Tommen arrives in Winterfell before any of the other visitors. Sansa had almost forgotten about him in her preparation for everything else.
He shows up on a snow white horse, flanked by men in Lannister armor. He looks uncomfortable and kind of lost, but he brightens slightly when he sees his uncle. Before they can embrace, Arya appears in front of him.
"I'm Arya Stark," she says. "I'm supposed to marry you but I can't if you freeze to death." She touches his cloak and scoffs at it before shoving his new cloak at him. "I hunted down a wolf for this. Killed it, too."
Tommen's eyes dart from the cloak to his uncle then finally to Arya. "Thank you?"
Arya shrugs. "Don't die."
She goes back to the practice yards and Tommen watches her go, awe on his face. Sansa thinks he might be halfway to being in love with her already.
Poor boy.
"Welcome," Sansa tells Tommen. "I'm sorry if my sister overwhelmed you."
"She's not what I expected," Tommen says.
"She has that effect," Sansa says. "But she interrupted your reunion with your uncle. I'll leave you two to it. Wynn, is Lord Tommen's room made up? The one next to Tyrion's?"
"It is, my lady."
Sansa turns to the men Tommen brought with him. "Wynn can show you where to take his things. When you're finished, Ser Marvin will show you where you can quarter."
"Ser Daimen at your service," the man at the front of the guard says.
"Lady Sansa," Sansa returns.
She looks over at Tyrion and Tommen, only to find Tommen looking at her. "I'm not a Lord," he says.
"Your grandfather didn't tell you?" Tyrion asks. "You are Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale. You and Arya will have a castle of your own once you're a little more grown."
Sansa suspects that Arya will in fact be Defender of the Vale, but she doesn't mention it now.
"Oh. So grandfather didn't send me away because he was cross with me?"
"You are going to be married," Tyrion says. "He wouldn't use that as a punishment, would he?"
Sansa raises her eyebrows once Tommen is no longer looking at her. Tyrion holds a finger up to his lips, and she smiles, shaking her head. Cersei was certainly married out of punishment. Tyrion too, though that has worked out nicely.
"He's cross with me," Tommen says, more confident this time. "I don't know why, though. I didn't do anything wrong. But he said it was time I got out of the capital. So I wasn't a distraction to Briar. How could I distract him? He doesn't even talk."
"Ah," Tyrion says, like he understands. Sansa doesn't. She'll ask him later. "You remember when Joffrey was King?"
Tommen nods.
"Your grandfather was looking for a marriage then for then you too, a place for you to live and rule unless something happened to Joffrey. But when Queen Margaery had a child, he became heir to the throne."
"But don't want to be King," Tommen says. "I didn't before, when Father was King, or Joffrey. And I don't now. I told Joffrey -" Tommen cuts himself off, looks down at the ground. "I don't want to be King."
"I know that," Tyrion says. "This isn't a punishment. You will have a home and a castle all your own, far from politics and scheming."
"And you'll have a wife," Sansa says. "The only thing you have to worry about is being a good husband." She says it with a smile, a little bit teasing, but also a little bit serious.
"I'll be the best husband," Tommen is quick to promise. "I will love her and cherish her and make her think she's the most beautiful woman in all the land."
Arya is going to eat him alive, Sansa thinks. She reaches out to cup Tommen's cheek. "Perhaps tell her she's the strongest woman in all the land. She'll like that better."
Tommen looks down at the cloak in his hands. "Are there beasts to hunt in the Eyrie?"
"She will love it there," Sansa promises. "And you'll be the one to give it to her."
She can see when he makes the connection: if she loves the Eyrie, and I give her the Eyrie, then she'll love me as well. It's not quite accurate, but Sansa hopes that as Arya grows, she'll grow to love her husband.
"But right now you're betrothed," Tyrion says, voice gruff, "so you worry about courtship, not love. Love comes with marriage."
Tommen nods, young and earnest, and Sansa thinks he's lucky he escaped King's Landing before it destroyed him.
"Are you two taking dinner privately or with all of us?" Sansa asks.
"We're one family," Tyrion says. "We'll dine together."
One family. Sansa smiles. She leans in to kiss Tyrion's cheek. "I'll let Gage know."
As she's walking away, she hears Tyrion saying, "Stop staring. We're married, we're allowed to kiss. But don't get any ideas about Arya; she carries a sword."
