Sansa

There was a time when Highgarden was the pinnacle of her dreams, the sum of all her aspirations. Her only aspirations, really, during those dark days in King's Landing. Years later, as she looked upon the walls of the castle from the road below, all she saw was a castle, yet another stop on this road which, if it wasn't a nightmare, seemed was far closer to that than any childhood fantasies she may have once harbored.

"I pity the Tyrells," Arthur said, guiding his horse beside hers as they rode up its gates and pathways. "They were good people. They just chose the wrong side in this war."

"It was your queen who chose to make them her enemy." She had not paid much heed to the goings on of King's Landing after escaping, especially not after Ramsey Bolton entered her life. Rumors came, later. Littlefinger made sure to fill her in on what transpired, though whatever he told her was sure to have been tainted by, well, Littlefinger. Tyrion had his thoughts too, though he had been long gone from the city as well by then. But there was a reason the Spider was able to bring Lady Olenna to the Dragon Queen's side, and from she gathered, it had stemmed from nothing more than petty jealousies which led Cersei to destroy the Tyrell line, along with her own last living child to leave the throne to her. Even the two Lannister bannermen by her side had hinted at it during the ride.

"Margaery was no innocent," Sansa said, more to herself than to Arthur, "but she was a sweet soul. She would have made a good queen, with Tommen, without Joffrey or Cersei to sink their fangs into her. On her own, even."

"Aye, she was," Arthur mumbled, his eyes distant too. "I remember the first time I saw her. Father had sent me to visit Alac in King...Lord Renly's camp. That was the moment I realized that I was a man...that I wanted to do...manly things. I used to think she was the most beautiful woman in the world..."

As his words trailed off, she could not avoid the fact that he was staring now directly at her. As an official 'guest' of Cersei, Arthur no longer needed the pretense of riding apart from her group, and his words and secret glances her way growing more and more bold and less and less secret along their journey. Increasingly she needed to seek the company of Roland or Marion, who did not seem interested in her in that way, but she could not avoid him altogether. He was protecting her, after all, and were Cersei to win, it would just be the two of them on the road to Oldtown. And then she would have to hope, wouldn't she, that he remain true and honorable to his word to commit treason.

Dare I need to hope the Dragon Queen wins, just to avoid the attentions of a love struck boy?

"Queen Margaery was beautiful," trying to pivot the conversation away, "but she was many other great things as well."

"As are you, my Lady Sansa."

"I swear, I see these walls, smell the flowers, I can still hear that bitch Olenna snapping at me. Making a joke about my hair, or my gut, my lack of wit."

Thank the absent gods, Lord Roland found the two of them before Arthur could further continue his attempt at courting. The old man had a knack for it actually, and Sansa sensed that Roland, who seemed to have taken a fatherly interest in her since Crakehall, possessed a better sense of the moment than he let on.

"She was kind to me too. She served the best lemoncakes. She pitied me, I think."

Despite how kind the Queen of Thorns had been to her, thinking of her now reminded her of how helpless she was then. How helpless she was now still. Except she didn't have to be. It was just that ever since the Crossroads she felt like she'd been struck by a malady, a malady which yearned for sleep and little else. All the fervor and resolve that had led her to the brink of victory had evaporated ever since she'd been humiliated by Daenerys in front of all the lords, then by her own brother in private. Arya was right, she had given up, and she was lucky she had survived thus far, saying little, doing nothing. Except letting Jaime Lannister and Sandor Clegane, two men who would have protected her, leave her instead for King's Landing.

"You're above pity, Lady Sansa," Roland said, her thoughts flowing straight into his words. "You almost forged on your own the freedom of three kingdoms."

"They would have made you their Queen," Arthur added, clearly miffed at Roland's intrusion, but still as persistent as ever.

"Yes...Queen of half an afternoon," Sansa said dismissively. "That will be how they remember me."

