It was morning and Sansa sat in her solar reading her correspondence. A letter from Tyrion, she thought excitedly. She was disappointed that he was not a part of the retinue that traveled to Winterfell with Aegon and Daenerys.

Sansa read the letter and then read it again to absorb all its contents once more. The letter's contents were shattering, the first news of import was the murder of Cersei Lannister by an unknown hand and the second news of import was Tyrion's farewell to her. He told her he would be leaving his position as King's Hand, but not to retire to Casterly Rock. He said that he would return to the lands beyond the Narrow Sea. The death of his sister had both untethered and unhinged him, and now all he wanted to do was run away from the rewards he had fought for his entire life. The letter ended with these words:

All men in the Seven Kingdoms condemn me for a kinslayer and a Kingslayer. I am feared but never loved, no where else is this sentiment as strong as it is in Casterly Rock. It all goes back and back, to our mothers and fathers and theirs before them. We are puppets dancing on the strings of those who came before us. My father said that I was an ill-made, devious, disobedient, spiteful little creature full of envy, lust and low cunning. He said that I would never be Lord of Casterly Rock. I held the Rock long enough to spite Cersei. But now that she is gone, I find my joy turns to ashes in my mouth. I cannot stay there or anywhere in Westeros.

Do you know that I have long cherished a dream to travel the world? When I was a boy I read Longstrider's Wonders and Wonders Made by Man until the books fell apart. I will follow the scribe's example and travel to lands no Westerosi has set foot in. Be kind to me in your histories, Sansa. Valiant deeds that go unsung are no less valiant.

While Tyrion's legacy was uncertain, his sister's legacy was all but assured. Sansa thought that Cersei Lannister would be remembered for a thousand years, while her father Tywin would be but a footnote in history. It would not a remembrance that would have delighted the lioness or her sire. For Cersei Lannister would not be enthroned in the works of scholars but in the nightmares of children.

Cersei had seen the death of all her children and the diminishment of her House. Joffrey had been killed at his own wedding, in a Tyrell and Littlefinger plot. Tommen had also been killed by the Tyrells, they had presented his body to Daenerys as Tywin Lannister had presented the bodies of Rhaegar's children to Robert Baratheon once it was all but certain that the Tommen's regime was bound to fall. Myrcella had been the victim of Dornish plots to destroy House Lannister. Myrcella's fate called to Sansa powerfully, as if they had lived parallel lives. Myrcella loved her Dornish prince, Trystane, with a child's ardor. And Princess Arianne had found her as easy to manipulate into betraying her family as Cersei had once manipulated Sansa.

When Daenerys sacked King's Landing, Cersei was taken captive. Cersei was tried before open court for her crimes. It was a week long trial, a madhouse as throngs of lords and smallfolk came forward to tell tales of her wickedness. Evidence was presented of her murder of Robert and his bastards, her torture of nobles and servants alike in Qyburn's black cells, her sexual perversions and her malices great and small. It descended into chaos towards the end as the tales grew beyond all logic and Cersei was accused of every base act committed in King's Landing. Not only did they say she committed incest with her brother Jaime, but they said she committed incest with her son Joffrey. She offered no defense except motherhood. All that I did, I did for my babies. A lioness must protect her cubs. The crowd howled and jeered at her and the chant of "I killed your baby, Queen Cersei, what are you going to do about it?" became a habitual taunt that interrupted the dignity of her trial, such as it was.

She would have been executed but for Tyrion. He had famously declared Cersei is mine to kill and then proceeded to dumbfound all of land by pleading with Daenerys for his sister's life. Cersei was taken from King's Landing to spend her days under lock and key in Casterly Rock. The lioness had been de-clawed, condemned to spend her days as a fat house cat. But her life and her trial fueled her legend. She transformed into a horror figure in children's games. Sansa did not know the origins of the game but it spread like wildfire, until every child over five knew how to play Bloody-Queen-Cersei as well as they played monsters-and-maidens, hide-the-treasure, and come-into-my-castle.

Sansa knew of various different versions of the game, but the most famous one was the one in which the summoner must say "Bloody Queen Cersei, I killed your baby" three times while spinning around. The game was a test of a child's bravery, for it was said that if Bloody Queen Cersei was summoned, she would proceed to kill the summoner in gruesome ways such as scratching their face off or gouging their eyes out or cutting off their head. But even if Bloody Queen Cersei should fail to appear, there was no deliverance from her power for it was said that she would haunt the summoner for the rest of their lives.