Sansa finds herself laughing as she heads down to the kitchens.
They dine without the Karstarks on account of Tommen's arrival, and Sansa welcomes the opportunity to relax at dinner. She has to be constantly on her guard when the Karstarks are around, but now all she has to worry about is Arya's treatment of Tommen.
Sansa hoped to seat them next to each other, but Arya preempts her by taking her usual spot, with a whole side of the table to herself.
Arya surprises her by saying, "I don't know why couples are supposed to sit on the same side of the table. You can't see each other."
So at least she's thinking about it.
"Ah, but it's harder to take food off their plate," Tyrion says.
Arya's head snaps up like she hadn't considered this possibility.
"But she doesn't need to do that, because we have plenty," Sansa says, voice steady. She's going to cheerfully strangle her husband if he stirs up needless trouble.
"I can share," Tommen offers.
"You're very kind," Sansa says. And Arya's going to walk all over him.
"So is Arya," Tommen says. "My new cloak is very warm."
"Good." Arya's chest puffs up, probably less at the compliment to her character than to her hunting.
"Uncle Tyrion says the Eyrie's going to be ours. Do you know anything about it?"
"My aunt used to live there but she got killed," Arya says with a shrug.
Tommen looks horrified.
Sansa's going to have to make sure all the flayed bodies have, in fact, been buried before she lets Tommen and Arya go there.
"But then your grandfather brought in an army to avenge them," Sansa says firmly.
"I'm very sorry," Tommen says, sweet and sincere. "Did you know your aunt well? I've seen a lot of my uncles, and I would be sad if something happened to them."
Tyrion seems pleasantly surprised by this, smiling slightly.
"Not well," Sansa says. "Nor my cousin. They held your Uncle Tyrion prisoner for a time."
Tommen looks at his uncle, and Tyrion's smile has been replaced with a scowl. "Truly?"
"It was a misunderstanding," Tyrion says.
"You were a prisoner?" Arya asks. "What was it like? I was a prisoner once. We could share stories."
"It's how I met Bronn," Tyrion says. "He fought for me in a trial by combat when I wasn't given the time to ask Jaime to come fight for me."
"Boring," Arya dismisses. "I watched a man get tortured with rats."
They went from thank yous for cloaks to discussing torture, Sansa thinks with despair.
"Harrenhal?" Tyrion guesses.
"Rats?" Tommen asks, looking pale.
"Yeah," Arya says. "See, what they did -"
"Not at the dinner table," Sansa interrupts. "Please."
Arya pouts. "Fine. Later, then? When we're not eating?"
Sansa bows her head. At least Lord Tywin will ensure this marriage happens no matter what horrible stories Arya tells.
"How was the journey from King's Landing?" Sansa asks. "Not too long, I hope?"
"It was fine," Tommen says, "but I'm glad to be here. My mother and uncles were all sent away, and Grandfather has been quite busy as Hand. I'm glad to be with family again."
"We're glad you're with us," Sansa says. "We're about to have a lot of company. Do you know your Northern Houses?"
Tommen nods. "I enjoy reading. The library was always safe."
From Joffrey, Sansa hears, and she longs to hold the boy's hand and promise that no one will ever hurt him again. It's not a promise she's confident she can keep.
"We'll have to test you when they come," Sansa says, careful to keep her voice light, teasing. "I bet you'll do better than Arya."
"Will not!" Arya protests.
"Oh?" Sansa asks. "Are you going to start spending less time with your sword and more time with your books?"
Arya scowls, realizing she's been tricked.
"Marriage is about partnership," Sansa says. "It's good for you to be better at different things. If you're both good at the same five things, you only know five things. If you're both good at five different things, then together you're good at ten things."
Tommen looks pleased that he's contributing something.
"You're never going to stop giving me lectures, are you?" Arya asks.
"Not until the day you're married and leave me for the Eyrie," Sansa says with a smile.
"I bet you'll still send ravens," Arya says. "I can shoot the ravens."
"You certainly can," Sansa says. She looks across the table at her husband and finds his gaze on her stomach. She touches the large bump and closes her eyes, lets herself imagine that the voices she hears at the table are her children, Winterfell's halls filled with happiness again.
When she opens her eyes, Tyrion's still watching her, and she can see her dreams reflected in his eyes.
