This update took a lot longer than I anticipated, but as it turns out we are nearly at the end! I wanted to call this guy "a lot of shit goes down," but what can you do? Thanks for all the kudos and follows, it's always nice to get feedback! As always feel free to get at me on a href=" .com"tumblr/a which since my last update has become an independent entity :)
Chapter Nine: Seiges and Stitches
Sansa's council was waiting when they arrived at camp. Ser Brynden eased her off of her horse, she took his arm and entered the tent. They remained surprisingly quiet as Jon recounted their findings. "They know we are close, but we still have the cover of the forest for another day, maybe two. They only need to set their hounds and they will be brought here."
"And you saw them both, Bolton and his bastard?"
"Ramsay was not there." Jon replied grimly taking his seat.
"A guard will remain with the queen then, until he is found," her granduncle said. "If the rumors are true if he is out of the keep we are all in danger."
"The time to attack is now, our men march from the Twins. They can assist when they arrive." Lord Sunderland said.
"The Twins?" Sansa looked to Lord Royce.
"We just received word that the Twins have fallen, with the snow we suspect the raven was delayed."
"They have Robb then, and my uncle he has been freed?" It was hard to mask the eagerness in her voice, the pieces were falling into place, things were being made right.
"Aye, but it was not our men who did it. There's a curse on those Frey's, dying out by the day. Walder Frey's sons are dead." Lord Corbray said. "Ser Harold Hardying is leading the men north."
Sansa nodded politely. Her granduncle knew of the betrothal, if the other Lords knew they would likely shove her into his arms upon his arrival. "You believe they are close?"
"We do your grace, if we marched tomorrow we would have enough men to defend ourselves."
"Then we will march," Sansa agreed. "My stance has not changed, I would like as few people harmed in the siege. We will need able bodies for the fight in the north, those who lay down their weapons will be spared, any hostages may take the black." They laid their plans quickly before separating to announce the charge to their troops.
"Lord Royce will remain here with you and Satin until the fighting is done your Grace." Her granduncle said. "He is familiar enough with healing that our injured men can be brought here."
"Here?" She asked. "I will not be left here while my army takes my home, to await old news. I will be at the camp you set ser."
"My lady it is too dangerous," Jon said immediately.
"Perhaps it is, but if either of you died and I did not know I could not bear it. I will not wait a sennight to be told." Sansa protested. "I have seen more in my time away from the castle than either of you seem to remember. I am only frightened by the prospect of your deaths." She knew it was true as it came from her mouth.
"I will allow it, but as your kin I tell you you will not leave your tent." Ser Brynden said. "You will do what Lord Royce tells you, if he tells you to run you will listen." Sansa nodded. "You and Edmure are all iI/i have now. The gods brought me to Runestone so I could find you."
Sansa was sure he had not meant to make her feel guilt. Yet her stomach twisted at her granduncle's words as she walked to her tent. She sat with the intention of finishing her banner when Val walked in unannounced with the babe. Sansa lifted her eyes from the banner to see a tension in Val's gray eyes she'd never seen before. "What's wrong?" Sansa asked gently moving so Val could sit beside her.
"I want to ask you for something, but I don't know what to offer you in return," Val's pretty face was twisted in thought.
"We are friends, you don't need to offer me anything." Sansa's tone was light, trying to coax Val into responding. She took hold of her arm the way Margaery Tyrell had once taken her own, a stance made for confiding. "If you insist on offering me something why don't you tell me your need first?"
"I want the little Monster to stay with you, during the fighting." Val said quickly.
"You thought I would say no? Val-"
"What do you want in return?" She had cut Sansa off abruptly turning to face her instead of maintaining the stance Sansa had set.
"Val you don't need to offer me anything, of course I'll keep him with me." Sansa promised. Val did not answer, and her frown deepened. "You truly feel you would owe me something?" Sansa could not believe such a thing, she had known selfish people and she had known there were some people who did not trust strangers easily, but she considered Val to be a trusted friend.
"You know I do," Val replied stonily.
Sansa would have to approach this carefully, for she would have to give Val a task that was of enough importance to ensure her of the safety of her nephew, but it could not be so easy that it condescended to her. "Then in exchange, I want Roose Bolton and his son alive when the fighting is over." Val nodded firmly and stuck out her hand.
"We shake in agreement." Val prompted and Sansa reached across to clasp Val's hand in hers. "I will bring them to you."
"And I will keep him safe," Sansa promised. Val left after that. Sansa's banner was clumsier than she expected. It was easy to see where she had begun the direwolf, for the stitches were not as neat as they once were, it had taken her time to find the rhythm she once had for sewing. She hadn't done much needlework since her stay at the Red Keep, but it held it's message. iThe wolves rise again/i.