Sansa had tried the game herself when she first heard of it. Instead of spinning around, she tried the variation of chanting to her mirror, "Bloody Queen Cersei, I killed your baby" three times. Cersei never appeared to murder Sansa in gruesome ways, though the little hairs on the back of Sansa's neck stood up and she felt herself shiver with cold after the incantation. She stared at the mirror long and hard, holding her breath at the thought of Cersei's image appearing before her wielding Ser Ilyn's greatsword, Eddard Stark's blood dripping from the blade.

Of course, Cersei never did appear in the mirror, but Sansa could not deny that the child's game had its own magic. The woman haunted Sansa from that day forward, she could hear the lioness whisper to her and sometimes she thought she could see Cersei's reflection peeking out in the pupils of her own blue eyes. It was fanciful stuff, born of an excess in imagination. Still, Sansa suspected that as the child's game had foretold the truth, Cersei Lannister would haunt her for the rest of her life.

Shireen was admitted to Sansa's solar later in the morning. She was wearing boy's clothes and had obviously just come from the training yard. Arya had insisted that both Shireen and Minisa Liddle learn basic skills in defense. Sansa agreed, thinking of the singer Marillion who had tried to rape her in the Fingers, but she did not stress arms in the education of her goodsister and her ward. Skill in arms would have been of little use against the fists of Meryn Trant and Boros Blount, unless one was as prenaturally talented as Arya or as strong as the Maid of Tarth. Sansa and her charges were neither of those things. Littlefinger had taught her that strategy was a more useful defense than strength. And in strategy, a woman could be more adept than a man. Just as women's bodies are softer than men's, so their understanding is sharper, she told Shireen and Minisa.

While she was not bitter towards her parents and Septa Mordane, she did think her early education had been remiss. She vowed that her charges and her daughters would not find themselves so ill-equip to navigate the rough waters of life as she had been. She hated Littlefinger for many things, but was grateful that he had been most instructive in the subjects that her parents and Septa Mordane ignored: law and accounting, warfare, agriculture, politics, and commerce. It was his lessons that Sansa passed on to Shireen and Minisa. A lady must be wise and have the courage of a man. Her knowledge must be so comprehensive that she can understand some part of everything. A lady must know the laws of warfare so that she can command men and defend her lands if they are attacked. A lady should know everything pertaining to her estate's business affairs so that she can act as her own agent in the absence of a husband or male guardian. A lady must know the number and strength of her men to gauge accurately her resources, so that she never will have to depend on feeble promises. She must test her men, discovering their qualities of courage and determination before overly trusting them.

"Sansa, you told me that a lady's duties extend to the monitoring of the behavior of all the people living in her house." Shireen asked.

Sansa smiled, pleased by Shireen's eagerness to assume the responsibilities of the lady of Winterfell.

"I wish to speak to you of Sandor Clegane ... I think he is sick. Oh no - Sansa - don't look so." Shireen replied.

Sansa's mind had fixated on the worse outcome, the gray plague.

"I don't want to alarm you! I think his sickness is of the spirit. But more than just wine-sickness. His chambers stink of rotted food and there are piles of soiled clothing strewn across the floors. I cannot count the number of broken wine jars and the room reeks of the stench of overflowing chamber pots. Rickon has been there and he showed it to me himself today after practice while Sandor was away. He said Sandor Clegane was man who kept his room spick and span until recently."

Sansa let out a long breath. It look several long moments to think past the rush of fear and panic. She chewed her lip in worry and guilt. I had thought Sandor would be able to live his life with the same courage and dignity as I swore to live mine. I had made arrangements so that he had the means to be happy, he will have Hornwood and he could have the love of a good woman if he but try. He was content before having me, he could be content again after I'm gone.

Even the humblest pieces can have wills of their own, sometimes they refuse to make the moves you've planned for them, Littlefinger had told her. She reflected on his words as she felt the hot tears well up in her eyes, to her great dismay.

"Sansa!" Shireen cried, rushing to Sansa and embracing her. "Don't panic! I know he is one of your favorites. I will speak to the steward about denying Sandor wine from now on and I'll make sure the maids clean his rooms twice a day. And I'm ... I'm going to speak to him myself!"

Shireen continued, "You also told me a lady's duties includes the arranging of marriages for her people. I think that the cause of his sickness is love, perhaps love for Minisa, or some other maiden. Minisa told me he hardly ever says a word to her, even when she asked him to dance on that one occasion. I perceive him to be very shy, terrified of rejection because of his looks. I know what it is like to be doubt one's ability to earn love because of one's appearance. He's always been kind to me in his rough way. I'm going to repay his kindness and give him advice on how to speak to ladies."