"My lady, they are dragons. I wouldn't kick myself over bending the knee. Seven Kingdoms couldn't stand up against them."

"I didn't need seven kingdoms," Sansa replied, bitterly now. "Just one man, who forgets he's my brother."

"What makes you think he'd be a good king," Marion said now, joining them as they dismounted their horses to enter the empty halls of the castle, Arthur dutifully leaving to search for the castellan, "if he can't even stand up to one woman?"

She didn't have an answer to that. She hadn't, ever since she'd ridden from the Crossroads.

"He's still the true heir to the Iron Throne."

"A birthright which stems from the birthright of the Mad King," Marion countered. He smiled at her. "Try again."

"I suppose that makes Cersei a good queen, does it not? That she can no longer be swayed by love?" She wasn't sure if she was being sarcastic, or finally putting to voice a dirty truth.

"She's had to do distasteful things to gain her seat, true. There are rumors the fire at the Sept of Baelor was no accident." Marion exchanged a wary look at Roland, wondering how far he could push the subject. "Even were those rumors true...how many died to put the Conqueror on the throne? Or Robert the Usurper? How many more will die for your Dragon Queen? Tally the numbers up against one sept. Does slaughter only offend the gods when it occurs on their sacred grounds, and affect them not upon the battlegrounds?"

Had Tywin Lannister used the same reasoning to justify the Red Wedding? Sansa imagined so.

"Jon doesn't want people to die for him. He wants them to live. He brought together enemies and friends, different armies and peoples, not for conquest...not even to take back Winterfell, but so that we could overcome the army of the dead. He's selfless, he doesn't care about winning a throne. But people follow him anyway, because he is selfless, because he inspires them."

"Aye, that's a good quality, leading," Roland said. He seemed to have little interest in these political debates, simple loyalty to his sworn queen more befitting his nature, so she was surprised to hear him chime in now. "Say the Mad King were a woman, a beautiful one at that, and Jon Snow in love with her. Where would he lead all his people, who follow him and love him?"

"He was stabbed in the heart," Arthur said, returned from inside. Sansa wasn't sure why he said it. Perhaps just so he could add to the conversation. "He died, and came back. That's no ordinary man that can do that."

"A fantastic claim, to be sure," Marion said skeptically. "But the Lady Sansa does not seem prone to fits of fancy, so I do actually believe her. I just don't believe in her king. How will the realm fare, my good lady, if their king gets himself killed one day, then comes back from death itself only bend the knee the next day? Not much of a stable reign, is it? Not much of any reign at all."

"All for the good of the realm," Sansa said, sensing she was losing the argument, but determined not to let them see her admit to losing.

Marion chuckled. "Alas, the realm is a bunch of ungrateful cunts. Just like us Lannisters."

"That's what it looks like?" That's what killed a dragon? The device before her was so simple in its enormity, but Sansa knew it was anything but, a tangled mess of mechanisms and steel and sharp edges and murder that she could not begin to understand. It was also the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, and admiring its every intricate detail, she felt her heart pound like she had not in some time.

"Aye," Arthur said proudly, beaming at the scorpion displayed in the courtyard. "I think Alac took your advice to heart. He talked the queen into sending us one, along with the plans for it. Just in case a retreat's needed. Along with batches of wildfire too. Not sure what to do with those, but I'm sure we can use them just in case."

"Pierced one dragon in the neck," Marion added, his disgust for the creatures evident. "Clipped the other one along the wing too."

Sansa had breathed a sigh of relief that it was Jon's dragon that they slew. She trust him him to survive any fight on the ground. But not in the air on those strange, terrifying creatures.

"Rhaegal's wings were damaged during the battle with the dead," she chose to say. "He flew again, and so will Drogon." But it gave them time. And they could use that time now.

"An injured dragon gives our queen a better chance to defend the city," Roland said.

As Sansa continued staring at the contraction, she felt her sight return to her, as if she had been blind for weeks. As if she had been asleep, in a trance, not much different from the Dragon Queen's own coma, ever since Jon turned her away.

