glass into his disgusting mouth. Sansa desperately wished to apologize to the queen but knew it would only poke the hornet's nest that was her increasingly drunken husband; if she embarrassed him surely she would not make it to the sanctuary of her own bed this night.
Moments later the servants wheeled out the dessert course, which to Sansa's surprise was a mountain of lemon cakes. Ramsay clapped his hands together in delight. "Aha! A favorite of my wife's." As if he had known so much about her and did everything to please her. The cakes were set down in front of the three and Ramsay wasted no time placing one on Sansa's plate. "Oh, Sansa could eat this entire mountain by herself, couldn't you, my lady?" He forked a piece with his own utensil and brandished it before Sansa's mouth, trying to feed her like a babe. "Open up, my love." He waggled the fork in front of her nose, and Sansa had no choice but to take the bite from Ramsey as he wanted. Her face felt flushed and she knew that it would be red with embarrassment. The taste of the cake felt sour in her mouth as she chewed slowly and swallowed despite the lump in her throat. Daenerys had not taken a cake for herself at all, and Ramsey noticed. "Are you not a fan of lemon cakes, my queen? If not, I can have Cook whip up something more to your liking." But Daenerys merely shook her head and claimed, "I am full from the previous courses, Lord Ramsay, thank-you kindly. The food was excellent." Only it seemed to Sansa that the queen only wished to save the Stark from any more teasing.
Ramsay reclined in his seat after having stuffed an entire cake into his own mouth and patted his stomach. "I am glad to hear you enjoy our food. I had to keep Cook around, even if he is a Stark sympathizer. His food is too damn good to waste." He spat out the word 'Stark' like it was the worst thing one could say. "It is late, and I shall like to retire to my rooms if that suits you, My Lord." Daenerys' declaration was a wave of relief to Sansa, knowing this nightmare would end shortly and that she could fall into a coma-like slumber. "Right, right. I cannot keep a queen from her beauty rest I suppose." Ramsay snapped his fingers at a maid who was standing post on the wall behind him. "Show our queenly guest to her chambers, and give her whatever she needs." But Daenerys interrupted, "actually, I'd like the Lady Sansa to show me to my rooms if that suits you, Lord Ramsay." The three exchanged glances: Sansa surprised, Daenerys pointed, and Ramsey confused. "Alright. Good. I suppose the exercise up to the tower would do my wife good after this rich meal. I do like my wife pretty." Ramsey sneered before he excused himself to retire to his own chambers, and Sansa prayed that he would quickly fall into a drunken sleep and leave her alone tonight.
The trip to the tower where Daenerys' guest rooms had been made up went in silence, and Sansa did not mind that at all. Her mind was racing as to why the queen wanted her to be the attendant and whether or not she would say anything to her about their retched meal-time. Sansa felt at fault for what had happened, and knew that it would be the kind thing to do to apologize to Daenerys. When they reached her door, Sansa did just that. "Forgive me, Your Grace. I hope you were not offended this night. My Lord husband is…."
"A rude heathen?" Daenerys finished for her.
Sansa's cheeks turned a bright shade of red and her mouth fell agape. "No, I would never say such a thing."
"You might not, but I just did, My Lady."
Daenerys opened the intricate door and stepped inside, grabbing hold of Sansa's wrist and pulling her along. All the Stark could do was follow the queen inside and wait for whatever would happen next.
Daenerys led them to a pair of plush chairs beside a tray set with a decanter of sweet dessert wine and crystal glasses; the best the castle retained after the siege. The queen wasted no time in pouring out two glasses and handing one to Sansa, which she had no choice but to take thankfully. The silver-haired settled herself in the opposite armchair and took a healthy sip of the golden wine before setting her violet eyes on Sansa. "You're scared. Is it of me?" Daenerys looked sympathetic. Sansa shook her head quickly. "No, Your Grace. You are very intriguing but not frightening." It was the most Sansa had gotten to speak her mind in a long while. "Unless you wish to be frightening…"
Daenerys laughed in a very pleasant way, and it made the redhead smile. "I do not wish to frighten you; that was why I asked." She set her glass aside and crossed her arms in her lap as she leaned forward to look at Sansa in a terribly honest manner. The girl felt another blush creep up her neck, but she boldly met eyes with the Targaryen. "I know quite a bit about you already, Sansa." Her words shocked, and Sansa began to worry what exactly she had heard. "How?" She wanted to know.
"Little birds told me."
Varys. The spider. Sansa's brow furrowed.
"Only good things. Great things." Daenerys sounded reassuring. "You have been through far too much for one so young, even though I am not many years older at all—– and I know what loss is as well."
Of course she did. Daenerys was the last Targaryen in this world. She had been forced into hiding, and no doubt had lived a childhood in fear. Sansa on the other hand had lived a wonderful childhood in Winterfell with her parents, her brothers and sister, her sewing and her songs… But that was gone now. It seemed to Sansa Stark that she and Daenerys Targaryen had traded lives. While one was born with nothing, she now had dragons, an army, and a strong chance of winning the Iron Throne; while Sansa had everything as a child, she had fallen into nothingness. Daenerys must have sensed some sadness in the other woman's face, for she leaned forward until their knees touched and placed a warm hand over Sansa's cold one. "We have both survived so much, you and I. I hope for you to trust me."
Words were caught in the middle of her throat as tears brimmed in her blue eyes. "Why would you want that, Your Grace? Why would you show me such kindness?" A single tear fell onto Sansa's steel cheek. "I am the daughter of the man who helped send your family into extinction; the daughter and heir of Eddard Stark. I was betrothed to a Baratheon, and then wed to a Lannister. There is nothing I have done to help your cause." More tears clouded Sansa's view of the sympathetic dragon queen who could only be a dream; that was it, wasn't it? Sansa was in a dream and when she woke from this she would still be alone; a wolf in a sea of flayed men. But Daenerys squeezed her hand as if to prove that it wasn't a dream. "That is all true, yes, I already know. You may be an obvious enemy to my cause but you are the Queen in the North no matter what the Boltons say. The northerners are still loyal to your family, and they always will be. I do not need a Bolton on my side. I need a Stark. I need you."
Sansa's teary eyes met Daenerys' and a strange hope blossomed within them. How was it that still still managed to feel hopeful after everything had been dashed to pieces? "It is a betrayal. I am married to a Bolton…" But she knew that the people of the north would never accept them as their true Lords; she had known all along. Could this woman be her saviour; her unlikely justice? Not all heroes are knights. "What will happen when you take the throne; to the Boltons, to the Lannisters?" She had to whisper it, as if the castle walls had ears. Daenerys no longer looked sympathetic as she answered Sansa's inquiry with blunt honesty. "They will die. All of them." The heir to Winterfell swallowed hard and finally nodded; a single word escaped her lips: "good."