Disclaimer: GRRM owns all. This chapter takes place almost a year into the past.

Chapter 2

Sansa

The iron-tipped spears shimmered in the sunlight. The men of the Royal Guard grunted in unison as they jabbed their spears forward in a single column of men. Their iron shields overlapped eachothers and together they formed a single wall of spears. Jon and Sansa were in the training yard overlooking the new style of training being introduced. It was fairly new and a man from the East had come to Winterfell, from Braavos he was, asking for an audience with the King and Queen of the North. He was wearing simple garments of the East when he arrived in Winterfell, spun cotton with gold outlines and a big brown beard to match. His skin was olive and his hair black. He was neither homely nor comely, but his accent was thick.

Jon had his arm around Sansa as they watched the men train. The Braavosi man had trained Unsullied, the famous eunich spearmen from the East, and had come to Westeros looking for employment under a lord or King who would have him. He was a good negotiator, Sansa knew, and spun a tale of a new fighting style from the east. The phalanx, he called it, and showed us what had to be done. It was a variation of the traditional shield wall, she knew, but the men fought as a single unit. The men in front overlapped shields and would thrust their spears into the enemy, whilst the second row of men would thrust spears from over top. The middle and last rows of men would use their shields to push into the backs of the men in-front of them, pushing the enemy even further back while they were being jabbed with spears. Jon saw promise in this fighting style and knew it would be useful should someone invade the North from the Neck, where the narrow pass or any narrow pass would give them an advantage.

Sansa and Jon's son Robb had wanted to watch them fight, had wanted to learn the new style, but Jon did not let him. Robb was eight-and-ten now, the Crown Prince of the North. He had a younger sister the Princess Lyanna who was six-and-ten. Robb had the Tully hair and look but his eyes were silver, whereas Lyanna had blue eyes but Jon's dark hair and looks. Both were beautiful babes in her eyes and Robb was eager to learn, eager to rule. Sansa would always say his day would come. That one day he would wear the crown on his head.

"Push harder!" The Braavosi ordered, taking Sansa away from thoughts of her children. He had introduced himself as Uthero. He was dressed in nothing but leather pants and a leather jerkin this day. Jon had given him quarters in Winterfell so he could stay and train the Royal Guard. Uthero approached the group of three-hundred men and grabbed the shield of one of the men. "The strength of the phalanx lies not so much in the strength of your spear thrust as it does in the man next to you!"

He grabbed a shield and assumed the fighting position. "Each man's shield covers the man to his left, not himself. And the men in the back are equally as important. All spaces must be covered and not one man can show weakness in protecting the man next to him. If he should then the whole formation crumbles. Again!"

The men continued to train and Jon turned to kiss her on the head. For many nights he had spoken about the promise this new fighting style would bring. "This will revolutionize combat," he whispered to her over the sounds of commands, grunts, and jabs. "No one else in the Seven Kingdoms will see it coming."

Sansa nodded against him. "But can it stop cavalry, Jon?"

"Uthero says a spearhead formation can stop cavalry should they come from all angles."

"But this formation leaves you weak from the rear."

"It does, but we can adapt to that."

"How? The boiled leather coupled with the chainmail, shields, greaves, helms and swords will slow a man down."

Sansa looked up to see him smile as if he held some great secret. "Yes, my Queen, but Uthero here has shown me how to remedy that."

"How?"

Jon kissed her and said, "Who says we still have to use boiled leather and chainmail?"

Surprised, Sansa took a moment to think. "So you will fight naked?" she japed. "Is that the remedy to make you quicker?"

"No, my queen," he said with a laugh. "But we won't be using boiled leather and chainmail any longer."

Uthero ordered the men to rest for a moment and beckoned the King and Queen forward. "I have the new armor ready, my King," he told them in his thick accent. "This is what they use in the East—or so they did long ago. The phalanx may only work if the men are free to move. And I fear with your boiled leather and chainmail it will not work so well."

Jon nodded and bid him inside the Great Hall to show him the armor Mikken had made. Once inside Uthero came forward with the new armor that Jon had kept secret. Sansa thought it beautiful. In place of boiled leather and chainmail they wore an iron made breastplate figured into the torso of a man. It was made of two pieces, one to the cover the front and one to cover the back, both held together by leather belts on the shoulders and sides. Underneath one wore a grey tunic which extended down to the middle of their thighs. Grey greaves covered the forearms and shins, whilst layered leather skirts covered the nether regions and tops of their legs. On their feet they wore black leather boots. Even the helm was drastically different. Their helm now covered the face save openings in the eyes that figured to their natural shape, and a piece of iron that covered some of the nose. When worn you could only see both eyes, mouth, chin, and some of the nose. However, a black horse haired crest was on Jon's helm which made him look like a rooster. Accompanying all of this was a grey cloak to signify house Stark, held together by a direwolf brooch. Even the iron shields were painted with the direwolf of Stark on them. Each man had his new armor, a shield, sword, helm, cloak and spear.

"This new armor is lovely!" Sansa exclaimed upon examination. "It looks much lighter and more fitting for the phalanx."

"Yes, my Queen," Uthero agreed. "This will make the men be able to move with much more ease."

"At the cost of leaving some of their arms and legs exposed to cold and arrows."

"Everything has a cost, Your Grace. But that is why we have the cloak to cover them."