"Would you bet your life and your family's lives on it," Sansa asked harshly. "She won't. Daenerys considers the dragons her children. She will not risk her last. The battle will not start until she feels secure in his flying." Pivoting sharply to Arthur, she addressed him, the words coming naturally to her mouth. She wondered for how long she had thought them. "Are you not acting Lord of Highgarden while your brother is away?"

"I am, my lady." He seemed stunned, Sansa volunteering him her attention for the first time all trip.

"That makes you acting Lord Paramount of the Reach. Call all your bannermen." She turned towards Roland and Marion. "Yours too, as many as you can gather. You will need men and iron and all the materials to build as many of these scorpions as you can. Assemble them here, at Highgarden, the heart of the south."

Roland and Arthur looked stunned at her sudden turn and enthusiasm, Marion intrigued. "My lady, do you still serve as the loyal emissary of the Dragon Queen, or have you decided to take up Queen Cersei's offer?"

"Must I serve any queens," she asked at first, before smiling, and dipping to deliver the lords the most gracious curtsy her mother ever taught her. "Of course I still bend the knee to Queen Daenerys...do I have any other choice? I imagine I never said these words...my lords ought to make them their own."

"I gather you," Marion replied with a smirk. "Lord Arthur, I hope your ears were receptive."

"They were, my lady," he replied, wholly entranced by her now, but she paid him little heed as she continued, unable to stop once her mouth opened.

"While you're at it with the letters, you may find it useful to tell them the armies of the three northern kingdoms bear no love for the Queen they serve, and no great regard for the Iron Throne. They secretly desire to return home and be with their families for the winter, but once they bent the knee...or rather, once the knee was bent for them...they've no choice but to turn away the peace which was agreed upon, and march endlessly into strange lands, towards one battle after another. You may also want to suggest that Jon Snow is a most honorable man, Ned Stark's true son in fact, if not by blood. He bent the knee and fights alongside the Dragon Queen because of his pledge, made in exchange so that Queen Daenerys could protect her own northernmost kingdom from utter catastrophe and destruction. He will bring death to his enemies, but his cause has always been life, and the living. He has no lust, no want, for the Iron Throne, which is truly his, by birthright. He will serve, if asked by the lords, because it is his duty, but his heart yearns to for home. For the North...Winterfell. All your own words...of course."

"The way you speak," Marion said, noticeably scrutinizing her every word, "it is as if King's Landing has fallen already."

"As you said, seven kingdoms couldn't withstand Aegon's three dragons. I'd imagine one mere city may find it difficult against even one."

"Where will you stand then? If that one dragon comes south after King's Landing?"

Sansa smiled sweetly at him. "My home is Winterfell. I am a wolf of the North. My knee has already been bent...same as the northern soldiers. But these are your lands, your peoples. The injury to her last dragon buys you time, but you won't have forever. When the time comes, the war will be yours, the choice yours. You have been so kind to me, and my only wish in return is that you'll be well prepared for whichever path you do choose."

It was difficult, but she forced herself to walk away from the scorpion, lest she actually believe.

Sleep still took its time in claiming her that night, but for the first night in many nights once she feel asleep, she slept well.

Tyrion

Dragonstone had always been the gloomiest castle he had ever had the pleasure of visiting, even worse than Winterfell. At least there he could find several avenues to venture outside along the walls and balconies, so long as he felt like braving the cold. Dragonstone, on the other hand, seemed like one giant cave, and the longer he waited here, the more he imagined it swallowing him up whole. Not that there was much to swallow, given his specific case.

Varys seemed unperturbed by all the gloominess, shuffling through scrolls painfully, as per his habit.

"The waiting's the worst," Tyrion then said, when Varys did not greet him.

"The rest of the realm doesn't wait."

"You have news?"

The Spider looked up from his stone desk. "Highgarden."

