This chapter was already written, you might know if you've read my notes for the last chapter. I just had to change it a little to make it a standalone chapter. It starts only a few hours after the last one ended. Think of this like the real ending of the last chapter.
Accursius has been asking why Jon wasn't presented to the council. It's because he was so depressed that Davos didn't want to take any chances with what he might say before the council, even though Davos might not know what depression is or why Jon is depressed. Depressed people can be real assholes. I am writing this as a general answer because Accursius is right, the topic at least should have come up in the council. I guess it escaped my mind. Thanks for pointing that out.
Sansa was brushing Ghost's coat with a brush while he laid beside her matrasses peacefully. She was remembering Lady, and wondering what she would think if she saw her like this, when Ser Lothar told her that she had a visitor.
Sansa sat up tiredly. She had half a mind to turn them away. Her talk with Maester Amos had left her feeling very tired. She'd thought she was going to be hearing about her grandfather, and she had, but she had ended up thinking more about Rhaegar Targaryen.
Maester Amos had told her about Robert's Rebellion, and the events that led up to it. "The lords that fought in the War of the Ninepenny Kings were friends. Stefan Baratheon, Jon Arry, and Rickard Stark. When Stefan Baratheon died, Jon Arryn took his son as his ward, and Lord Stark sent his own son to be a friend to the young Stormlord." He told her of the alliance that the maesters suspected formed out of this friendship, and he told her about the possibility of Rhaegar Targaryen finding out about it.
"Time has silenced all those who really know why that tourney at Harrenhal was orchestrated, or indeed, by whom." He'd said, "Many hold that it was Rhaegar himself, but I disagree. It just doesn't make sense for the crown prince to be so shrewd and then before the year ends, unravel all of it over a girl." But the Maester didn't know what had come out of that unravelling, unlike Sansa. What if the Targaryen kingdom had been sacrificed only for Jon? The discussion had left her more confused than ever.
But she was still to have supper, so she couldn't sleep yet. You couldn't sleep on an empty stomach in a cold night such as this. So she allowed the visitors. It was Lady Alysanne Mormont that walked in.
Sansa had first the big woman her in her dream, and then she had watched her sitting behind her mother, her mouth mostly shut and bandages on her arm. She took one glance at Ghost and froze beneath the tent flap.
"He won't hurt you." Sansa said, laying her arm over Ghost's back. "Not with me here." Ghost didn't even acknowledge the She-Bear, he continued to sleep with his eyes closed and his head resting on his front legs. The wolf was truly too big to be kept in a tent, but Sansa wanted him close. "Please sit. To what do I owe the pleasure?" She asked.
"I wanted to apologize for my mother's words. If she were here right now, she'd say the same." Aly Mormont said, sitting on a wicker chair. "My mother bears you no ill will, but she must grab any chance that she gets to advance Jon Snow."
"And to discredit me." Sansa said.
"That's why succession wars are the worst." Lady Alysanne said sadly. "We'd thought that you wanted Rickon Stark to become king without any bloodshed, that that's why you'd called the council. But after watching you the past two days, it is clear that you are the only one with an unbiased mind in that tent, the only one who sees things clearly. But there are things you haven't seen. Things you don't know." Sansa was startled that Aly Mormont had echoed the very thoughts that Sansa herself had been thinking all evening. "I've brought someone to help you see the whole picture," The she bear continued, "so you might choose wisely." She called to someone outside the tent.
Sansa had heard of the woman that walked in. Her face was scarred, and but for her face, she looked even more like a man than Aly Mormont did. Sansa still had to get used to women carrying swords. The woman took a knee before Sansa "My name is…" She began, but Sansa overrode her, "I know who you are. Lord Reed told me." Lady Brienne looked at her, her eyes wide. "You were there when Jon's sword started burning."
Lady Brienne nodded. Sansa turned to Lady Alysanne, "Thank you for bringing her to me my lady. But I would like to speak to her alone."
