SANSA
It had been a week and a half after Sansa had first met the Americans, and now the Royal entourage was to arrive at the American City of 'Topeka.' Her sister, upset with how the butcher's boy stopped playing with her, changed moods abruptly and refused to sleep until Septa Mordane forced her to. All Sansa could think about was how her prince wouldn't be joining her in visiting this strange and foreign land.
Sansa was sure the whole thing had been a misunderstanding. After what had happened the first day, the Queen was present at every meeting since with the Americans as a sign of good faith. The Americans however, were said to take it as a slight. The Queen went as far as to say that the Americans insulted her and the noble house of Lannister grievously. Probably because the Americans are lordless foreigners, Sansa had thought, riding her mare on the road, they'd be no more adept at courtly manners than the smallfolk would.
Regardless of what happened, the results were clear to Sansa. The Queen, the Royal Family, and much of the Royal Caravan were to travel to Castle Darry by means of another route. Meanwhile, Father, the King, and Lord Renly and others including her were to travel to the American city on the Kingsroad. She asked Father why the Royal Family couldn't come along, and he only said that they were not needed for the negotiations: only the King was. She was sure that there was something else, but Father refused to say anything.
"What do you think their city will be like?" Sansa looked up at Arya's words, who was riding alongside her. Next to her sister's legs was her Direwolf, Nymeria, panting happily as she walked along. Glancing down, Sansa thought that Lady looked more dignified, her mouth closed and head tilted upward, and felt a glimmer of satisfaction.
"I'm not sure," Sansa replied, pulling the Direwolf along as it tried to slip her leash. "Magical in some way, but I don't know beyond that." As much as the Americans insisted otherwise, there was no doubt that their equipment and vehicles were the work of sorcerous powers. She couldn't help but think of the marvels and horrors of old Valyria, who took to the skies as the Americans had.
Arya sat thoughtfully in her saddle, looking at the road for a moment before replying. "Maybe like Dorne?" She turned to Sansa again. "Do you know how a Dornish city is like?"
Sansa already knew why Arya had thought of that. "No, Arya," she said, shaking her head at her sibling's foolishness. "Just because Americans have women soldiers doesn't mean that they're like Dorne."
Arya tried to defend her question. "Dorne has those too! And when I talked to them about it, they are much like the Dornish."
Sansa couldn't help but shiver. Even in the North, you could hear tales of Dornish depravity, loose morals, and madness. Still... "In what way?" The thought of the Americans being anything like the Dornish repulsed her - but she couldn't help but wonder morbidly on how they're alike.
"In many ways," Father's words cut through the air, and Sansa obediently turned to look at him, riding ahead of her and her sister. "The Americans swore to be courteous towards us, however - I expect you to do the same."
"Yes Father," Sansa said, as Arya merely nodded her head. A few minutes of silent riding later, she saw the Americans ahead, flanking the Kingsroad with two of their Humvees, one on each side. Curious, she looked at the sigils on their chest, trying to tell which one was in charge. Despite their insistence on not having knights, the Americans didn't mind to indulge in heraldry. From the flags on the Americans' shoulders (brightly colored at first, but increasingly replaced by a green-and-black variation the more she saw them,) to the coat of arms underneath and on the other shoulder, to even the rank on their chest.
The system still eluded her in its entirety, but she did learn some things. Among them that having three inverted chevrons meant they were a sergeant at the least, any less a regular soldier (with the exception of one that looked like an inverted raindrop) and any different an officer. Looking at the assembled soldiers, she found one that was wearing a gold line on their chest. His face seemed strange, however, slimmer than she thought it had been. "That's one of them," Arya whispered to her as they rode along. "One of the women soldiers."
Sansa blushed, "I saw that Arya," she said, realizing her mistake, and also corrected herself. The Americans weren't as bad as the Dornish: They at least they made clear who was a man and who was a woman. The Americans didn't seem to care at all! She noticed something over the tree line. "What's that?"
"That," Father said, "was how the Americans came to Westeros." They passed through the last of the trees, into a large clearing cut in half by the Kingsroad. Sansa nearly let go of Lady's leash at the sight.
It looked like the gods had taken a sword to the world. An arch stood, towering over her and the trees. The edges were impossibly smooth, yet were like malformed glass - blending the browns, greens, and blues of the Riverlands forest behind it into a strange, blurry mixture. Sansa struggled to figure out how large it was until she saw men walking around right next to it. She estimated it to have been the width of seven American Humvees, and it was four times that high.
