THE LADY OF WINTERFELL
Sansa stopped her white mare atop one of the numerous hills that surrounded Winterfell. Down below stretched the King's Road, twisting like a muddy snake through immaculate snow. A few leagues away rose the massive grey walls of the castle, and beyond them the broken roofs of its towers. Somewhere in between, she knew there would be the godswood and the huge weirwood, red leaves leaning idly above the hot pools. Remembering all those details made her heart bounce in her chest. She was coming home, finally.
Mya Stone fell in beside her, pulling on the reins of her big grey garron. Her cheeks were red from the biting cold and white mist rose as she breathed. «So there we are eventually... A fair sight if you ask me, but I'd rather stretch my legs near a big fire to get that bloody cold away! How long since we haven't stop to rest?» Sansa smiled. For one brief moment, as she was savoring the taste of home, she had nearly forgotten the stiff in the small of her back. But Mya would always be there to remind her of such trivial details. Her childhood in the Vale as a baseborn girl had taught her of the priorities of life — lessons Sansa had lacked growing amongst septas and dutiful daughters of her father's bannermen. Things had changed, however. As deep as she dared to look into herself, she found no trace of the fair maid that had once left Winterfell dreaming of sunny days and charming knights. The Lannisters had taken care of it. She bit her lip as the memory of Ned came back to her. Loosing him had been a weakness then, but she had turned it into her strength. She had spent endless nights figuring how he would behave, what he would have her do. Somehow Petyr had tried to change this, subtly turning her into her mother so he could achieve on her what he had failed on Lady Catelyn. She had become Alayne Stone for him who claimed to be her savior. But all this had come to an end. Littlefinger was not anymore, and she was Sansa Stark, the one true heir of Winterfell.
Glancing behind her shoulder to the rest of the fellowship — three of Mya's closest friends, every one of them mounted on a horse and leading a mule — she told the bastard girl:
«You are right, it is past time we arrived. Our stocks of food are getting so empty those mules seem to be able to run as fast as my mare.»
«I'm actually more concerned about the cold than the food, Sansa.» Mya and Alayne had become so close that she had not been able to call her my lady once she had revealed her true identity, and Sansa didn't mind. It had been too long since someone had called her by her true name. «I'm pretty sure there's plenty o' food in those northern woods of yours. At least for someone who knows where to search.»
Mya's self-confidence was always comforting, and once again Sansa allowed herself to smile. There would be time for the grieving soon enough, so it was more than fair for her to enjoy these moments.
She twisted on her saddle and waved her arm toward Winterfell for the men behind her to follow, then spurred her mare. The horse rushed forward, Mya and her grey garron jumping after her in a big cloud of hoof-crushed snow.
The castle turned up to be much different than the one Sansa had left several years ago. Although Stannis Baratheon — and Roose Bolton before him — had been eager to rebuild, most of the buildings looked more like blackened shells stuck into a muddy ground. A few houses still lingered outside the outer wall where hundreds once stood, half-hidden under several feet of compact snow. Some could only be noticed by a bit of their straw roof and grey smoke swirling up into the air. Further on, they came upon the camp: thousands of tents lined up in strict rows, with graveled alleys and innumerable braziers. Sansa and Mya slowed their horses to a pace. All around them men turned to stare at those women in boiled leather and armor, some muttering and spatting, some laughing through crocked teeth. Sansa glanced at her friend: her tension was palpable, and it was all she could do not to unsheathe her dagger.
«Most of them are southern men, too far from home» she said, pointing the pronged banners over the tents, «it must have been a long time since they last saw a woman. Try and stay calm, and they won't not harm us.»
Mya nodded, but somehow Sansa doubted her words had appeased her.
As they reached the outer wall, the tents became larger, with furs and pelts to keep the cold at bay. Other banners flew under the flamed heart and stag of Stannis, some of them she knew for bearing northern sigils. Flint, Norrey, Wull, Mormont and Glover, even Manderly. The sight of so many of her father's bannermen gathered around Winterfell made her feel quite safe. Obviously they had not forgotten their allegiance to House Stark.
Her heart bouncing hard inside her chest, Sansa followed the road to the drawbridge, Mya falling in beside her. Someone shouted a word from atop the wall, and slowly the drawbridge went down in an impressive sound of rattling chains. As they crossed the frozen moat, iron-footed hooves slamming against hard wood, Sansa stared at her beloved castle. It had seldom changed, except for the black tongues creeping along the walls that the fire had left after the sack, and some half-collapsed buildings that still needed to be fixed. They dismounted into the yard, and a young boy with a dirty face and two awkward m'ladies rushed out of nowhere to take care of their horses.