Sansa burst out in a mirthless laughter. "What will you say?" She remembered giving Jon advice on wooing ladies. The extent of it was When a lady tells you her name, you should say it's pretty no matter the name she gives. She had been ten at the time. She knew better courtesies, but did not think Jon could master them with finesse, he was only a boy of twelve. She doubted that Sandor could either despite being a man past thirty.

"He must praise his lady's beauty in smooth gallantries. He should say he adored her hair and cherished her lips. He should compare her eyes to stars or bright jewels... That's a good start! Better than the words I once heard him say to Grenn. I overheard them speaking and Sandor said that Bessa the kitchen girl's teats makes a man wish he had never been weaned. I think he could win a wife if he was not so coarse and crude." Shireen said.

"Shireen, do as you will. But tell him also that no one dies of love and he will endure." Sansa replied.

This is folly, Sansa thought as she entered Sandor's room. Gods shields us, this is folly. The maids had cleaned it from top to bottom, it was pristine and sweet smelling. Sansa told herself that she only wanted to make sure that Shireen's commands had been obeyed. But instead of leaving immediately, she lingered in his room, knowing that her presence in Winterfell would be noted and missed within an hour. There are Targaryen retainers all about the castle and I'm here in my lover's bedroom. This is too great a hazard. Someone will discover it.

Sansa walked around his room, knowing that the hour approached when he would break from his duties and return here. A half hour went by and she paced impatiently. She found the ugly red woolen tunic amongst the neat pile of clothes folded on one of his chairs. She picked it up and held it to her mouth and nose, breathing deeply. It had been just freshly laundered, but retained a trace of his scent, a combination of wood and leather and man.

It was at this moment that Sandor entered his room. She gazed at him, still holding the tunic. Then she smiled shyly, her face half hidden behind it, like a shamefaced girl. He saw her immediately and there was a very awkward moment, in which they both seemed to find nothing to say.

"How long do we have?" he asked her.

"No more than half an hour," she replied. She would not lie about her reasons for being here. He hated frauds and liars.

He pulled her against him, enfolding her in his arms. Sansa allowed it, going pliant in response. She tiptoed to kiss him. He kissed her deeply, squeezing her buttocks and pulling her tight against him, groaning. He pushed her backwards, drawing her unerringly to his bed. She fell on the side of the bed with a sound of delight. All her fear and care and worry fell away as he knelt down on the floor beside the bed. She lifted her legs off the ground, so that he could remove her smallclothes. She held her skirts up and whimpered as she felt his mouth kiss her between her legs. She heard herself moan wantonly as he tasted her with his tongue and pushed his fingers inside of her, stretching her. It was a delicious mix of sensations, to feel his tongue on her, the light stubble of his beard scratching her there, his fingers thrusting inside her. She could only respond with pants and little whimpers of oh oh oh and greater pleas for more as she pushed his head harder against her. She felt the tension coil in her body, it coiled tighter and tighter and then she felt the tension break, herself coming apart, shuddering and moaning. Once her trembling had subsided, he rose before her, and released his stiff member from his breeches.

"Do it to me, do it to me," she teased, spreading her legs wide, eager to be penetrated.

He pushed her knees up to her chin and sank into her, groaning like beast. "Oh fuck!" he cursed explosively. But he used her gently, perhaps remembering how rough he was the last time he had her. He held her head in his hand as he stared down at her, his mouth a snarl, teeth baring as he drove into her. She responded by cupping his left cheek where the skin was a mass of ugly twisted scar tissue.

"Say my name," he ordered her.

Sandor ... Sandor, she chanted. He drove into her harder now. She gasped, her muscles contracting with each thrust, the pressure building again inside her until her back arched and she felt her culmination come upon her like an ambush. He fell upon her now, his weight pressing her into the bed, his mouth making grunting noises at her ear. He push inside her hard one last time, his penetration at her very depths and then she felt his warm wet seed discharged inside her. They stayed like that for a long moment, listening to the sound of each others breathing.

Then he braced himself on his elbows, he locked his fingers into hers and leaned over her face, kissing her forehead and brow with light kisses. She settled deeper into the bed but held on to him with her legs, imprisoning him. She sighed in pleasure and contentment, she could die of this happiness ...

Soon her thoughts passed into pleasing dreams.

"I wish we could run away into the forest together. Like in your song. You'll lay me down in a bed of grass and you'll be my forest love and I your forest lass," she said.

He stared at her with eyes that had the balefulness of an old dog, reminding Sansa of the sad old hound that had befriended her in the Fingers.

"What would we live on? Love?That will not feed us, though it would make you fat soon enough," he rasped. He was still hard and inside her and he twitched his member now to lend force to his words.