Ghost nudged her hand late into the night, or perhaps it was early in the morning. "I'll sleep soon," she promised as she lazily scratched behind his ears. She had to finish before they marched. She would have them know their queen was a still a true wolf. She had been forced into a lions den, and masqueraded as a mockingbird, but she would never hide behind those again. She was a wolf, like her father, like Robb.
She woke to the sound of the camp bustling in preparation. She had fallen asleep upright, and her neck ached along with the rest of her. When she stood her legs felt tight and wobbly. Her lovely gray gown was wrinkled and her hair knotted. iI will be home soon,/i she told herself, iI can live like this until then/i.
The army was energetic on the ride, but it was a far cry from the small group that had left Mole's Town. Val rode stoically beside her, and Satin was silent to her other side. On the eve of the charge they sat around fires sharpening their swords, fletching arrows, and stringing bows. The knowledge that some may not return seemed to linger in their eyes, in the way they held their shoulders. Sansa rose, Satin followed and she approached each fire, talking softly to the men of the Vale about their families, the free-folk about the new home they would return to. She would not let them fight without hope.
She shared a skin of wine with Val at the fire with Jon, Lord Royce and her granduncle. No one said anything when she laced her fingers through Jon's as they spoke. "Will you walk with me?" Sansa whispered into his ear as their fire began to die. She led him just off the camp, where the glow of a fire barely touched.
Jon pulled her close, her head pressed into his neck. His beard scratched against her cheek "I don't want you to be afraid Sansa," he murmured into her neck.
"I'm not," she lied thinly, shaking her head. She didn't do a good job hiding her panic, but he played along with her facade. "I don't want to talk about tomorrow, can we just pretend we're already home?"
"We're home then," Jon whispered pulling her to sit beside him. She leaned against his arm. Their silences were easy, and this night was no different. They could sit in the wood, away from the noise of men readying themselves for war and pretend that death wasn't waiting on the morrow.
When Jon kissed her it was warm, and soft. He held her face tenderly even as he pulled away. Sansa had been kissed before, by men who wanted something from her. Joffrey had wanted a queen; the Hound wanted comfort; Littlefinger wanted her mother; she could imagine that Jon only saw her. He kissed her again, firmer this time and she felt herself sink into his embrace.
She surprised herself when she chased his mouth with her own after he pulled away. She pressed herself against him firmly, gripping his jerkin in her hands. His hand cupped the back of her head, the other rested at her waist. Sansa gasped when he opened his mouth and slid his tongue against hers, Jon pulled away. "We should go," he whispered, forehead pressed to hers.
"Not yet," and she pulled him back to her. Sansa imagined that they kissed for hours under that tree. When it came time to part Jon helped her stand and pressed an apologetic kiss to her forehead, her cheek, her lips; he didn't want to leave anymore than she wanted him to. He hadn't let go of her waist, she knew she could convince him to stay, not just here, but with her during the siege; his sense of honor would provide a challenge, but she was sure she could do it eventually.
Sleep came hard to her that night even with Jon beside her. She rolled to face him, tracing the planes of his face like she had done before, the first time she had seen him in so long. Now he was more familiar to her, but memory was a fickle thing, she had learned that first hand. Nerves still bubbled in her belly, she wanted to memorize every scar, and the crinkle of his eyes when he smiled. He made a contented noise but kept his eyes closed. "It won't be long Sansa," his breath ghosted across her face. "You have an army. The Bolton's can't hold Winterfell forever." He kissed her palm. "You should try to sleep."
The armies gathered, and Sansa walked to her granduncle. "My brave girl," he said sadly, "remember what I told you. Listen to Lord Royce." Sansa nodded hugging him tightly.
She found Jon rallying with the free-folk, his eyes found hers and he took three strides to her side. "I won't ask you to stay," she told him. "Just... Just come back," he kissed her gently as a promise.
"I'll do my best," Before he left he kissed her knuckles, a gesture she had come to know from him since she had found him at the Wall. It was a gesture she so often mirrored she wondered if perhaps she had known all along that their relationship would change.
Val had handed the babe to her. "I'll bring those men to you," Val said when she mounted her horse.
"And I will keep him safe," Sansa promised once more. Val nodded and followed after the free-folk. Sansa didn't realize how long she stood looking toward Winterfell until the babe started to fuss. She joined her guard around the fire and they waited.
The fire cracked and popped and Sansa watched Monster's face as the sparks danced into the sky. "Really they'll have to come up with a name for you soon sweetling," and he stared at her with wide gray eyes. She ran her finger along the bridge of his little nose as she once did with Rickon. She was familiar enough to him that he could fall asleep in the sling Val often wore, but holding him gave her enough distraction.
His eyes started to droop closed, contented that he was not with a stranger. Sansa hummed softly to him as he fell asleep. Lord Royce walked through the trees assuring the group they were not being watched. "There will not be much to do until the fighting is done your grace, go, rest." He suggested when her restless night began to catch up to her. She did not want to agree, if she strained she could still hear hoofs echoing off the trees.