It opened to a long, black road that stretched to the horizon, covered with stripes, lines, and symbols in yellow and white. It was guarded by hundreds of soldiers and dozens of vehicles, arranged in defensive positions with their weapons pointing at the other side. The two foremost vehicles were larger than smallfolk huts, with a wide, short turret on top. Like a lance of a knight, a hollow metal rod jutted out from the center of the turret, and Sansa could see two additional weapons on top of the vehicle.
"Sansa, Arya," Her father called out, and she realized she and her sister were frozen in their seats. Looking to meet his eyes, Sansa couldn't believe how calm they looked, before she remembered that Father had seen the... Arch, before. Still, she noticed how his eyes were trying to force themselves back to the Arch, ensnared by the sight. "Keep riding."
Sansa nodded. "Yes, Father." Tearing her eyes from the arch, she turned to look at the American camp itself. On the sides of the arch, a number of olive-green tents had been set up. They seemed oddly solid in the breeze, unbending as the wind passed through. There were also a handful of thin, metal poles that were erected: they might have served as a post for a banner, but there was nothing there. Flanking that were two lines of American vehicles. There were familiar Humvees there, she noticed, but there were also a host of other vehicles, including some taller ones, with six wheels. However... "Where's the Osprey?"
Arya answered her. "Behind us." Turning around in her saddle, Sansa noticed that the American camp extended to the other side of the clearing as well. Instead of grass, there was a long line of flat dirt, and Sansa saw the Osprey sitting there, its wings folded up. There were some others there, too, looking like poor statues of birds with wings that were too long, lacking feathers and feet, decorated with stars and stripes, and covered in the American's writing. She couldn't tell what it said - despite sharing a tongue with the Americans, the text was alien to her.
Soon enough, they came to a stop in front of the Arch, and Sansa turned to see a small group of men and women standing in front of it. The Colonel and General were standing in front, surrounded by a group of similarly-dressed men and women. Sansa thought it must have been a gathering of the American officers, only to spot sets of chevrons on some of the men's shoulders. Faraj Morris, of course, continued to dress differently than them but was now surrounded by a group of similarly-dressed men with dark glass over their eyes and a piece of clear jewelry coming out of their ears. The man smiled and spoke. "Good morning, your Grace. If I may, I would like to reiterate the plan we laid out with your party."
From her position, Sansa only saw that back of the King's head as he nodded. "You may, Mister Morris." Before they traveled to America, Father made sure to lecture her and Arya on proper forms of address for the Americans. 'Mister' was used in a manner similar to Ser, though Arya said 'Magister' at first.
"Thank you, your Grace." Mister Morris stepped forward and gestured to a map on a nearby table. "Good morning, lords, ladies, and guests of the Seven Kingdoms! I would like to welcome you to the United States of America. I am sorry we can't afford to greet you more warmly, but that is what we hope to change today."
"Meeting with your leader, you mean," Lord Renly cut in. He was a little behind the King, allowing Sansa to read his expression. He smiled bravely, but she couldn't miss the way his eyes darted to and from the Arch. "The President?"
"That is correct, Lord Baratheon," Mister Morris pointed to the map below him, tracing a path to the roads. The map looked unbearably plain to Sansa, lacking direction of any kind and showing no more than the roads and buildings of the city, Topeka. "As we agreed before, and cleared with your Kingsguard, this is the route we are going to take, straight to the Kansas State Capitol. Once there, we will treat you to lunch before negotiations begin."
At that, the King let out a mighty laugh. Sansa smiled at that: the sound somehow bringing to mind the rare moments Father smiled. "A feast? If you had started with that we'd already be through." A chorus of laughter rang from the crowd, and not just from the Westrosi.
General Belrose, however, only smiled slightly. As the laughter died down, he spoke. "A man after my own heart, your Grace." The smile died then, turning to a serious expression. "Before we travel through, however, I have a few things to go over. When you first pass through, you may feel strange or uneasy," a few murmurs passed through the crowd at that, and Sansa could see an uncomfortable expression wedge itself onto the American faces. "Nothing harmful, as far as we can tell, but if you do feel hurt or sick, or just not right, let us know immediately. If nothing's wrong, go along the path indicated by the Soldiers, Marines, and the Topeka Police. Do not, and I repeat, do not attempt to deviate from the path indicated for you. It is as much for your own safety as it is for ours, and frankly, there isn't much you're going to be missing: the whole city has been evacuated. Any questions?"
Sansa couldn't imagine anything like that. An entire city, empty of people? It was hard to see Winter Town being completely empty, perhaps the Americans had a different size in mind when they thought of a city? Before she could ask, however, she was interrupted. "What are Police?"
