Well, following one of the largest and most positive reactions to any of the fics I've written, I felt compelled to write another chapter! I hope y'all like this one! I have at least one more in mind but if this continues to do well and if I can think of an actual story I might want to write, I'd definitely be up for continuing it. Feel free to let me know what y'all think! Thanks for reading!
The people of the camp stood in what passed as the square, men and women and the few children that had come with them all. A small flurry had kicked up but it wasn't enough to bother the Nights Watchmen, much less the Freefolk. Jon hadn't ordered anyone to assemble, had tried his hardest not to make a big deal of the visit, he at least didn't want everyone watching him as he saw Sansa for the first time in ages. But the old adage had held true, and one man waiting expectantly had drawn another had drawn another. Not to mention that he was fairly certain Tormund was still trying his hardest to make the camp something worthy of hosting a Royal. Jon smiled despite himself.
The two days since they had learned of Sansa's imminent arrival had been spent mostly constructing an actual banquet table, cleaning up his daub and wattle hut for her to stay, and building a quick temporary hut for himself. Anyone in Sansa's retinue would have to sleep in the hall, but it should be comfortably warm at the very least. The camp's cooks had insisted they were up to the task of creating a feast worthy of a Queen and had quickly shuffled him away looking, frankly, offended that he had even asked.
"She's supposed to be here by now, isn't she?" asked Tormund, leaning over to keep his voice down.
"By the time the sun set, is what the ranger reported," whispered Jon.
Tormund, in what he certainly counted as subtlety in matters not pertaining to hunting or sneak attacks, turned to clock the sun, noticing it lying half above the treeline. "I'd say it's pretty much set, Jon."
Jon kept his eyes forward down the trail that she'd come through and worked hard to keep his breathing even. There wasn't anyone North of the Wall that would mean Sansa harm. There wasn't anyone in all the North that would try anything against her. Just as he felt his heart rate start to rise he spotted it, the telltale shine of the setting sun off of auburn hair.
"I didn't think Crows could turn colors," Tormund whispered into his ear as the Queen in the North drew closer and Jon found himself working hard not send his elbow into the Wildling's ribs. That he knew it would only make Tormund burst into laughter was the main reason he didn't.
It took a only a minute for Sansa and her guard to close the distance and despite Jon seeing that his worries were all for nothing he still found his heartbeat thudding with the hooves of the horses as they cantered up to the assembled crowd. As her horse came to a stop, Jon finally got a good look at her and his breath hitched. Her hair mussed by several days of travel from Winterfell, her cloak speckled with dirt, her crown was the only thing that looked immaculate and that more due to the design than Sansa fussing over it. Sansa looked, well, majestic. Like a Queen of the North should look and Jon couldn't tear his eyes from her.
Couldn't move, either, apparently, as Tormund felt compelled to nudge him toward her so that the Lord Commander might help the Queen from her mount. He approached her horse and offered his hand, her touch tingling his palm as she hopped from the saddle, landing with the elegance that Jon knew only Sansa could muster after hours of riding.
"I trust your Grace had an uneventful ride," was all he could manage as her face came remarkably close to his.
"I always appreciate the opportunity to see the North away from the throne, Lord Commander," said the Queen. "You should know, however, that most lords would make an attempt to meet me at their castle and not make me ride out into the wilderness for their audience."
"I apologize, your Grace," sputtered Jon. His mind raced as he tried to decipher to look on Sansa's face. Perhaps being Queen had made her more rigid, brought back the spoiled girl he had known all those years ago. Then her stern look split into a wide smile and the failing light of day was brought back to noon-day radiance in an instant as she closed the short distance between them and nearly knocked the breath from Jon's lungs as she wrapped her arms around him.
Jon had been fairly certain that only Tormund's hugs could be physically painful but his currently swelling heart left his chest aching all the same as he closed his arm's around her, Sansa's face buried fully in his arms. They held each other fiercely for what felt like an eternity but what must've been only a few seconds before Jon reluctantly let go and stepped back. "As Lord Commander, I'd like to welcome you formally to the Northernmost outpost of the Night's Watch and Free Folk."
"It's a pleasure, truly" said Sansa, her smile still radiating. Out of nowhere, a redheaded blur in animal skins wrapped Sansa into another bear hug, catching her off-guard. Her Queen's Guard looked nervous and Jon saw several hands drift towards sword hilts. The fact that no swords were drawn spoke volumes of how far relations between Northmen and Freefolk had come in the past few years, thanks in no small part to the three people standing in the center of the courtyard.
"Tormund. Tormund! You can't just hug a Queen!"
Tormund stopped, Sansa lifted a solid two feet off the ground and in the throes of laughter. "Oh yes, right. You did say that. But you hugged her!"
Tormund set Sansa down on her feet with exaggerated care and Sansa took a moment to catch her breath after her laughter wore off.
"It's not quite the same, Tormund," said Sansa through her laughter and smile.
"Your Grace," one of Sansa's Queen's Guard started, not quite sure how to take the rough, if loving, treatment of the Queen.
"No worries, Meera! This here is Tormund Gianstbane! A hero of the Long Night and a leader of the Freefolk!" Sansa smiled as she clasped Tormund's forearms.
Meera? Jon took a closer look at the Queen's Guard in question and saw it now. Short, even by a Northern woman's standard, Meera Reed still bristled like a fighter trained to by one of only two survivors of the battle at the Tower of Joy. A long bronze knife at her side rather than a traditional longsword. Meera gave a nod to the others and they all dismounted
"What is that intoxicating smell?" asked Sansa, sniffing at the air. "I'm absolutely famished!"
"You are in for a treat, your grace," exclaimed Tormund as he ushered her to the hall and the awaiting banquet table. Jon merely smiled as he followed behind the two.