"Highgarden?" That was unexpected.

"A lot of chatter. They say lords across the southlands are riding to gather there...some even bringing their armies."

"Armies they've withheld from my sister."

Varys nodded. "Most of the lords of the Reach. Many of your own fellow lords from the west. Some from the Stormlands, even one or two riding from as far as the Riverlands."

"Good," Tyrion said, questioning his reaction even as he spoke. "All the remaining lords gathered in one place, all to bend the knee to our Queen after she takes King's Landing."

"What if they don't?"

He was dreading the coming battle already, fearing the longer they waited, the more impatient she would get. When he pictured what came after, he could not bear to think of more carnage. Would they really continue to challenge her, even after she sits on the throne?

Varys spoke again, when he didn't reply. "There is word they stockpiling materials there. Wood and iron. Lords bringing forth more from their lands. The lords who have claimed Highgarden are have been busy at work with the materials...coincidentally the very ones needed to build those contraptions Cersei and Euron Greyjoy used to kill our Queen's second to last dragon."

He wasn't sure what sank more...his heart or his stomach. "They're preparing for battle...in case King's Landing falls."

"Do you know who the lords are, who first arrived at Highgarden?"

"The Hightower boy, I'd imagine," Tyrion answered, remembering who Bronn would want to murder in case Cersei won. "His brother Alac is still in the capital, last I heard."

Varys nodded. "He was accompanied by lords Roland Crakehall and Marion Lannister."

"Sansa," Tyrion gasped out. "They must have brought her, as their captive. Our queen herself sent her right into Cersei's clutches...but...you don't really think..."

A smirk from the Spider. "Let's pretend maybe that Sansa is indeed a helpless captive. We tell our Queen this. How would she see it, in light of all the other, many, circumstances?"

He shook his head. He did not need this, not with all he already had to worry about with the upcoming battle. How long had Varys known, he wondered. He was their only spymaster, the northern lords who marched with them only grudgingly obeying orders, the Unsullied and Dothraki utterly useless for information.

"My brother Jaime?"

"He has not been seen since Crakehall."

Tyrion breathed out a sigh. He wasn't sure if it was relief, or horror. But his brother, for all he loved him, was one man. He had a war to worry about.

"Jon can talk sense into her."

"Is there any sense to speak of," Varys said, cryptically. He picked up another batch of letters. "There has been talk between the southern lords. About how the northern armies march unwillingly...how the lords favored the peace...how morale is low, and there are few amongst her armies who truly love their rightful Queen."

"She couldn't...she wouldn't dare...Sansa would never move so openly."

"Maybe they tortured her." Varys shrugged. "There are whispers, quieter still, yet one or two voices escape. The southern lords hold no love for our Queen, as to be expected. Many of them seem to hold little love for their own. Some pray, 'let them both fall', then we may restore the throne to its true, rightful heir."

"He would never do it."

"He may not have a choice." The Spider's eyes were as distant as they'd ever been now, and Tyrion found himself pleading.

"Don't. I begged you last time, don't. We are loyal, there is no fruit at the end of the road you're seeking."

It was as if he never heard him. "What if his own sister stands on the opposite sides of his next battle? Seems not entirely coincidentally that wherever she goes, she draws away support from our Queen. What if she sits on her throne only to find the entire country has risen against her? At what point is it good for the realm to force upon them a monarch they do not seek, when there sits in plain sight one which would?"

"There must be something we can do." Yet in his mind, he wondered just how far he himself would go. He could only hope that this was all Cersei's doing, that Sansa was but an innocent pawn, but those two words hardly fit the woman anymore. Not the one who had nearly won a peace, if not the actual war, against Cersei herself. How much confidence had that given her, were the worst to be true?

"There are things I must do," Varys said, standing up behind his desk. He took several letters and put it in a tray to burn, an action which did not escape Tyrion's notice. "I'm afraid I may not be able to speak honestly with you much longer."

