I apologize for the delay in this chapter. I always knew it was going to be the hardest one, but, in the end, I figured a way it would work, and include a little ship I have come to love on Game of Thrones! The good news is, in working through this chapter, I was able to get most of the next (and more than likely last) one done! It should be up later in this week. For now, enjoy and please let me know what you think!
Still un-beta'd but I've tried my best.
Sansa had almost all the pieces she needed for her plan in place. She had the support of a young leader who had already pledged herself and her house to House Stark. She had the backing of an old ally of her father's, one who had fought beside him in battle. She would be backed by a friend of her brother's, one who seemed to know Jon better than her. But there was one last person she looked to for her cause. He was a former enemy turned friend of Jon's and the Night's Watch.
She was surprised to find him when he crossed her path in the Godswoods. She had spent a good deal of time there since they had retaken Winterfell, but after her solace had been interrupted by Littlefinger, when he had laid out his whole plan to her, she felt the place was tainted, somehow. It took her some time to rediscover her peace there, and it felt like a sign when the Wilding chief found her in the sanctuary of the Old Gods.
His shadow fell across her, startling her. "Lord Giantsbane," she said, collecting herself.
The man let out a hearty laugh. "When I first met your brother, he thought I was someone else and call me 'Your Grace'" he said. "But we Free Folk do not recognize many kings, but the ones from our own. And we certainly do not have lords and ladies. I am simply Tormund." Then he looked to the weirwood tree. "There is one of these far in the north. A giant of a tree, and some say it is haunted by small goblins."
Sansa lifted her eyes to look upon the carved face. "It has stood here for eight thousand years, the Stark tradition goes. Back to Bran the Builder." Her eyes shifted back the ground, momentarily thinking of her younger brother.
"The man who built the Wall?" Tormund asked.
"According to the lore, yes. Our younger brother was named after him. He would love to hear stories of our history, of knights and great battles," Sansa continued.
"He was the one who was crippled." He looked to her, offering solace. "Jon has spoken of him. It is alleged by one of the Crows, one who is friends with Jon, that he passed through the Wall, into the North."
"Jon told me that his friend Sam let his through. Though I still would like to know why." She lifted her eyes again to the carved face. "I don't think he's alive anymore."
Tormund chuckled. "If there is one thing I have learned about your family, it is that you are not easily killed."
He turned to leave her, but she called his name. "Tormund, I must speak to you on some matters." She stood up, checking around her. "I would like to talk to you about Jon." They walked around the Godswoods, going deeper into the park. "You and Jon were enemies once, am I understanding that correctly?"
Tormund nodded. "We captured him and he acted as though he intended to betray the Crows and aid us in attacking Castle Black. But he betrayed us instead and led the defense of the fortification. I threatened to kill him but was not able to fulfill my promise."
She pursed her lips. "Something I am grateful to the gods for," she said.
"As am I," Tormund nodded. "After the battle, he wanted to negotiate with Mance Rayder, who we proclaimed King-Beyond-the-Wall. When Mance was to be sacrificed at the stake by the Red Witch, Jon shot him in the heart with an arrow. A mercy, but one I am thankful for."
"And he tried to rescue your people from Hardhome?"
"He did all he could. But we were overrun by the Army of the Dead," Tormund explained. "And trying to save us is what…" He stopped himself from finishing his sentence.
"It got him killed," she said, completing the thought, looking to him for confirmation. The big redhead merely nodded. "I remember when we were reunited, and he made a comment about it. It was so casual, like he got a cut on his finger. Nearly stopped my heart. I came so close to losing the last of my family." She still shuddered at the thought of that. She hated herself for all the years of mistreatment, again.
"But you have each other now, yes? And is there not another sister?"
Sansa let out a sign. "I haven't seen her since the day our father was arrested. I can't think that she'd still be alive."
Tormund placed his hand on Sansa's shoulder. "Remember, you Starks are hard to kill."
Thinking of her parents, Robb and Rickon, she replied, "If only that were true." But she shook off the thoughts any further.