Aly Mormont was startled by this abrupt request, but she left them alone. Sansa was startled to see Ghost's eyes open, and to find him staring at Lady Brienne with his teeth bared, the same look he always gave Maester Amos. Sansa ignored it. "You know about Jon's parents." She said to Lady Brienne, "Tell my about his burning sword."
Brienne told her. She told her a tale that was right out of fantasies, only scarier. She told her about flocks of ravens and burning people, about witches and lightening in a cloudless sky. "She called him the Prince that was Promised. But he turned out to be the Azor Ahai, if they are not the same person itself, that is."
By the time Lady Brienne ended, Sansa knew her thoughts were right. She may know her alliances, and things happening in the south, but she knew nothing about what was there in the north. Nothing about the prophecies. But Jon did. And the two of them, Sansa and Jon, side by side, might be the very thing that the North would need. "How is Jon?" She asked, "Have you seen him recently."
Lady Brienne shook her head sadly. "He's badly, I've heard. Aly had him chained before, but now she's given him a tent of his own. But he insists on acting like a prisoner. Not coming out of his tent unless he has. He drinks day and night, and won't talk to anyone. I heard the Greatjon visited him, asked him to show him his burning sword. Snow told him that it burned only in battle, and welcomed him to face him in the yard. He's taken the news about his father really hard." She glanced at the closed tent flap. "Aly thinks you might motivate him to come out of the darkness of his mind. She may not really know what he is going through, but I think she has the right idea. She brought me here after she heard you speak this afternoon. She said if anyone could look past Jon Snow's alleged desertion, it was you. She brought me to tell you my story, so you could see that the gods themselves have chosen Snow, and at the most crucial point."
Even a fool could see it, Sansa thought. She rose from her seat. "My uncle told me that you served my mother. If you wish, I can ransom you from Lady Alysanne's camp. You could come to stay with me, or go home if so you wish."
Brienne had a strange look on her face. "You remind me so much of your mother, but, I- I don't think you'd like that very much, my lady. Either way, I am not a prisoner in that camp, but a guest of Aly." She took a deep breath, as if mentally preparing to say something. "I saved Shireen's life. She wanted to thank me. When she was returned to her Lord Hand, she offered me a boon. 'anything in my power' she said." Brienne smiled a sad, tremulous smile at the memory, "I asked for Jaime to be free, to not let her Hand burn him or kill him for his crimes. Lord Davos let him go to the Wall to take the black."
It took Sansa a moment to understand what she was hearing. "You let Kingslayer walk?" She gasped. "Why? He was evil. He broke my father's leg and killed Jory." Sansa had almost forgotten about him, the man who had started these wars in the first place. And they let him walk.
"Jory?" Lady Brienne asked, her expressions pained. "It's a long story my lady. I had my reasons." She turned away sadly, her head bowed, "I will take myself from your presence."
Yes, you do that. Sansa gave herself a few moments to compose herself. Couldn't she have just one friend here? She walked out of the tent when she was sure the Maid of Tarth was gone.
Outside, Lady Alysanne waited for her. "Why did she leave like that?" She asked. Sansa waved the question away. "I want to meet Jon." She said instead of answering.
"I wanted to bring him." Lady Mormont said, "but he wouldn't come, not even for you. He hasn't even gone to visit Rickon. Lord Davos doesn't want him to wander too much either, lest his own men be put off by Snow's attitude. I wasn't supposed to tell you how he is, but you might be the only one who can pull him out of his stupor. You and him are meant to be side by side, I just know. Him with his sword and you with your knowledge and compassion, you two might be just the thing that the North needs. But we are running out of time." She glanced backward over he shoulder, and Sansa was startled to see many soldiers making their way north in the evening light. "Those are Manderleys." Aly Mormont said, "Today, after you left, Lord Wyman concluded that if we were meant to continue the war, we might as well have Snow leading us, especially if you were fine with it." She looked back at Sansa gravely, "This was a huge blow to the Blackfish. I don't think he is going to let the council go on much longer. He still has support of half the northmen, and ten thousand Knights of the Vale. He can still win this throne for Rickon, unless you stop him."