The Mormonts are the first family to arrive, the Karstarks notwithstanding.
Lady Maege Mormont rides into Winterfell with her daughter Lyanna, only ten years of age, and named after Sansa's aunt.
Arya, of course, makes the connection, and says the worst possible thing. "My Father's sister was named Lyanna. Want to see where she's buried?"
"Apologies," Sansa tells Lady Maege and Lady Lyanna. "Arya, why don't you show Lord Tommen around the practice yard?"
Arya, happy to be excused from 'polite stuff', is quick to disappear.
"She's a spirited child," Lady Maege says.
"She is," Sansa says, "Despite all the hardship she's faced."
"We heard she'd gone missing from King's Landing," Lady Maege says. "Lyanna and I prayed every day that she wasn't dead."
"The gods heard your prayers," Sansa says. "I thank you for them."
She personally escorts the Mormonts to their rooms. When she goes to take her leave, so they can unpack and rest from their ride, Lady Maege takes Sansa's hands in hers.
"We mourned for your family," Lady Maege says. "For your father, your mother, your brothers. Tonight, we'll go to the godswood and thank the gods Rickon lived."
"Theon's treachery was not as deep as it could've been," Sansa says. "Bran and Rickon lived, but Bran is still missing; he and Rickon were separated. The Seven willing, he'll be found by a loyal family the way Rickon was."
"We'll pray," Lady Maege promises.
"Thank you," Sansa says, and she means it.
Two days after the Mormonts arrive, Sansa and Tyrion receive word that a small army is marching on the Twins. Not long after they receive the news, Ser Kevan Lannister arrives at Winterfell from the Eyrie.
He greets Tyrion with a nod. "Nephew." Sansa gets a real bow and a respectful "My lady."
"Niece is fine," Sansa tells him. "Or simply Sansa. We're family."
The man looks shocked, but he recovers well. "Of course...Sansa. We've brought you two prisoners and," he looks around, "the head of Petyr Baelish."
"The head first," Sansa says.
She isn't surprised when Arya pops up at her side. "Did he say a head? Like one not attached to a body?"
Ser Kevan looks from Arya to Sansa in mild horror.
"You don't need to see this," Sansa says. Not the way Sansa does.
"It's not very ladylike to look at severed heads," Arya says, suspicious. "Why did you want a head?"
"Petyr Baelish tried to poison me," Sansa says, managing to shock Ser Kevan yet again. "He did poison me, but the Seven saw fit to spare my life. I want to see that he is dead."
Arya studies Sansa like she's more interesting than Arya gave her credit for.
"Understandable," Tyrion says, and he offers his hand for Sansa to hold as two men bearing the Lannister sigil bring forth a small wooden trunk.
At Tyrion's nod they open it, and it takes all Sansa's willpower not to gag when the stench hits her. Thankfully, or perhaps unfortunately, she has plenty of experience with severed heads. Joffrey dragged her to look at enough of them that she isn't ill when she stares at the head in the box.
The eyes are closed. She doesn't know what she expected - to see fear in them? - but the face is unmistakably Petyr Baelish's. Another threat gone. Another man who can never hurt her again.
"It's him," Sansa says. "Someone take that far away and bury it. Unless someone else has need of it."
"Lord Tywin said it was yours to do with as you pleased," Ser Kevan says. "Would you like to see your prisoners?"
"Bring Theon forth," Sansa says.
They've gathered a small crowd, Lady Maege is here but thankfully Lyanna is not. Both Karstarks are here as well. Sansa keeps her head held high as Theon is brought before her.
He's in chains, but she suspects they're not needed. He's as pliant, as broken, as he'd been in her time. Perhaps more broken. Ramsay only has him to torment, and no Sansa. Never Sansa, never again. Theon's head lolls forward like he can't be bothered to hold it up, and his shoulders curl in on himself, bracing for a blow.
Pathetic.
"Theon Greyjoy," Sansa says and he flinches at the name, mutters something not quite loud enough to be heard. "You have betrayed the Starks and are now a prisoner of them. However, your family comes here to await your fate, and in good faith we will not see you abused at our hands."
There are murmurs through the courtyard.
"Put him in his room," Sansa says, "The room he was raised in as a ward of Winterfell. Put guards at his doors, but let him sleep there again and think on what he gave up. Let him think on whether it was worth it."
The murmurs immediately quiet.