General Belrose blinked, almost stunned to silence for a moment. One of the women soldiers, with a strange shapeless cap on her head, turned to look at the General, confusion writ on her face. "Law enforcement, hunts down criminals, investigates crimes, and so on." A city watch, then, Sansa thought. She wondered how they would look like: perhaps like the soldiers she saw before, only with a different pattern of fabric for their uniform. "Is that all?" At the ensuing silence, General Belrose nodded. "Let's go, then.
Sansa braced herself, forcing her mare through the Arch as she was reminded of her time as a child, when she, Arya, and Jeyne were taught to swim in a pond of water near Winterfell. The way the water pressed up against her skin was so much like the sensation of passing through the Arch. That should have made it familiar, but it was only foreign to her. Despite the pressure, she was left completely dry as she passed through, and she couldn't help but shudder as the sensation pressed against her hair, feeling like the Arch was caressing it as Mother would. As soon as it came, though, it was over, and she fell into place behind her father, riding through the streets of Topeka.
Sansa thought it was a dreary place, even with the bright, mid-day sun hanging overhead. The streets were empty of smallfolk, and in their place was an army of armed men and women. No matter where she turned her head, Sansa couldn't go without seeing a Soldier, Marine, or the Police standing guard.
One of the Police was holding a black box in front of their face, and Sansa remembered how the Americans could talk through them. It was magical to Sansa, and she was ecstatic when the Americans indulged her desire to try talking through one to Arya. Yet, her father seemed to be somehow afraid of the things, and she couldn't understand why.
"They have lots of glass," Arya interrupted her thoughts. Sansa turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow. "The buildings - they all have glass windows."
Sansa turned to look at the buildings lining the streets and found herself stunned. Arya was right: the Americans had lined their buildings with glass. Some were dirty, and Sansa couldn't imagine what sort of man would let them fall into such a state, but others were so polished and clean that Sansa could see her reflection as she rode past. It seemed a shame that it was wasted on such ugly designs: square-like buildings without roofs, in many cases. She wondered, briefly, if she could convince Father to buy a mirror to take back with them.
It was not far to the Capitol, however, and soon Sansa was dismounting. When she looked at the building, she gave up trying to understand American design. Atop a rectangular base was a short tower, a figure in weathered bronze perched on top. A field of trimmed grass and oak trees surrounded the Capitol, broken apart by stone pathways leading to the entrances. Suited men patrolled the perimeter, like the ones with Faraj, and more stood guard at the entrances. Lastly, a sea of tables was set on the grass, with many small, round ones that were set in front of a long, rectangular table. And on each of them...
Sansa made sure to close her mouth tightly, swallowing the water on her tongue. The Americans had prepared a feast for them and had set out food and drink on every table. Two of the suited men walked towards the King, stopping a respectful distance away from him. "Your Grace," one of them with skin as dark as dirt said, "your seat, as well as the Hand, his daughters, and Lord Baratheon is at the high table along with the President."
The man never gave his name, Sansa noticed. "May I have your name, Ser?" Unlike the soldiers, the men wore no means of identifying them, or of their rank or status.
The man shook his head. "I am just an agent of the Secret Service, Lady Stark."
Sansa nodded, accepting the polite decline for what it was. However... "And what does the Secret Service do? I've seen you protecting Mister Morris, as well as the building, here."
"Among other things, to protect the President, Lady Stark." Like the Kingsguard, Sansa thought. Would these be the best of the American's warriors? There were many more than seven, she noted and didn't think it possible the Americans would more skilled warriors than the Seven Kingdoms did. They must have lower standards to accept so many, she thought, nodding, as they were led to the high table, seated from the right side inward. The left side was filled with four empty seats sitting tucked in behind the table.
Now that she was close, Sansa could see the food the Americans had brought. The first among them a plate full of chicken wings and pork ribs, dripping with a red-orange sauce that stained the white plate beneath it. An apple pie sat next to it, already cut into pieces revealing it's glistening amber interior with the crust layered with white cream sprinkled with brown spice. Last within reach was a platter of stacked buns, cut in half and stuffed with ruffled lettuce, succulent meat, and melted cheese, surrounded by a wreath of golden-brown, finger-long and stick-thin strips dusted with salt. Meant for her was a single glass goblet, so fine as to be nearly clear, and Sansa picked it up, tilting it to see the glass glint with the mid-day light.
"So," King Robert began, eyeing the food and drink on the table intently, "When is the President going to be here with us?"