"Aye," Jon agreed. He stepped forward to put his helm on and with his horse haired crest looked intimidating. "How much of this new armor has Mikken made?"

"Enough for the royal guard, Your Grace."

"About three-hundred, then," Sansa deduced.

"Yes, My Queen."

"And do all of the helms have the horse-haired crest on them?"

"No, Your Grace," Uthero told him. "Only yours to signify that you are the King."

Jon took his off and nodded. Uthero trained the men each day and about a fortnight later Sansa and Jon were summoned from their pleas. Sansa had been sitting in the High Chair of Winterfell next to Jon hearing a farmer talk about a pack of wolves endangering his flock. Sansa had promised him a young lad trained in the ways of the bow to protect his sheep. The farmer was grateful and was escorted away. An old man had come forward when suddenly the doors to the Great Hall opened in a flash.

Rickon came in dressed in his boiled leather and chainmail, seeing as the new armor wasn't to be worn yet, with a few guards behind him. He came forward and took a knee in-front of the King and Queen. "Your Grace," he said, addressing Jon. "We have visitors from the East."

"Uthero?"

"No, Your Grace. This man is a messenger who represents a new king in the East named Mazor. He bids an audience with you."

Jon looked to Sansa who gave him a nod of approval. "Then we shall grant him one," he said.

In the courtyard Jon and Sansa gathered with a few of the Royal Guard. The messenger was a tall man, dark in skin with a long beard to match. He was just in cotton overcoat with ornate designs on it laced with gold. He wore a cloak as well made of wool and it was held together by a golden brooch shaped in the face of a man. He had brought a retinue of men with him, Sansa noticed, and had bowed when he faced both her and Jon. In the courtyard they stood facing each other while around them people pretended not to notice, continuing with their duties. Robb and Lyanna would be at their daily lessons, she knew.

The messenger introduced himself as Navos, a servant of the High King Mazor. A man who had conquered all of Essos, bringing it under the iron grip of his rule. He had spoken in riddles, not showing his intent. The retinue of men he brought with him were dressed in simple cotton garbs with no armor. They only had bows on them. Sansa watched as the Royal Guard of Winterfell eyed them wearily—Rickon, especially. All were fingering their sword hilts.

Growing impatient, Jon asked, "Why are you here, then? Do you wish to exchange pleasantries?"

"I have come a long way for earth and water from the North."

Jon laughed. "You came all the way to Winterfell for earth and water? How ridiculous."

"Don't be coy, don't be stupid," Sansa told him. Her violet dress clung to her and her bodice of white linens was tied a bit tight this morning. She had grown tired of this meaningless exchange wishing to gauge the messenger's intent. "The North is cruel and unforgiving, and here you cannot afford to be coy or stupid. Tell us why you're here."

On the messenger's face Sansa saw a look of shock as if he had never been spoken to this way before. "Who does this woman think she is to speak amongst men?"

Everyone went to their weapons at the slight, but Jon stayed them with a motion of his hand. He gripped Sansa's hand even tighter. "She is my wife and my queen, so she will be shown respect. Here in the North our women have a say in things."

"And sometimes we control our men."

The messenger offered his apologies and continued, "My King, a force of men has been assembled that is so massive it shakes the Earth with its march, its number so great it drinks the rivers dry. All the God-King demands is a modest offering of earth and water—a simple token of the North's submission to the will of Mazor."

"Well," Jon replied, "that's a bit of a problem. You see, word has reached my ears that King Aegon has already denied you. I know you will not attack the South so quickly, and threaten to invade the North at the Neck." Sansa did not know that Jon was aware of this God-King. "So, you really leave me with no other option," he continued. "Seeing as you will invade the North regardless, seeing as my half-brother has already turned you down…I have my reputation and that of the North to consider. I'm sure we can handle this diplomatically."

"Choose your next words, carefully," the messenger warned. "King Mazor's mercy has limits."

"Aye, I know the limits of your mercy. Tales from the East reach me of what King Mazor does to those who oppose him. Nailing children to trees, butchering old folk, raping women and making them your slaves. Aye, I know what your king does and I know what my answer is." Suddenly Jon disentangled himself from Sansa and drew his sword, Longclaw. Lightbringer had been destroyed fighting the Others. He pointed the sword at the messenger. "If it is earth and water you seek, you'll find plenty of both in the ground."

The messenger threw his hands in the air. "No one threatens a messenger. Are you mad?"

"No, I'm not. But you have come here to threaten my people and insult my wife." He looked to the Royal Guard. "Rickon, do what must be done. Give Mazor my answer."

In a flash Sansa watched as the Royal Guard attacked the retinue of men who had come with the messenger. They stabbed them with swords, spears, and the like. The men yelled and fell to the ground dead. Rickon had spared two of the men and watched as Jon took off the head of the messenger with a swing of his sword. Once that was over he threw the head over to the two surviving soldiers of Mazor. "Take this to your king," Jon ordered them, "and tell him we do not fear him nor do we submit to his rule. Never will the North be ruled again by anyone but the Starks. Go!"

The men picked up the head and took off on horseback out the gates of Winterfell. Jon wiped the blood off Longclaw and sheathed it, taking Sansa in his arms to tell her, "I wouldn't have normally killed a simple messenger, but it had to be done. We had to send Mazor a message."

"You know this means war, Jon."

"I know," was all he said. He kissed her and they made their way inside.