"Why did you come? To torment me further?" he asked.

"To torment myself," she sighed miserably, it was the truth. "And to steal your favorite tunic."

She unlocked her hands from his and moved one of them to cup his cheek. "Do you remember the night of the battle? You left your white cloak behind. I held on to it, hid it in my trunk, beneath my summer silks. I'd take it out on occasion when I felt alone and vulnerable and cover myself with it. For years afterward, I'll lie awake at night and wonder if I had made the right decision to not leave with you. That night, it is a link between us, ugly as it was. We share the memories... " she whispered to him, her voice as if in a trance.

"It wasn't all ugly, I think I must have wanted you from then on. I thought often of your cruel mouth and how you wept at my song."

Sandor leaned his forehead against hers. He drew his hands to his side and pulled his dagger from his hip. It was sheathed when he pressed it against her throat, in imitation of that shared memory.

"I put a dagger against your throat and you fell in love with me? Your wits are as addled as your eyesight is poor, Sansa."

She responded by clenching her sheath, down there, sending little sweet kisses to him. He barked with laughter and twitched himself in response. "My perverse Little Bird. Well you have your revenge. I put a dagger against your throat and you twisted it and plunged it into my heart. You've murdered me. But I love my murderer." He kissed her passionately. They broke after a long moment.

"I wish her only joy and happiness. She is only person I have ever loved in this life and the next." He hugged her tightly then, she closed her eyes savoring the feel of him.

He freed himself from her embrace and walked away. She picked up her smallclothes and bent to put them on. He returned to her once more with the tunic, handing it to her.

"Here, take it. You've paid the iron price," he rasped, his voice a disquieting mixture of seriousness and jest.

She took the tunic and embraced him, her head pressed against his abdomen. He had never told he loved her before. It was satisfying and it sated something inside her to hear it, though she never thought he felt otherwise. He stroked her hair for a moment and then he helped her to her feet. Their time was at an end. She leaned her face up to receive his kiss. It was sweet and tender, as his kisses were wont to be. But it was light, a farewell kiss, with no dark promise of more to come. He sat down on his bed and made no move to escort her out. She walked away, stepping across the threshold of his room into the empty hallway. As she closed his door, she saw him through the crack. He sat on his bed, holding his hands to his head as if he was imprisoning the melee of his thoughts. He made a sound, a dry moan, like a man at the last store of his strength.

The night of Aegon's mummers' show came upon at last. The show was conducted over one of the pools of water in Winterfell. In the pool, there were large detailed models meant to be the Wall and Winterfell and various other castles and monuments, all adorned with model fountains and wheels and torches.

The story that Aegon composed was a poetic tale of the War. But it devoted no more than ten minutes to the War of the Five Kings before plunging into the story of the War for the Dawn. There were at least two dozen mummers, some clearly costumed as personages Sansa recognized, Jon, Daenerys, Bran, and even a dwarf mummer to play Tyrion. There were mummers costumed in white, carrying giant paper-mache white spiders, they terrified Rickon enough that she heard him suck in his breath.

There were a number of mummers covered in soot and dressed in leaves and cloths of green. Sansa thought they were suppose to be the Children of the Forest, but she was proven wrong. The green men ran around lighting fuses as the story required. The fuse was what set off the Yi Ti flowers. From the models in the pool of water, the green men would light the wheels that would spin around rapidly and give off sparks of fire in a circular pattern. The fountains that were lit would produce dense showers of sparks that resembled shooting water. The pool reflected the light and the noise of the Yi Ti flowers, enhancing the sheer beauty of the experience. It was awe-inspiring, controlled fire and all who saw were fascinated with it.

Aegon had saved the most spectacular part for the end. A massive wooden device covered in painted paper-mache scales was brought forth. The scales were green and bronze, a dragon that was a representation of Rhaegal. Inside the wooden Rhaegal there was a bevy of Yi Ti flowers. The green men lit the fuse, and from the mouth of the dragon sparks exploded with such force that it appeared as if the wooden Rhaegal breathed fire as his living counterpart had once.

She looked to Bran and saw his eyes widen in wonder and joy. How kingly and handsome he looked sitting on his throne with his direwolf at his side, Bran's hands absentmindedly petting Summer. He did not wear his lord's face, it was the face of a young man, brave and dignified who assumed a weighty destiny and performed the tasks set before him with as much courage as the heroes of old that Bran had loved as a boy, as much as Symeon Star-Eyes. The world was saved by a bunch of children, Sansa thought giggling to herself, at least based on Aegon's show.