A pair of guards were waiting at the entrance of the great hall, nearly hidden under heavy fur coats. They looked at the women with suspicious eyes until one noticed the wolf-shaped brooch on Sansa's cloak. «We're sorry Lady Stark, we weren't expecting you so soon» he muttered, red creeping on his neck. «Stannis will be inside, waiting for you. He wouldn't stay outside, oh no, it's too bloody cold!» Sansa smiled. The northmen's allegiance was indeed to the Starks, no matter how hard Stannis tried to make them bend the knee.
The heavy doors of the great hall opened for the two women to step forward. Several hearths shone along the walls, fire burning brightly to keep both cold and darkness at bay. Upon the dais were the chairs of the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, massive pieces of oak with backs carved in the shape of wolves and weirwoods. Sansa had expected Stannis to receive her seated in one of them, but she found them empty instead. She could not say she was not surprised. Had she been wrong about him? Could he possibly give up his claims upon Winterfell knowing that there were more that just one Stark still alive?
As Sansa and Mya were waiting in silence, warming their hands over the blooming fire, steps echoed behind the dais. A door opened, and a score of guards spread around the oaken chairs, every single one of them wearing the fiery heart and stag embroidered upon their doublet. Then came Stannis Baratheon: all clad in black wool and boiled leather, the king walked past the dais towards Sansa at a quick and determined pace. He stopped a few feet before her, and nodded.
«Lady Stark.»
His voice cut through the silence of the great hall, as sharp as honed steel. Sansa could not help but remember something she had been told once: a sword without a hilt. Nothing fit Stannis better than this. He was not an ugly man, but there was nothing in him as attractive as in Renly, or even Robert in his young years. He was nearly bald, and had a severe look about him, with tight lips and a constant wrinkle across his brow, but his eyes were an amazing blue, as deep and dark as a stormy sea. No doubt Dragonstone was a perfect place for him to set up this realm.
«Lord Stannis.»
Sansa's voice sounded very respectful but was not any warmer than his had been. She bowed a little deeper, though. Her honor would not be harmed by another bow. She had been bending the knee before so many kings and lords she could not count them all... The time when they would all bow for her was close, however. That made her heart bounce inside her chest.
«Our journey has been a long one, my lord. I hope you would understand that we allow ourselves a little rest before joining you. Although I had wished to see my brother, —»
Quick steps echoed from behind the dais, and suddenly all the fiery-hearted guards stepped aside to let the late arrival through. Sansa opened her mouth but found nothing to say, so she opened her arms instead.
Rickon smiled and rushed to hug his elder sister. He has grown so much, she thought. How long since she had last seen him? Both of them had lived so many things, with half a world in between, she felt as if she barely knew him, the boy he had become. Sansa stroked his tangled dark hair. She lifted his chin so she could look upon his face. He had some of Ned's features, but his eyes were definitely their lady mother's. Memories came rushing inside her head, and she felt nostalgic of the peaceful childhood she had spent inside those very walls. Rickon seemed to read the sadness in her eyes, so he squeezed her hands between his. His smile was telling her to be strong, at least just for a little longer. She could not appear frail in front of Stannis Baratheon. Not now. Winterfell's future was up to this very moment.
As if to remind them about it, Stannis cleared his throat. Sansa and Rickon let go of each other's hands.
«Now that you have seen your brother, maybe we could discuss those terms you talked about in your letter, Lady Stark.» Before she could ask again for a little rest, he went on «I am aware of the weariness of such a journey across the North, but I think you will understand that such matters cannot be reported any longer.»
Sansa tightened her jaws. Her eyes met Mya's. The Vale girl had remained silent all along but the look on her face meant otherwise. «As you will, my lord.»
They went past the door behind the dais, through a dim-lit gallery Sansa had walked a thousand times. Up they went, until they reached a solar: the furnishings had been changed, obviously after the sack of Winterfell, but there were few of them — a massive oaken desk with six chairs, a small table covered with books and one tallow candle, a brazier full of ashes and embers. There were no decorations, only plain wood, bronze and rock. So much different from the room Sansa had known, with pelts and furs on the ground to keep the cold at bay, but pretty much like Stannis indeed. He sat down and gestured at them to do as well. Only Stannis, Rickon, Sansa and Mya remained in the solar.
