As their sail boat glides onto shore, they are met with a line of soldiers, with one small man at the forefront. She recognizes Tyrion Lannister at once- for who could ever forget the drawf? The soldiers step forward, but not to surround them, as Brienne helps her from the boat and onto the shore. The water rushes up, soaking both her feet and the hemline of her dark gray gown. It's much warmer here and she's left behind her fur cloaks and gloves back on the ship, though now she wishes she'd thought to bring a lighter gown or two.
"Welcome to Dragonstone, Lady Sansa." Tyrion speaks as she comes to stand before him, her small group behind her.
"Your grace," Brienne interrupts as as takes an aggressive step forward, pinning her eyes on the little man before them. Sansa shoots her a look and the woman goes silent, though her stare remains stony.
Tyrion clears his throat before he continues. "My apologies, your grace," he smiles faintly, taking in the sight of the windswept girl standing before him. She had grown taller and into quite the beauty, this one time wife of his. "In the name of Viserys Targaryen, I welcome you to Dragonstone." Sansa regards him but does not speak, her blue eyes glinting in the sunlight. "This is Mossador," he gestures to a young, handsome man with eyes of gold that had come up from behind the soldiers. "He is the King's most trusted advisor."
"Our king knows it's a long journey and he appreciates your effort on his behalf," his accent is one Sansa cannot place, it's one she's never heard before. "Now, if you wouldn't mind handing over your weapons." He gestures for the soldiers around him to take them and at once Brienne and the men around Sansa freeze.
"Of course," Sansa breaks in with a sweet smile, taking only a moment to glance around at her few guards. Though looking quite reluctant, they one by one hand over their swords and daggers to the soldiers, who then begin to file back towards the stairs that would lead them up to Dragonstone.
"This way," Mossador says, gesturing for the small group to follow after him. Placed beside Tyrion with Brienne just behind her, Sansa raises her skirts as they trek through the sloping sand, her wet shoes sinking with every step. "I will have you shown to your chambers to change and rest, you must be hungry." He continues, glancing back to smile at the redhead, his golden eyes gleaming in the sunlight.
It's as they begin to climb the stairs that the first dragon swoops overhead with a screech- the guards behind her all fall to their knees from fear, though Sansa's knees barely bend as she stares up into the skies. A second dragon shrieks back to the first, the largest of the trio, and beside her Tyrion chuckles as the others pick themselves up off the ground. "I'd say you get used to them... But you don't." Sansa presses her lips together and glances at Brienne, but they continue on their way up the stairs. "I thought I'd never see you again," Tyrion speaks casually and Sansa feels her heart skip a single beat. "Might have been nice to see you at my trial for Joffrey's murder. It was quite hard to explain why my wife had fled the city." The look he throws her tells her he's not angry and at once she finds herself relaxing. Perhaps things might not be so bad.
"The wedding was such a dull affair, I thought I might just skip the funeral, too." She threw him a smirk as Mossador threw open the main double doors, holding one wide open to allow the group to pass through. For a long moment, she took in the long sweeping hall, its high arched ceilings still coated with dust. To the left is a second set of doors, ones which would surely lead to the throne room.
"This way," Mossador says, bringing her attention back to the moment. She follows after him, taking a flight of stairs up just one floor to a long corridor with several different doors. "These will be your rooms," he opens the door and Sansa sweeps past him, stopping only when she reached the very center of the room. Brienne followed her in, eyes never straying from Mossador's face. "I hope these will be sufficient, my lady."
"Your grace," Brienne says for the second time that day.
Mossador smiles but doesn't correct himself.
"The room is perfect, thank you." Sansa replies after a beat of silence, hoping her smile is not as strained as it feels. They exchange only a few more words before Mossador is gone, the door closing quietly behind him. The moment he's gone, Sansa sinks onto the bed, suddenly exhausted. But this day is far from over.
[ x x x ]
"Is she as beautiful as they say?"
Viserys keeps his steady gaze on Mossador's and his most trusted adviser smiles only slightly before he gives a single nod. "She has hair the color of the sky at sunset." He comments as he takes a step closer to the silver-haired man. "And eyes like sapphires." Mossador continues as he comes to stand before the throne. "She is quite tall, as well." Her height had been as striking as her beauty, in truth. Mossador knows his King and knows him well- he will enjoy her pretty face and even enjoy her charming wit, but he will not like her so much when she refuses to bow to his request. He's only known her but a few moments and already Mossador can tell this Queen in the North will not bow so easily. "It would seem she is quite unlike any woman you've met."
"I see," Viserys chuckles as he leans back on his throne. "Send her to me then."
[ x x x ]
"You stand before Viserys Targaryen, the rightful King of the Andals and First Men." Mossador's voice booms across the vast, empty throne room. Sansa has already locked her eyes upon the silver-haired man on his throne and she slows her steps until she stands at the bottom of the steps that lead up to the dais. "Protector of the seven kingdoms, the father of dragons... The unburnt, the breaker of chains." Viserys' many titles stretch out along the seconds and Sansa already finds herself suppressing an eye roll.