She then glanced above him and saw Dany smiling at Bran. It was a smile of startling seductiveness and genuine warmth. Now, she saw more than a glimmer of Dany's legendary beauty. Many a man must have been slain by the power and magic of that smile. For a moment Dany and Sansa's eyes met, while each of them stared at Bran. Sansa glanced away quickly not want to interrupt this most private of communications between lovers or would-be-lovers or sweet friends. Bran may not have a man's vigor, but he has a man's heart, Sansa felt a surge of gratitude towards Dany that she should recognize this in him. They had a shared sorrow, the sorrow of broken people. A woman who could not bare a child and a man who could not wield a sword.

Sansa sat with Bran, Arya, Daenerys, Aegon and Lord Davos after the mummers' show. Dany and Aegon had seen these flowers bloom before, but it was all new to those who lived in Winterfell and the wonder of the evening still sang in their blood.

It was Lord Davos who broke the silence with the question that must have been on all of their minds, "The substance that fuels the Yi Ti flowers, the salt, can used it be used as a weapon?"

"We have no means," replied Aegon.

"We do not bring weapons to Winterfell, Bran, only wonders," Daenerys added.

"But the pyromancers, Lord Hallyne and his Alchemists' Guild, they are studying its applications are they not? Surely they have not devoted all of their energies into mummers shows. The alchemists of the Yi Ti, have they worked it into weapons?" asked Sansa.

"The Yi Ti have made no developments in weaponry, as far as we know. They seem little interested in military applications. It is said that they have had no wars for thousands of years and thus no use for improving means to kill brave men." Daenerys said.

"You brought us Widow's Wail so that Ice may be reforged. But will it be of any practical use to Rickon when he is grown or will he wear it as a ceremonial decoration like Bran wears his crown? This Yi Ti salt will be end of knighthood," Sansa mused, half delighted, half horrified at the implications.

"Good!" Arya said fiercely. "The abomination that was Gregor Clegane could only be killed by a man who is one of the fiercest warriors in Westeros, wielding an ancient blade forged with spells involving blood magic. How many men, women and children died by Gregor Clegane's hand while he lived? How many women did he rape, men that he tortured, babies whose skulls he crushed. His strength was inhuman. Who could stand against the Mountain that Rides? But where will the future Gregor Cleganes be? Sent to an early grave, put down like a mad dog, by no more than an innkeeper wielding a weapon fueled by bird shit," Arya had lived amongst the smallfolk and knew what it was like to be hungry and preyed upon by knights like Gregor and his ilk.

"It will be end of knighthood but the escalation of war. Large armies will rise that need little training," Sansa said.

"Will it be end of kingship?" asked Bran. But he answered the question himself. "It will be end of the divine right of kings."

Later in the evening Aegon asked Sansa to walk with him in the godswood alone. She was very tired and had no desire to be in anyone's company, least of all an amorous suitor. But she could not say no, it would be discourteous and he deserved at the very least her courtesy.

Her thoughts swirled around Yi Ti salt and all the developments that seem to be rushing into their world. They walked in silence, she did not care to break it, but she could tell that he wanted to say something to her but did not know how.

At last he found the words he had been searching for, but the topic of their conversation was odd. He said, "Sansa, when I was a child my nurse told me of a tale. A King came upon a castle where a beautiful princess lay in an enchanted sleep. In that story, he could not break the enchantment until he kissed her."

"My nurse, Old Nan, also told me the same tale. I did not think the story was very good. The King must kiss the princess, before breaking the enchantment. But where is the daring in that deed? Better that the story goes that the King must break the enchantment, before kissing the princess."

"The King has enough daring for any man," Aegon replied heatedly. Sansa was taken aback, I struck a nerve, he speaks of himself in this tale. Is this a taunt he hears from Dany? She flushed in embarrassment, he was good man and she did not want to hurt him.

"I admit the tale can use some spice. How is this then ... The King travels to a foreign land and learns to his disappointment that the tale is different there than the one he was told to by his nurse. In this land, slumbering princesses can not be awoken with a kiss. He must find another means to break the enchantment. He tried various methods, but they did not work. At last the thought struck him, of course, to break the enchantment, he must find the conjurer who cast it and kill them."

"Did he find the conjurer?" Sansa asked. The thunder built in her head -

"Yes, but in his discovery lay his defeat. The conjurer was the princess, she had cast her own spell and wished to be left alone to slumber and perchance to dream," he replied.

- and then the thunder receded.

His violet eyes gazed into her with the same mixture of gravity and compassion she had noted that day they went fishing.

"Then the King should find another princess, one who has not been bespelled. He is worthy of great love," she said, squeezing his hand gently, as she would squeeze Arya's when her sister needed comfort.