«We all thought you were dead, Lady Stark» Stannis said. Well, she thought, he is frank, that much I can grant him. «I will not lie to you, but there are many plans, plans that were made with the help of your bastard brother for some of them, that will have to be changed because of those new tidings.»
«What plans, if I may ask?»
Stannis grinned his teeth. «I lost half an army staggering through storm and snow to conquer Winterfell, smashing Boltons and Freys to save a girl who pretended to be your sister, only to find out she had vanished with some wildlings. They made for the Wall, as I learned after, but Lord Snow felt quite disappointed when he saw that it was not the right girl...»
Sansa felt a stab of pain through her heart thinking about her sister. Where in the world are you hiding, Arya? I know you are still alive, come home, it is safe now. Come back, please.
«No more enemies in Winterfell so I settled in» he went on, «but there is a greater enemy beyond the Wall. I had the allegiance of numerous northmen...» So wrong, she thought. «Until my Hand, Lord Seaworth, came back from the dead with your little brother. That changed a few things, but I found a way: arrange a marriage between Rickon and my daughter Shireen. However they are still very young so I had hoped to rule until they come of age. But I guess you have other plans in mind.»
Sansa leaned back in her chair. «You are right, my lord. These are my terms: I might be a woman, but I intend to rule Winterfell, and the North, by myself.» That take Stannis aback. He opened his mouth but she went on before he could interrupt her. «You made the northerners bend the knee, but they will raise again once there is a Stark to lead them. I do not deny your right to sit the Iron Throne, as my lord father died defending it. However the North will from now on be an independent kingdom, freed from the King's yoke.»
She could see the anger boiling inside him, but he remained as still as stone. «How am I to win back my throne without men? I need the North to defeat the enemies who gather beyond the Wall, as I will need it to get rid of the Lannisters.»
«I was not finished, my lord.» Her voice stayed calm. «I propose an alliance, regarding the help you provided House Stark. The North, lead by myself, will help you against your enemies, as they are common foes. But you must agree that once the peace is won you will leave Winterfell and give up all intention to rule here. I had heard you have another seat in the south, back in Storm's End...»
He obviously did not like that. His jaws tightened and he snapped: «Storm's End has been lost to Connington and his sellswords. Dragonstone has been lost as well, to the Tyrells and Lannisters. They all waited for me to be on the Wall to strike, leading their armies of cowards against what few host I had left behind. So do not talk to me about flying back to a place that is no longer mine.»
Sansa had hit him where it hurt most. Silence fell upon them, not even disrupted by sounds coming from outside. After a moment she spoke: «I was told that the Night's Watch had a castle ready to welcome you and your men. The Nightfort, is it? You will go there, and I promise that the North will help you win back Dragonstone, and Storm's End, and whatever land was stolen from you. I sincerely have no love for the Lannisters, —»
«Though you married one.»
That hurt. Sansa bit her lip. «Though I was forced to marry one, indeed. But gods know where Lord Tyrion is now, therefore I consider myself a widow.» Her voice was cold as ice. «We are not alone in this fight, though.» She turned to Mya. «The Vale will support us.»
Stannis frowned. He stared at the bastard girl. «And you are the herald of the Vale, if I may ask?» Sansa could not help but smile. «I had hoped that you would recognize your niece, my lord. This is Mya Stone, one of your late brother's children.»
The King was taken aback. «A bastard...»
«Yet a trueborn daughter, unlike Tommen Lannister.»
He grinned his teeth once again. After a moment of silence, he said: «I thought the Vale was controlled by Littlefinger.»
«Littlefinger is dead.» replied Sansa with tight lips. Memories came flashing inside her head. The arrow through brave Ser Dontos, their first kiss in the Eyrie with snowflakes swirling around them, the night he had asked her to sleep in his bed, his face when he had confessed that he had betrayed his father in King's Landing. And then the distress in his eyes when he understood that she had been poisoning him for nigh a moon turn. She would not have to see those mocking eyes anymore.
«The Vale never belonged to Petyr Baelish» Mya said, «nor do we belong to the Iron Throne now that the boy king has no legitimacy to it.»
Stannis did not seem convinced so Sansa added: «You have our word, but some say that words are wind. So we mean to seal this alliance with a marriage. Jon Arryn's son, Robert, is the rightful lord of the Eyrie. If he were to marry Shireen, House Baratheon would gain numerous allies, as well as thousands of soldiers to help us defeat our enemies.»