He is a handsome man, she cannot deny that; he's all sharp edges and his violet eyes remind her of a hawk. For only a moment she throws a glance at Brienne, who squares her shoulders and speaks. "This is Sansa Stark, Queen in the North." Her title is short, but it is all that it should be. It is enough.
"Thank you for traveling so far, my lady." Viserys shifts upon his throne, looking down at the young woman before him. It is as Mossador had said, she was a beauty unlike any he'd ever seen before. "I hope the seas weren't too rough."
"The winds were kind, your grace," Sansa begins, lowering her face so he doesn't see her smirk.
Beside her, Brienne sucks in a breath and interrupts. "Apologies, your grace, perhaps you did not hear me before, this is the Queen in the North." Sansa shoots Brienne a look that ceases her speaking and instead her sworn sword takes a single step back, silenced by her queen's single glance.
Viserys blinks but smiles slightly, leaning forward, elbows pressed into his thighs. "It is true I was not given a formal education, but I swore I could have read somewhere that there's not been a King or Queen in the North for over a thousand years." His violet eyed gaze falls upon Sansa, who does not waver beneath his stare. In truth, he's surprised by the fierceness in her sapphire colored eyes. "Torrhen Stark bowed to my ancestor Aegon Targaryen and in exchange for his life and the lives of those who lived North, he swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity. Or..." Viserys trails off as a soft yet arrogant chuckle falls from his lips. "Do I have my facts wrong?"
"I was not there," Sansa is the one who replies and Viserys laughs again, this time with a bit more ferver.
"No, of course not," he replies, settling back against the throne, hands settled in his lap. "But still... An oath is an oath. And I ask, what does perpetuity mean? Lord Tyrion?" He speaks to his Hand for the first time and the imp turns to look across a shoulder at his King.
"Forever, your grace."
"Ah... Yes. Forever." He returns his gaze to the young woman before him, who still has yet to change the expression upon her lovely features. She looks as if she'd rather be anywhere else and Viserys finds he's not used to being looked at in such a way. "So I assume my lady that you are here to bend the knee."
"I am not."
Every person in the room jumped, all surprised at the cool tone of the lady speaking. Viserys blinks and sits up straighter, anger surging through him as he stares down this Queen in the North. "That is unfortunate." He says a moment later, finding his voice and speaking in a tone that sounds far calmer than he truly feels. "You have traveled all this way only to break faith with House Targaryen?"
"Break faith?" It is Sansa's turn to chuckle as she steps back, rocking on her feet. "Your father burned my grandfather alive. He burned my uncle alive. He would have burned all seven kingdoms-"
"My father was an evil man." Viserys interrupts, shifting on his throne with an uncomfortable look upon his face. "On behalf of House Targaryen I ask for forgiveness for the crimes he committed against your family." Their eyes meet and Sansa can feel her heart racing, can feel her pulse thumping in her throat. "And I also ask that you not judge a son for his father's crimes." There is a long pause and she looks down for only a moment, hoping she looks contrite. She's beginning to understand this man and the role she will have to play is much different than the one she thought she would. "Our houses were allies for centuries. The best centuries that the seven kingdoms have ever seen. Centuries of peace with a Targaryen sitting upon the Iron Throne and a Stark as Warden of the North." He's offering this to her and she knows he expects her to take it. "I am the last Targaryen. You are the oldest true born child of Ned Stark, the last Warden of the North. Honor the pledge your family made to mine. Bend the knee and I will name you Wardeness of the North. I swear it to you. Together we shall save this country from those who wish to destroy it." It's a pretty picture, she supposes, of peace and prosperity. But Sansa knows better, all of them standing in that room knows better, save for maybe Viserys himself.
Sansa takes a moment to look around her; first at Tyrion, who has been surprisingly quiet these last few minutes. And then she sees Mossador just beside the throne, his golden eyes watching her every move. She spares a glance at Brienne, who holds her head high and nods to her, as if to offer her the little bit of encouragement she needed to speak. "You're right," she finally speaks, turning back to face Viserys on his throne. The Targaryen looks somewhat smug, as if he already believes he's convinced her to bend the knee. "You're not guilty of your father's crimes," he's begun to smile as she speaks, thinking he's about to hear the words he wanted to hear all along. Sansa fights against a smirk as she watches his face change with her next string of words. "And I am not beholden to my ancestor's vow."
Viserys looks like a child who's toy has been snatched. "Then why are you here?" The words are sharp but the gaze even sharper.
"Because I need your help... And you need mine." She answers.
"Did you not see three dragons fly overhead when you came in?" Viserys asks through gritted teeth.
Ah, so it was as she thought, he had sent the dragons as a reminder, no a warning, about what power he had. "I did."