The trees rustled, and she could hear animals walking though, snapping twigs. Ghost's ears perked, but he seemed hesitant to leave her side. She had finally allowed herself to doze when a small band of her men returned. They carried me who had thick wounds, blood preventing them from carrying on. Lord Royce requested that she retrieve her sewing kit, and began to look the men over.
She watched the way he tended their wounds from the edge of the makeshift sickbay. He sent Satin to heat wine, while he used some of the melted snow to wash the patches of blood away and get a clear view of the cuts. "My lord, is there anything I can do?" Her feet had brought her closer.
"Unless you'd like to stitch them up yourself your Grace I don't believe so." Lord Royce said as a jest. As a girl she had found blood abhorrent, and would avoid it at all costs, while the wounds made her queasy to look upon she owed it to the men who would risk their lives for her to attempt to help.
She watched at first, noting how like stitching a hem it truly was. Those around her were startled when she took a needle in hand and stitched up the second man. "It's easy you see, nothing to be afraid of." She smiled encouragingly at the solider, adjusting the babe across her chest to keep her range of motion. "You've been so very brave," and she spoke on until the wound was closed hoping the noise would prove a distraction for the man, and it seemed she was right.
She made it out to the fire in time to hear Satin ask about the state of the siege. "Bolton is being held there while our men go through the castle. Many of the wildlings were injured, some worse than those we brought here. They fight like men possessed. They fear nothing." iWhat they fear is worse than mad men,/i "they've got their King back as well." Sansa nodded.
"Ser Brynden will ride back to the camp when it is safe for the Queen," one of the men had said. "They haven't found the bastard yet." Sansa shivered at that, Jon had not told her much of Ramsay Snow but she had been taught to listen to everything around her. She had heard things that made her shudder, she was glad whoever he had married had escaped.
iEveryone is safe,/i she told herself as she walked back to her tent, to tuck herself away and allow the victory to sink in privately. Ghost followed her in pacing restlessly, "what's the matter with you?" She asked him as she unwrapped the babe from her chest. She let him lay on her little cot while she praised him for being so patient while Val was away.
She was counting on her own body heat to keep the babe warm. She would be within the castle walls in only a few short days, Jon knew all of the hiding places in Winterfell, it would not take long for him to find discover any hidden men or women.
Monster cooed loudly enough to wake her, she would have to feed him some of the goats milk that remained. She spent the day helping pack up the camp, it was hard work. Lord Royce, Satin and the uninjured men asked little of her, to store the furs that were no longer in use in one of the wagons, to fold the doeskin tents that remained around the camp so the would be ready to depart when Ser Brynden came to bring them back.
Around the fire she jostled the babe to keep him awake, he would sleep through the night if he stayed up just a bit longer. "We were lucky to have so few injuries," Lord Royce remarked. "Lucky their army was much smaller than our own."
"We have had more luck than I could have hoped for since we left the Vale," Sansa said thoughtfully sipping on a skin of wine that warmed her blood. "Thank you for believing me, my Lord." She smiled before bidding the men goodnight. Like the night before Ghost seemed restless but wouldn't leave her side. It wasn't a baby's coo that disturbed her in the middle of the night, but the thud of a man being forced to the ground.
Ghost's teeth were bared, though he didn't make a sound and beneath him was a lank haired man. She grabbed the blade from the boot where Val had sheathed it nearly a week ago. "Ghost to me," she called and he quickly moved to her in a protective stance.
"You're my good sister," he said to her. "I told him I wanted imy/i bride, not a replacement." He sneered, worm lips curling. He moved forward and Ghost prepared to pounce. "You'll make a good enough game, but the baby will have to go." Her fingers tightened around the hilt, and the closer he drew to her and Monster the more she tried to come up with a plan. She struck him in the temple before telling Ghost to get help, she just needed to buy time.
Ramsay wobbled on his feet but remained upright, she hadn't expected to do much damage, she knew she was not strong. "I should bring you back alive, make him watch you die, like my father made your mother watch." The closer he inched the more fear she felt. iFather used to say the only time a man could be brave was when he was afraid,/i she wondered if the same applied to women. When he was an arms length away from her she pushed the knife into his stomach, the way Val once told her to do. She forced herself to look into his eyes while he died.
"If you have last words I will hear them." She heard her voice offer, it was only right. He was still dying when Satin rushed in.
"Your grace?" His eyes fell upon the dying man, sneer still twisted on his face. She was crying, she could feel the tears on her face, but he was going to kill the baby, kill her, he had wanted to kill Jon, he had taken Winterfell. Her hands were red and trembling in front of her when Satin pulled her away.
At some point the sun rose, and she was still shaking. Her granduncle had ridden to the camp that day, and there was shouting that she couldn't hear through the ringing in her ears. The gods were cruel, she had survived so much, and now as she was returning home she had finally cracked.