She had won Stannis' attention. He was obviously weighing wether or not to accept her terms. She had doubted he would agree to allow the North as an independent kingdom, but the support of the Vale was an offer he could not refuse. One thing was amiss, though, but it did not concern Lord Baratheon: since she had spoken of marrying Shireen to Robert Arryn, Rickon seemed different. She slipped a hand on his knee but he moved out of her reach. He turned his eyes toward the extinguished embers in the brazier, biting his lower lip. Sansa didn't understand. Was it possible that Rickon had feelings for his betrothed? Was she ruining everything between the two of them? She was about to tell Stannis that they would resume on the morrow to allow him some time to think when he nodded: «I agree to your terms, Lady Stark, though some of them I do not consider fair. But was there ever something fair in the game of thrones? I shall move to the Nightfort within ten days, leading my army and the northmen you will have acknowledged of our alliance. You understand that I cannot let you command an army into battle, I hope. Once the enemy beyond the Wall is defeated, we will ride south to march upon the Lannisters and their allies, with the support of the Vale. When I seat the Iron Throne, the North will be free to become a proper kingdom, with you as their queen if that is their wish. However you will be the one to send a raven to the Eyrie, letting them know of the betrothal.» He paused for a few instants. «Are we done, Lady Stark?»
Sansa breathed deeply. Was she doing the right thing? She felt it was what was needed, for the North as well as the rest of the kingdom. Her father would have approved of this alliance. But what about Rickon?
«Yes we are, my lord.»
Thousands of lives against one love. Break two young hearts or condemn thousands to death. She had no choice but this one.
After Stannis gave them his leave to go, Rickon rushed down the tower to the godswood. Sansa left Mya where she was and run after her brother. Outside snow was falling once again, light snowflakes charging the air. She crossed the yard to the armory and entered the godswood from there, remembering hidden ways she used to take as a child. Too many memories.
It was never really cold under the high trees. Warm air rose from the hot pools, so only a thin coat of ice covered the ground. Silence filled the wood, only disrupted by thumps of snow falling from charged branches, or the caws of crows in the big white tree. Sansa felt her heart bounce in her chest when she laid eyes upon the carved face inside its trunk, red tears running down its cheeks. How long since she had last seen a weirwood? She almost felt a stranger now, having lived in the south for so many years. Would the old gods still hear her prayers at night? Were they judging her at this very moment, weighing wether she had acted honorably or foolishly?
It frightened her so she turned away from the bloody eyes. As she went around the tree, she glimpsed a huge black shadow between the trees. She almost lost her balance, but managed to catch a lower branch before falling in the snow.
When she turned back, the direwolf was behind her. Sansa tried to scream but no sound came out of her opened mouth, only white mist filling the air. Two big golden eyes were staring at her through the mist, two suns amongst the sea of darkness that was his fur. His warm breath blew over her face, raising gooseprickles on her arms. She dared not move, fearing the reaction of the beast.
«It's alright Shaggydog. To me.»
Rickon's voice seemed to appease the direwolf, and he turned away from Sansa as if nothing had happened. He muzzled his nose in the boy's hand, but he could well have touched his cheek being so huge. Sansa made a step forward.
«I am so sorry, Rickon. I didn't know about you and Shireen, perhaps I could have —»
«How could you know?» The pain was plain on his face. «I could have agreed not to marry her, but it isn't just about me. You are condemning her to a life full of sorrow wedding her to this half-wit. Don't you think she has suffered enough already?» Sansa tried to say something, but he would not let her talk. «Her mother despised her because of the greyscale, the times when her father laid eyes upon her can be counted on your hands. The only friend she had until now was a fool. But I love her. No matter how much her face is ravaged by the disease. I love her, but you ruined everything.»
There were tears filling his eyes but his pride would not let them flow. Sansa felt as if she had been stabbed in her heart. She had not known, but could he understand that much? All she had done she had done for Winterfell and for the Starks. For the good of our House, no matter the cost each of us has to pay. But love had its reasons, and Rickon would not hear otherwise. Time would heal his wounds, but memories were forever painful.
«Rickon, trust me, I understand how much you love her, but —»
«No you don't» he said with a cold voice, «the only love you understand is the one shared by fair maids and charming knights. You love beauty, not soul.»
He turned away before she could see the tears running down his cheeks, and rushed through the trees with Shaggydog on his heels.
You're wrong about me, Rickon, so wrong. She had loved a tormented soul with a ravaged face. She thought about the kiss he had given her. She had loved him, but he was dead.