Tyrion, who is still holding her hand, gives it a comforting squeeze.
Sansa waits until Theon has been brought away before she takes a steadying breath. "Bring the bastard forward."
Ramsay is shoved forward, his chains thicker than Theon's, and there's filth covering his face and his clothes, but he has the same smirk when she looks upon his face, the same glint in his eyes that suggests he's as mad as the Mad King.
"Bastards don't receive the same consideration as former wards, especially bastards with no one left to care for their treatment," Sansa says. Her voice does not waver. "Put him in a cell and make sure there are always four guards posted."
"That seems excessive," the soldier to Ser Kevan's left says.
Ramsay sways closer to Sansa. "You're a pretty thing," he says. "You and I could have so much fun."
Sansa's grip tightens on her husband's hand, tight enough she's surprised he doesn't cry out.
"Four seems about right," Tyrion says.
Ramsay cackles as he's dragged away.
Sansa's free hand rubs her stomach. Her husband stands at her side, his child is in her belly. This is a different time. Ramsay didn't get her. She isn't his.
And in a few days he'll be as dead as Petyr Baelish. As dead as Joffrey.
"Ser Kevan, thank you for liberating the Eyrie and bringing us these prisoners. Might we offer quarters to you and your men?"
"Thank you," Ser Kevan says.
"You and your officers are, of course, welcome to join us for dinner," Sansa says. "With you and the Karstarks and the Mormonts, it may be time to use the long table."
"And Arya might finally have found someone to share her rat stories with," Tyrion says with a smile. "We'll make sure to put her and Ser Kevan next to each other."
A faint smile rises on Sansa's face, but she suspects she won't be able to truly smile until Ramsay is gone.
"Ser Kevan is family," Sansa says. "Don't torment him."
"That's exactly why I shall," Tyrion says.
When seating is arranged, Sansa's job, not Tyrion's, she puts the children - Rickon, Arya, Tommen, and Lyanna - at one end of the table and the adults at the other. She hopes Arya doesn't say anything too horrifying. Eddard is staying with his nurse for the duration of the festivities. She wants him well out of all of this.
"Will you tell us now your plan for the prisoners?" Ser Arthor asks.
"And ruin the surprise?" Sansa asks. "That wouldn't be fair to all those still traveling."
"If you can even call them both prisoners," Ser Arthor adds. "House arrest? You're a soft touch."
"There's something wrong with the Greyjoy boy," Ser Kevan says. "Well, several things. But he's not right in the head."
"Any room is a prison for him," Sansa explains.
"From what we can tell, he was a prisoner of the Bolton bastard," Ser Kevan says, cutting up his roast boar. "It's best you didn't put the two of them together. The Greyjoy would kill himself if it freed the other one."
"Torture?" Tyrion asks.
Sansa wonders what's wrong with her family that they can't go one meal without discussing torture.
"Definitely," Ser Kevan says. "And...well, let's just say it'll be some time before I eat sausage again."
Tyrion eyebrows go up. "He - truly?"
Ser Arthor winces and bangs his knee trying to cross his legs under the table.
Sansa clears her throat. "I understand having to tell my younger sister that torture isn't an acceptable dinner conversation, but I thought as adults you would know better."
Lady Maege coughs into her napkin.
"Sorry, my lady," Ser Kevan says. "I've grown too used to being on the road with my men."
"How long do you plan to stay?" Tyrion asks.
"Not long. We're going to come at the Freys from two sides. I might come back to bring Tommen and his bride to the Eyrie. I do what the Hand commands."
Tyrion raises his wine glass. "As do we all."
"It would please me if my lord father gave you permission to escort Tommen and my sister," Sansa says. "I would feel safe if they were with you and," she smiles, "you will hopefully get to meet the babe." She pats her stomach. "I know the child of your niece-by-marriage is a slim kinship, but blood still ties us together."
Ser Arthor splutters, probably unhappy to be sharing his table with more Lannisters. Sansa's not sure who will be more pleased when the Karstarks are finally gone; the Karstarks or herself.
The baby in her belly kicks, and Sansa presses a hand to her stomach as if that will calm her. She is a lot more active than Eddard was. She hopes that doesn't mean the child will take after her Aunt Arya.
She hopes the demonstration she has planned will put to rest the last of the rebellions in the North. All the work she and her husband have done to fortify the North will mean nothing if they cannot march to the Wall in time to drive back the winter.