He was about to argue further when the sound of footsteps down the hallway startled them both into silence. As he turned to face the newcomers, Grey Worm stepped into the room, quiet fury in his eyes, followed by Daenerys Stormborn, who to him, looked more distraught by the day since the day Missandei died before their eyes. He had pleaded to her to eat more, to drink more, to try and get a good night's sleep. She ignored all of his entreaties, and he wondered what further counsel of his she could choose to ignore in the coming weeks.

"The last of the Dothraki and Unsullied have arrived," the Queen announced coldly, no emotion in her voice.

"That is good news, is it not?" Why did it sound like bad news?

If there was a glint of humor in her violet eyes, it was not the kind to elicit laughter. "They found your brother, riding alone. For King's Landing."

Daenerys

Once again, the man who killed her father knelt before her. But they were in Dragonstone now, not Winterfell. No Sansa to interfere either.

"You're telling me Sansa let you go to King's Landing? Out of mercy?"

"A vow. Honor."

She fought her laughter inside. This was the second time the Oathbreaker cited honor whilst pleading for his life before her. She wished Yara Greyjoy were here. She'd have no qualms about slitting his throat on the spot. But Yara was away for good reason, having recovered from the initial attack and rallied more ships to keep her uncle's treacherous fleet cooped in Blackwater Bay. Ripe for the burning, Daenerys thought. Rhaegal will be avenged.

"Explain to me how that works."

He looked down, refusing to answer her, looking almost ashamed. Across the room, Jon stared blankly at the Kingslayer. He would be no help here. As she half expected, Tyrion walked up to his brother, looking at him as a brother. Rather than a potential traitor.

"Your Grace, I believe my brother feels a degree of loyalty to Lady Sansa. He keeps quiet, because the truth may...not present her in the best light."

"And he told you the truth?"

A sad nod. "He did."

"Tell me."

"Lady Sansa engaged his services against the Golden Company after you fell in battle. In exchange, she promised him mercy, that she would do whatever she can to keep my sister alive."

Daenerys laughed. What kind of silliness was this. Did he think this a joke? "That doesn't sound likely. Not even for Sansa."

Unless these rumors about her and Cersei were true.

"She's pregnant, Your Grace...Cersei is. Sansa promised Jaime she would do what she could to ensure their child lives. With the battle coming and she in the west...I suppose she decided the only way should could honor her pledge was to let my brother go."

"That was not her pledge to make," Daenerys said, glaring at Jon.

"To be fair," Tyrion continued, "she may not have known you would wake when she made the promise."

She watched as Jon's eyes give way as she continued staring into him.

"That was not her pledge to make," she repeated again. Enough of Jon, she returned to the Kingslayer.

"Is your brother telling the truth?"

He nodded reluctantly, but did not answer her any further.

"I'll tell you what I think, Kingslayer." She sank deeper upon her throne, letting them sweat as they awaited her pronouncement. "I think you're riding to deliver your sister a message from your new mistress. I think you're..."

"She wouldn't," Jon protested.

"Wouldn't betray me? Like she already has?"

"You should have let her go back to Winterfell," Jon said, voice weaker with every word.

"Are you saying I shouldn't have given her another reason to betray me? Or another chance to betray me?"

"She hasn't betrayed you," Jaime said, kneeling below her as he ought to be, hands bound behind him. "She pleaded your cause with Marion Lannister and Roland Crakehall. They refused to withdraw support from my sister, and refused her permission to leave north upon Cersei's orders."

"I told you," Jon said, and she really wished she could dismiss him now. "She's her prisoner." As if that mattered, except to ensure Jon's loyalty. But why was his loyalty in question in the first place? Was blood really more important than a vow to him? Would he lie for his sister, when he would not even lie for her at the Dragonpit?

Ignoring him, she questioned the Kingslayer again. "So why did they ride south for Highgarden?"