"And the Dothraki? The Unsullied? All of whom have sworn to kill for me."
"They were hard to miss," Sansa quips back, narrowing her eyes as she looks up at the Targaryen King. He did not frighten her, though he tried his best to.
"And yet you say that I need your help." Viserys' eyes have darkened with his anger, nostrils flaring as he peers down at the redheaded woman.
"Right now, you and I and everyone else... We're just children playing a game, screaming that the rules aren't fair."
"You told me you liked this woman." Viserys hisses at Tyrion, silencing Sansa for just a moment.
"I do, your grace." This was not the Sansa he recalled from King's Landing.
"In the few minutes she's been here, she's refused to call me King, refused to bend the knee, and she has now called me a child-" Sansa stops herself from pointing out that he sounds like a pouting child whining in the yard.
"I believe she's called us all children, your grace. It's a figure of speech."
Viserys opens his mouth to retort but Sansa is speaking again, taking a single step up towards the throne he sits upon. "Your grace, everyone you know will die before winter is over if we do not defeat the enemy to the North." Her words earn back his attention and he swivels his gaze back to her.
"As far as I can see, you are the enemy to the North." Viserys snaps, his anger yet again getting the best of him.
"I am not your enemy. The army of the dead is your enemy." She says simply, as if this is enough to make them understand.
"The dead?" Clearly, her words were not enough. Viserys sounds beyond skeptical and she's certain another outburst is seconds away. "Is that another figure of speech?" He's directed this at Tyrion, who's now regarding Sansa with a surprised look on his face.
"The army of the dead?" It's Tyrion who speaks, addressing Sansa just several feet before him.
Sansa sighs. She's come all this way, she refuses to give up yet. "We may have been married once, my lord, but you do not know me all that well." She takes another step closer to the small man, watching in his eyes as she recalls their short time together many years before. "Do I look like a liar to you?" It was well known among her family and friends that there was only one thing Sansa Stark didn't do well and that was lie. When Tyrion shakes his head she's smiling, tilting her head as she stares back at him. "The army of the dead is real. My brother, Jon Snow, has seen them. He's fought them. The white walkers are real. The Night King is real." She's turned away from Tyrion and focused her gaze back on Viserys. "If the Night King and his army get past the wall and we're all fighting amongst ourselves... We're dead."
It's a few moments later when Viserys begins to speak, poetic words of faith in himself and all he had done. He rises from his throne, coming down the stone stairs until he's standing just before her. "Dragons haven't been seen in centuries... Not since my children were born. The Dothraki have never crossed a sea.. until they did it for me. I was born to rule the seven kingdoms... And I will."
Sansa holds her gaze steady, but softens her stare a moment before she shakes her head. "If we don't defeat the Night King, you'll be ruling over a grave yard."
"The war against my sister has already begun." Tyrion speaks up, coming down to stand beside his King. "We cannot put that war on hold to fight whatever it was your bastard brother saw beyond the wall."
"What my brother saw beyond the wall will kill us all," she heaves a sigh, knowing it's a lost cause to continue this conversation. But she's compelled to defend Jon and why she's come to this place. "The war against Cersei won't matter in the coming months. Soon it will be winter and even you cannot escape death's cold clutch. If we do not defeat the Night King, then only a skeleton shall sit upon the Iron Throne."
"If it is so important, then why not bend the knee?" It is Tyrion again. The little man feels a rush of fear at the glare the redhead shoots him. But he soldiers on. "Pledge the North to her cause and together our armies will defeat Cersei and this army of the dead."
"There's no time for that!" Sansa explodes, losing control for only a moment. "While we stand here and debate, the Night King comes only closer!"
"Bending the knee takes no time-"
"And why would I do that?" Sansa snaps, turning from Tyrion to Viserys before her. "I mean no offense, your grace but I don't know you. As far as I can tell, your claim to the Iron Throne rests entirely upon your father's name. My own father fought to overthrow the Mad King." She sucks in a ragged breath and lets it out, the fight slowly leaving her. She's tired, so tired. "The North chose me to lead them, to protect them. And I will do just that."
"That's fair," Viserys says, violet eyes narrowing just slightly as he stares at the young woman. "But it's also fair to point out that I am the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. To declare yourself Queen of one of those kingdoms means you are in open rebellion against me." He expects this woman to cower beneath his gaze or at least look away in shame- but she holds his gaze steady and looks almost smug as she stands there. He isn't used to this treatment but in truth... His anger is fleeing and it's being replaced by true curiosity for her. "Forgive my terrible manners, you must be tired from your journey," he says a moment before he turns and begins to make the climb back to his throne. "I will have baths prepared and supper sent to your rooms."
"Your grace," Sansa's voice forces him to turn back just before he settles back onto the chair. "Am I your prisoner?"
Viserys grins. "Not yet."
And so went the first meeting between the wolf queen and dragon king.