"Sansa? My lady?"
Sansa looks up to see several concerned stares. Her husband, the one calling her name, has reached for her.
"Apologies," she says. She rubs her stomach. "The baby is feeling left out, and wanted to make her presence known. It's very distracting."
A few people laugh.
"Not much longer now," Tyrion says, patting her hand.
"Hopefully you won't give birth during your plans for the Bolton," Ser Arthor says.
"He's not a Bolton," Sansa says sharply. "He's a bastard. And the baby will wait."
Sansa won't allow her daughter to live in the same world as Ramsay Snow.
It's a relief for dinner to end. Sansa wants the Karstarks out of her home. For different reasons, she wants the Mormonts and Kevan Lannister and the others gone as well. She wants Winterfell to be hers again. Just the household and her family.
Trying to balance everyone's demands and threats and simple existence is exhausting.
She sends Arya and Rickon to her chambers to be watched over and entertained by Osha and Wynn, and Sansa joins her husband in his. He drinks from a glass of wine as he walks about the room, and Sansa wishes for a moment she could indulge as well.
"The Greyjoy boy is broken," Tyrion says. "I didn't expect that."
Sansa did. "He'll still serve our purposes."
"He can no longer function as heir."
"It doesn't matter," Sansa says. "Theon was my father's ward and was treated honorably. He swore himself to Robb's banner. And then he turned around and betrayed all that. He was completely in the wrong in every way. And Lord Greyjoy is proud, very proud. He will want to make him, and his deeds, disappear. If my demands are reasonable, he will be willing to pretend this never happened."
"And do you intend it to be?"
"I've told you before, all I want is peace in the North."
"They've broken their word before. Taken up arms against you."
"Yes, and look where that's gotten them. Besides, I'm going to deal with Ramsay first. And when the Karstarks and Greyjoys see how the other Houses affirm their loyalty, if they still want to cross me then they'll have more than just Winterfell to contend with."
"Sometimes," Tyrion says, looking into his wine glass, "I'm not sure whether I'm more impressed by or frightened of you."
Sansa smiles. "You're my husband, my partner, my ally. There's nothing for you to fear from me."
"I'm glad to hear it." Tyrion walks over to join her on the bench. "Will you tell me your plans for the bastard, or am I to be kept in the dark as the others?"
Sansa reaches out to take his hand. "I can't tell you, but not for the same reasons. For them, I want it to be a surprise. For you," Sansa spares a glance at her husband, "I'm afraid you'll disapprove, and if you do I won't be able to do what I must."
"Sansa -"
She pulls away and stands. "I'm going to be cruel. I know what I have planned and it isn't kind or ladylike, but I'm going to do it. I'm going to make an example of him, show what happens to those who betray us. I worry that it will turn me into Joffrey, but -" Sansa takes a deep breath. "I still remember him laughing when he gave the order to behead my father. When I think about what I must do, I feel sick. As long as I keep that, I will never become him."
"There are several reasons you'll never become Joffrey," Tyrion tells her.
"Could we speak of something else?"
"Of course," Tyrion says. "My Uncle Kevan?"
"What of him?"
"He remarked to me how strange it is to be dining in Winterfell with Starks. The last time he saw a Stark, it was across the battlefield, waging a war against your brother."
Sansa smiles. "Don't you mean losing a war?" She looks over her shoulder at her husband.
He smiles as well. "I'll be sure to mention that to him. My point, I suppose, is that he had a grudging sort of respect for the Stark boys, but he now holds quite a deep admiration for the Stark women."
Sansa arches her eyebrows. "You did remind him that I have a husband, did you not?"
Tyrion laughs. "Not that kind of admiration. I'm sure this won't surprise you given your time in King's Landing, but the South doesn't hold the North in very high regard. You have changed an old man's mind."
"Not that old," Sansa says.
It's Tyrion's turn to arch his eyebrows. "Might I remind you, my lady, that you have a husband?"
His words startle a laugh out of her, sharp and bursting and completely unexpected. Tyrion's clearly pleased to have made her laugh, and he rises from the bench to stand by her side.
"I am yours and you are mine," he says, solemn as he repeats their wedding vows. "Through everything we face."
"I am yours and you are mine," Sansa says. She clasps his hand tight in hers.