The agent from before spoke up, "President Thomas will be arriving after everyone's been seated." He, along with the Kingsguard, remained standing as Sansa turned to look at the tables. Against her fears, the Americans did understand rank: lower-ranked soldiers and guardsmen were seated on the outer tables, while the nobility and American officers on the inside. The quality and presentation of the food remained the same throughout, though, and Sans couldn't help but remember the American's words: no knights, no lords, and no Kings.
As the last stragglers found their seats, Mister Morris stepped forward, smiling as he held an empty glass goblet in his right hand, and in his left a polished spoon. he struck it lightly and quickly, the resulting ring drawing all eyes to him. "Lords, Ladies, and my Fellow Americans, I ask that you please rise for the President of the United States: Mister Roland Thomas."
As everyone began to stand up, a group of nearby musicians moved as one and began to play together. Trumps, flutes, and many more instruments played in absolute synchronicity. It was a powerful, booming song, and Sansa couldn't help but be transfixed.
"Group, Attention!" One of the Army officers shouted. "Present, Arms!" The right hand of each Soldier and Marine snapped upward to their brow, as the doors opened and the President left the building.
He was completely surrounded: two of the Secret Service at his front and rear, with the Colonel and General flanking him on his sides. The man himself wore an outfit similar to his bodyguards, a black surcoat with black pants, a white undershirt, and a piece of fabric in even blue-and-red stripes around his neck. He wasn't fit, nor unfit, and had no striking features: only plain, brown eyes and hair, which was shaved from his eyes down, but merely short on top. He greeted the King first, speaking quietly as he shook his hand once, before moving onto Father, Lord Renly, and then to her.
He smiled, and now that he was close Sansa could see a small American flag pinned to the side of his chest. "I'm pleased to meet you, Lady Stark. You must be Sansa?"
He held out his hand, and Sansa took it into hers and softly shook it. "Yes, Mister President. It's a pleasure to meet you."
He nodded. "Pleasure's all mine, Lady Stark." He let go of her hand and she followed suit as he moved to Arya, sitting last at the table. "And you must be Arya," he said, "Pleased to meet you as well."
Arya extended her hand warily towards him, and the man responded with a gentle shake. After a too-long moment, she spoke. "You too, Mister President."
The President only seemed to smile more at that, releasing his hand as he moved behind his seat, next to the General, Colonel, and Mister Morris. The song cut out, and the President returned the gesture given by the soldiers. "As you were. Everyone, please be seated." As Sansa did so, the President continued to speak.
"Good afternoon, Lords and Ladies of Westeros! I am President Roland Thomas, the elected leader of the United States of America. With us today are the distinguished servicemen and officers of the Twenty-Sixth Marine Expeditionary Unit and the First Stryker Brigade Combat Team of the First Armored Division. I'd like to offer you a taste of American hospitality, and invite you to partake in traditional American food with us. The waiters you see off to the side," he indicated a group of well-dressed men in black-and-white outfits, "will replenish whatever you eat, and will upon request provide beverages. Before we do, though," he said, as the King's hand slowly drew back from where it was, "I would like to take a minute of silence. Pray to your gods if you wish, and if you do not, I ask you to be quiet for those that do."
At that, the President bowed his head, closed his eyes, and clasped his hands, a gesture that was replicated by many of his soldiers. Some spoke quietly, murmuring a prayer to their gods while others remained silent, and some others merely watched. One by one, they opened their eyes and looked up. When the last did so, they began feasting.
Sansa sampled the delicacies the Americans placed before her, including the 'Hamburgers,' 'French Fries,' and the 'Buffalo Wings.' The last was exceedingly spicy, and Sansa didn't try another bite. Sansa moved to the apple pie. When she picked up a piece, however, the cream was as cold as snow! She looked to the President, who was talking with the King about something, though what Sansa couldn't tell. When there was a lull in the conversation, she spoke. "Excuse me, Mister President?" The man turned to her, and she continued, "can you please tell me what is on top of the pie?"
"That would be Ice Cream, Lady Stark, with cinnamon on top." the President explained. "It's an American dessert. You can think of it as frozen milk? There's some more to it, but I'm not aware of the details." Curious, Sansa lifted the pie to her mouth and bit down. She stiffened.
"Sansa?" Father asked, and Sansa swallowed quickly. "Are you alright?"
She shook her head up and down. "Y-yes. It was just very sweet, that's all." Sansa had a taste for sweet things, to be sure, but this seemed overly sweet.
"Sorry about that," the President said, an apologetic smile on his face. "Americans like our food to be much sweeter than what you're used to."
"And your wine unwatered," King Robert spoke then, as a waiter refilled his glass goblet with wine as dark and red as blood. As the waiter moved on, Robert lifted the glass to his lips, nearly downing the vintage in a single gulp. "Good stuff, this. Where is it from?" Sansa, meanwhile, focused back on the rest of the pie. Now that she knew what to expect, she was hungry for more.