"Highgarden," Jaime said. He seemed genuinely stunned by the news. Could it mean he was telling the truth? That Sansa was innocent? Or was it because she did not confide with even him her deepest treacheries. "There was no talk of Highgarden when she let me go."

"None, whatsoever? No mention of all the southern lords, lords loyal to Cersei Lannister, all riding to congregate upon there?" Varys looked down, showing no sign of having delivered her this vital piece of information just before they brought the Kingslayer to Dragonstone. She looked at Jon and Lord Davos, clearly not having heard such whispers either. "Even some lords north of here."

"Which lords," Jon asked. She shook her head politely. He clearly had no direct connection with this strain of treason, at least.

"It doesn't matter. Whomever they are, they will be dealt with after I take King's Landing."

"Perhaps they are there to reject Cersei," Varys said. "To all agree to bend the knee to Daenerys Stormborn. After all, were they truly supportive of their queen, they would have sent their bannermen to King's Landing's defense, rather than south to Highgarden."

The words sounded tempting, but she did not miss the reaction of surprise from Tyrion, who looked questioningly at Varys as he spoke.

"Lord Tyrion? Your thoughts?"

"I...uh...," for once he was speechless, when she needed him to speak the most. She wondered why. Also why her Hand kept looking back at the Spider. "Lord Varys, have you heard...more...about this gathering?"

"There's gossip, of course, as there always is. The lords are gathering supplies, for the upcoming winter. They comment about whose army is in better shape to win the upcoming battle. There's talk, of course, about Jon Snow, whose secret Lady Sansa so unfortunately revealed. They speculate upon it. Could it be true? Why would she lie about it? Some seek to use it, of course, for their own advantage."

"Trouble seems to follow your sister wherever she goes," she snapped at Jon, betraying her anger. She ignored his reaction, knowing already what it would be. Instead, she continued to pay heed towards the uneasy looks exchanged between the Half-Man and the Spider.

"Lord Varys," Tyrion asked again, too cautiously for her taste. "What kind of materials are the lords stockpiling? Winter is typically mild that far south, after all?"

"Foodstuffs, I'd imagine. Stone for building shelters. I supposed some if it could be used to used to arm an army, were that their intention."

She would need to ask Tyrion further about this. Either one of them could betray her at this point, so many lords and ladies to pick from, to hand their newfound loyalties to. But based on the unspoken words between them, it seemed that the Spider would do so before her Hand.

"This is not the time for your little birds to fail you, Lord Varys," she said, no room for questioning in her voice. "Find out what's going on in Highgarden."

He bowed, and retreated. "I will, Your Grace."

"Kingslayer." The prisoner looked up. "Cersei's life was not Sansa's to spare. Nor is it yours. The life of your sister...and your child, rests solely in the hands of Cersei Lannister. What does rest within your hands, however, is whether you will live to see what she decides."

Jaime

He should be used to chains now. He missed Robb Stark's chains, actually. That King of the north had been a much more hospitable captor, and Jaime Lannister much preferred a clean sword put to his neck rather than fire. No, that did not appeal to him at all.

"I'm not sure what more I can tell her," he said to Tyrion. "Sansa told them to bend the knee. She wasn't happy about it, she wasn't enthusiastic, but that's all she did, I swear."

"Is it because you're loyal to her now? I understand her appeal sometimes..."

Jaime cut him off. "I don't understand her appeal."

"It doesn't matter what you think of her. It matters what she thinks of you now. That's all that matters."

He was talking to him like he was an idiot again. He loved Tyrion, but his brother just couldn't help it sometimes, though he certainly didn't mean to do so. To Tyrion, everyone was an idiot, probably. Sansa knew better than that. At least with him now.

"I hope you're feeding her alright," Jaime said, his mind slipping away from the conversation, "she seems very...Targaryen these days." He was not going to plead for his life. Not that there was anything further he could say to save it.

"We're not helping her, none of us are."