He smiled at her, sensing her sadness. "I remember seeing you come into Castle Black. Although, no offense, Lady Sansa, but you were not the one who held my attention."
Now she chuckled, thinking of the man's interactions with Brienne "You creep her out, do you know that?"
Now he looked offended. "I do not! I am merely in awe of her beauty!"
That had never been a comment she had heard about her guardian. "She has never been admired for her...appearance. Mocked, more than likely."
"Then they are blind. I dream about making babies with her. She would make a fine partner for any man," he went on, defending Brienne. "Do you know when she will be returning?"
Sansa had received a raven that morning. It would take some time to return from the Riverlands. Winter had come and was moving over the whole of Westeros, slowing much of the movement south of the Greywater Watch. Not all of the Seven Kingdoms were as prepared for winter as the North, and House Stark. "She and Podrick are making their way. They should be here in week."
He smiled again. "I will await her return," he said as he turned to leave.
"Wait, Lor-Tormund," she called out. He stopped and faced here. "I still need your counsel on something." The chieftain waited. "You said that you do not recognize kings but your own. But, I must ask, if it were a man you knew, one you fought alongside, even if he were not Free Folk, would you? Would you recognize him as a king?"
He returned to her standing in front of her. "I have known a king. I have fought alongside him. But as much of a friend as Jon Snow is, I would not call him my king, nor would any of my people." Sansa deflated at his words. "I would stand with him, though, as an ally in the coming battles, in the Long Night."
She met him in the eyes, understanding what he was saying. Jon would have Tormund's support, his allegiance, not as a king, but as a comrade. "There will be a meeting of the Northern Lords, the Lords of the Vale, all who helped up take back Winterfell. You are the leader of the Free Folk. It is only right that you are there to represent your people."
"Then so shall I be there," he answered her with a tilt of his head. Then he did turn and leave.
She remained in the Godswoods for a while longer, thinking over her strategy. Briefly, she wished Tyrion was there to offer his advice. In the past few weeks, she had silently thanked him for what she had learned in the brief time of their marriage. He would talk often about the machinations of Joffrey's Small Council, what plans Tywin or Cersei were plotting. Except for one plan, of course. He had only learned of it after the fact, after Joffrey bragged about it.
Tyrion had cursed his nephew and his father, long and loudly. She ignored most of it, caught up in her grief. But she had heard. "This is a blow from which I think my house will never recover from. And they are all damn fools to pat themselves on the back for it. To betray guest rights! To kill family they are bound through marriage with! I pray the gods send them to all Seven Hells."
Tyrion had spent the remained of their marriage trying to console her. But, at the time, she wanted none of it. Part of her lumped him in with the rest of the Lannisters. He must have had some knowledge of it. But then, for the brief time she had watched as Joffrey lay dying at his wedding, Sansa had noticed just how her husband was at the fate that had befallen his nephew. She knew Tyrion was many things, but he would never stoop so low, never be so subtle in his kill.
Something that Tywin Lannister had learned a few moons later. When Sansa had heard of his death, there was no mourning, no pity for him. Her only thought on the matter was what had happened to the man she had married. She still wondered where he was, if he was even still alive. He could very well be another name on her list, the list of those she had lost in the last few years. Sansa found herself regretting adding Tyrion Lannister's name to it.
Taking another look around, she whispered to the weirwood tree, "What would you say of my maneuver, my lord? Would you think it wise or foolish, giving up such power to a bastard? To crown him King in the North? You served one who sat on the Iron Throne, would you think Jon Snow more worthy than Joffrey?"
Jon had told her about his encounter with him, the night of the feast in honor of the King's party, when they arrived at Winterfell. "Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor and it can never be used to hurt you." But, in essence, that was what she was doing, letting the world forget him being a bastard, letting him be proclaimed king.
She rose from where she had been sitting, taking one last look at the weirwood tree. She prayed to the Old Gods that she was making the correct decision. The wind kicked up for a moment, but then, a ray of sunshine broke through, bathing her in light.
She smiled, satisfied, and turned to leave.