Eventually, however, Sansa found herself full of food and drink (the Americans were determined not to give her wine of any kind, only sweetened juices.) President Thomas stood up and addressed the audience. "So," He asked, still smiling, "How was it?" A chorus of approving voices and calls broke out, and he nodded. "I'll pass your compliments to the cooks," he said, "As King Robert and I meet, I'll invite you to tour the Kansas State Capitol in the meantime." At that, Father, the King, Lord Renly, and the Kingsguard left with the President and his retinue, leaving her in the care of Septa Mordane as they walked inside the structure.
Sansa expected it to have been dark inside, but the Americans lit it with lights like the ones in their Humvees. Sansa thought it odd that something the size of a holdfast was so lavishly decorated, with polished floors, statues of white stone, and murals on the walls. She couldn't help but stop and stare: they were so real, Sansa thought they might step off the walls and onto the floor.
Sansa heard a quiet huff behind her and saw Septa Mordane with a dark look on her face. "Your sister's slipped away again," she said, and Sansa understood immediately. Likely talking with the women soldiers. "Stay here, I'll fetch her." Sansa nodded as the Septa walked off, leaving her to examine the artwork.
One, she thought, was showing a war. Men with wooden rifles stood focused on each other, as two men in blue and gray uniforms lay dead on the ground. Between them stood a giant, arms spread wide with a book in one hand and a rifle in his right, with a crazed look in his eyes that she couldn't help but shiver from seeing.
Prominently displayed were two flags, waving against the smoke-filled sky. One was the American Flag, though Sansa noted there were fewer stars then what she remembered. The other bore strong resemblance: a red field, with an azure saltire inlaid with stars.
"I see you've taken an interest in the John Brown Mural, Lady Stark." Sansa jumped at the words, berating herself for not noticing the Army officer standing next to her, his hazel eyes gazing at the artwork.
"Captain Zoeckler?" She asked, noticing the two bars on his shoulders. The man nodded once. "And yes, I had, Captain. Can you please tell me more about it?"
He nodded again, quiet for a moment before he spoke, his words carefully measured. "It commemorates the American Civil War, some one-hundred and fifty years ago. John Brown, in the center, was partly responsible for it."
Sansa nodded, recalling the similarity between the flags. Like the Targaryens and the Blackfyres, she thought. "What was it fought over?"
"It would depend on who you ask, Lady Stark." Captain Zoeckler said, and Sansa frowned at that. "People from the South would say it was over state's rights. The North would say it was over slavery."
"Slavery?" Sansa asked, and she shivered at the thought. She knew that the Free Cities had a style of government that was similar to the Americans, but did they also have slaves, too?
"The country was divided at the time. The Northern States had outlawed slavery, while the Southern States legalized it. The Federal Government at the time had a policy of compromising over the issue, and nothing ever happened about it?"
"The Federal Government?" She asked, trying to understand how something like that could happen. One-half free, one-half slavers? The North was different than the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, but nothing on the scale of that!
"Think of how you have lords, and you have the King. The King rules all of Westeros, but he gives authority to the lords below them to take care of their area. They still answer to the King in the end, though." Sansa nodded. "In America, we have a system like that: where the States answer to the Federal Government like your lords the King."
"I see, Ser," she said, noting another strange way that America mirrored the Seven Kingdoms. "So..." she swallowed, mulling the words over in her head before trusting herself to speak. "Who won the war?"
"The North." the Captain replied, and Sansa let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "Slavery was abolished thereafter. Worried that we still owned slaves?"
Sansa felt the blood run to her cheeks and her back stiffen. She thought she had concealed her emotions well. "Erm, yes, Ser." Feeling more confident, Sansa spoke up again. "How did the North win, Ser?" She didn't know how the Americans fought, but any war against Slavery could only be just and honorable, filled with great heroes and deeds worthy of song-
"Logistics," The Captain said. "The North could communicate better, move soldiers faster, and supply them frequently where the South struggled to do any of the above. When the South kept losing men, the North kept increasing the size of its army." Sansa blinked at the words.
"I mean," she began again, "were there any great warriors during the war? Ones of great renown?"
"Plenty for the South," he said, "there wasn't a single battle that won the war, Lady Stark. It was a vicious, brutal military campaign that ended because the South couldn't fight as long as the North could."
Sansa flinched. "That's... heartless, Ser." And it was.
For once, the Captain's eyes flicked from the art to her. "It's truth, Lady Stark."