"That's not my job is it? Helping her. I wasn't trying to harm her though."

"Not in her eyes. Helping Cersei is harming her."

"As is killing a child?" He tried not to think upon it. He didn't even care about another son or daughter to place on a throne, Gods knew all the good that did Joffrey and Tommen. No, this one he just wanted to finally raise himself. With Cersei, perhaps. Maybe he'd take the child away, find an island somewhere where no one could harm them. Tarth was an island. Would Brienne make a good mother? He had thought about that for months now, and still wasn't sure.

"How many children of fallen kings have died under the orders of Lannisters?"

Tyrion was right. The last thing any of them deserved now was mercy for their own.

"Doesn't make the next one right," Jaime said, with a small amount of satisfaction. How ironic it was that he would have to wait until his dying day before he finally matched wits with his brother.

"It's not about right or wrong anymore."

"It's not? What happened to building a better world?"

What had happened to his brother since the Crossroads? Had the pressure finally broken him? The war indeed was not going his way, but at least Jaime could no longer take credit for his brother's continued setbacks, though Sansa herself had not made it easy for him. But Tyrion sounded now like he was on the edge of resignation, of complete surrender, even as he was about to win.

"We will. But we have to win the battle. And not..."

"Not what?"

Tyrion shook his head, not about to let him in on one last secret, though Jaime had plenty of ideas what it was he feared.

"Just give me a reason, Jaime. Give me a reason, any reason, to convince her to spare your life. I beg you."

He shook his head. At this point, he didn't even care anymore, definitely not regarding his own life. And it was hard to think that much for Cersei, and their child, with a chain around his neck and miles of sea and walls between them.

"I've none, really." An idea came to him. Recognition of something as the Dragon Queen threatened him. "Except for her to pay her debt to me."

"Her debt," Tyrion asked, a glint of hope remaining. Jaime shook his head, sorry to have given him that hope.

"I killed her father. I'd imagine she'd want me to watch her kill my sister and child."

Sansa

She stood before the Godswood. It was snowing lightly, a slight chill running down her neck. Looking down at her hands, she gasped, recognizing the sleeves she wore on that night...that night...and felt all the strength give from her legs. Fallen upon the cold, snowy ground, she felt her throat closing, choking, but then, death was better than the dark silhouette standing above her. 'This is a nightmare,' she thought. 'They're dead. They're all dead.' But she felt a cold finger brush against her cheek. Willing herself not to look up, she found herself unable to control her own neck.

It wasn't one of the Boltons who loomed above her, but that did not make it any less terrifying. She saw the eyes of an old crone, hair ragged, clothes tattered, staring lifelessly down at her. She blinked, and the vision changed. The warm eyes and gentle smile many different lifetimes ago.

"Septa Mordane?"

"My sweet girl."

Her touch was now warm, and as she continued to caress her cheek, Sansa felt tears pour out of her chest uncontrollably. No longer wanting to stand, she knelt on both knees before her.

"I'm so sorry...I had been so horrible to you...so awful..."

"Hush, child." Her voice was forgiving, and Sansa remembered the times she hadn't been horrible. When her Septa stood proudly behind her as she presented a dress she knitted. A thin, willowy dress, a southern one, for her southern mother...adorned in flowers of gold, violet, and red.

"You learned from others too. I'm sorry it had to be this way."

"I never forgot you," Sansa said, finding her voice as her sobs slowed. "I don't have time to remember a lot these days, but..."

"Time is all I have now, child. Consider your lack of it a blessing." She pulled her hand away, and instantly Sansa missed her touch. "The hour approaches. Lion. Dragon. Wolf. Blessed and cursed are those who see the seeds of spring." As as suddenly as she appeared, a squall blew in, and Sansa watched in slow horror as inch by inch she disappeared behind the blowing snow.

"Wait! Septa Mordane! I have..."

"Milady."

Three sharp raps on her door brought her back to reality. Stirring awake, she watched as the door creep open, and Brienne's squire, out of all people, shyly hunch his way into her room holding a small torch.

"Podrick?" Still groggy and disoriented, she spoke his name, the inappropriateness of the situation still not having dawned in her mind.

"You have a visitor."

"A visitor?" As her wits returned, she frowned at the sight of the young squire, alone in the middle of the night in a lady's bedroom. "I hope it's not the tall, skinny, dark-haired type," thinking about the current acting lord of their castle.

"She asked for you and you only," Podrick whispered.

"She? Strange." She rose and, wearing only her nightgown, followed him out the room. Only too late, as they approached a sidechamber by the Great Hall, did she realize that this could be one of Cersei's tricks. Seated in a chair was a small person, a woman, if Podrick was correct, her head covered by a long hood. Upon hearing them approach, she stood up, turning around so her back faced both of them. Cautiously, still wondering if she was walking into a trap, she nodded towards Podrick, who handed her his torch and left the room.

Holding it as a weapon, ready to hurl it upon her mysterious visitor if necessary, she approached her. The figure turned, and drew down her cloak.

"Lady Margaery?"

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Notes and responses: Regarding Jon. I don't want to send him to the wall either. I suppose he'd need to give me a reason to, wouldn't he?

For the logistics...here's how I imagined it went. Dany flew off first, ordering Grey Worm to march towards the Crossroads as soon as possible in a show of force. Once she arrived, sent Sansa away, she calmed. After all, like the show, it made sense to her for all her key advisors to arrive early with her to Dragonstone. It's mentioned Yara's fleet arrived as well in Maidenpool, when they were still presumably en route in the show. Dany didn't know this at Winterfell, but she does now, so she ordered her to sail to White Harbor, where Grey Worm himself had barely started marching south from Winterfell. She diverts him and Missandei, and orders an advance force of Unsulled and Dothraki to sail initially to Dragonstone. That is the first batch. I imagine in the show they did not have enough boats to ferry all her Essos armies over either, and the remaining marched south with the Northern Armies and the Vale. Here, because the Northern Armies, the Vale, and the Riverland armies are already at the Crossroads, they will continue marching south, arriving at KL well after they get to Dragonstone. Finally, unlike the show, there is a third wave of Unsullied and Dothraki, those who did not divert to White Harbor, who did not stop marching until after Dany woke, and who will arrive after Jon Snow/Royce etc. As for Jaime, you have two separate delayed marches, as well as Dany waiting for Drogon to recover from a wound as well.

As for the mad Dany narrative, we'll have to agree to disagree. Literally every single change in this story has given Dany more reason to be suspicious, rather than less. In the show, Sansa had little power, and the only thing she could do is behind the scenes treason. Here, she's openly treasonous, both for trying to broker peace, as well as revealing Jon's secret, except there it's before all the lords, rather than just Tyrion. In the show, the northern armies are tired but still heady after the victory against the dead, marching with some enthusiasm south to KL. Here, Sansa used all that enthusiasm herself, won the war, brought them to the brink of peace, getting their hopes up only to have them dashed. So unlike the show, Dany knows she is dealing with unhappy lords and three unhappy armies as well...again, all because of Sansa. And having forced Jon into going along and punishing Sansa, she has ever more reason to be fearful that he won't keep going along with her. Finally, seeing her opening, Cersei has been able to further drive the wedge between them, doing whatever she can to hint, truthfully or not, that Sansa would come to an agreement with her out of revenge for Dany punishing her.

Regarding the additional Lannister, yup, he proved unexpectedly fun to write. I figure the family is pretty intelligent as a whole, and without needing to lead the family ruthless, is allowed to be a bit more pleasant...though still a danger to Sansa, I'd think. (btw, it's Kevan you're thinking of. Shame he's already dead.)

Finally, if anyone could change Jon's mind, especially as Sansa wanders further, I'd imagine that yes, it would be Arya.