"I don't think I can stop him." Sansa said.
"Then help Snow. Bring him out of his stupor. If we can present Snow to the council, show the councillors that he is not the man they've heard him to be. I wanted to do it on the first day only, but Snow is impossible to talk to." She shook her head with frustration, "Come with me to talk to him. He won't come here, but you can come to our camp."
"No." Sansa said. "I have a better idea."
The morning after found her standing before the gates of Winterfell, though away from the reach of the archers. Men on the wallwalks and from the camps peered at her, seated astride her horse, with her protectors, a wagon, and two Silent Sisters that looked like the paragons of sadness in their gray robes. They had also come here all the way from King's Landing, just like Sansa.
The night had been foggy, and the air still carried a leftover chill that burned on her cheeks. Impatiently, she looked at the northern camp. "Here comes the Blackfish." Ser Lothar said, drawing her attention to the riders coming toward her from the southron camp, armed to teeth and carrying swords and spears and bows. "Give us some time to talk." She said to her companions. They moved away from her. Ser Brynden also left his companions behind. He reined up his horse beside hers. "What do you think you are doing?"
"I need to see my father properly buried." Sansa nodded toward the cedar chest that the wagon carried. Ser Brynden's eyes widened as he realized what Sansa was saying. "You can't walk into Winterfell alone. You'd be a fool to trust Roose Bolton."
"I would be." Sansa agreed. "That's why I've arranged for him to stay here, in your custody, as long as I am inside, seeing to my father's burial."
"You can do it later." Ser Brynden said, before snorting, "You know what? I am not even going to try to speak sense to you. I can't understand what is going through that head of yours." He glanced at Winterfell, "This is the second you've used me like this, going behind my back and letting me find out only when I couldn't stop it…"
"You wouldn't have agreed." Sansa tried to say, but he spoke over her, "I assure you there won't be a third time. Yesterday, with you absent, the lords found the courage to talk about you, and how a firmer hand than mine might be needed to keep you in check. I do not mean to watch Rickon's kingdom get handed to this bastard." He lowered his voice as riders approached them from the north "Today is going to be the last day of this council. No matter who wins the battle for the north, you will have a very reduced role in your brother's kingdom."
Sansa turned to look at the group coming at them, trying to hide her anxious expressions. Foremost rode Lady Alysanne, and accompanying her was Jon.
Sansa made her filly go forward to meet the incoming party. "Thank you for coming." She said.
Jon looked at her hard, as if trying to see if anything was missing in her face. Sansa resisted the urge to get down from her horse and embrace him. The council was still ongoing, no matter what Ser Brynden said, and her hugging Jon in front of everyone would be an unnecessary blow to Rickon. It didn't help however, that Jon looked so terrible. His face was unwashed, his beard ruffled and his hair matted and dirty, uncombed. He was still in throes of last night's drink, Sansa could see. His eyes, so like her own father's, seemed like the eyes of a man who had been sleeping for days, or hadn't slept at all in weeks. His clothes looked like he hadn't changed them in a while. "I had to see him…" He said in a voice grown hoarse from unuse, "One last time." He looked about their horses, "Where is Rickon?"
"He wouldn't come, not without his wolf." Sansa told him. Lord Davos had agreed to send him, but the woman that looked after him, a spearwife named Osha, she'd told Sansa that he had refused to get out of his tent without Shaggydog. "I didn't bring Ghost either." Sansa made herself say.
"Lady Alysanne told me you've been keeping him safe for me." He sounded as if he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. "Yes." Sansa lied. She didn't think she could take speaking like this anymore. She wheeled this mount around, to see if Roose Bolton had arrived.
He had. The Lord of the Dreadfort was waiting for them from a distance with five men dressed in the red and white finery of the Flayed Man and one wildling with red hair. On the sight of him, Ser Brynden signaled his men to point their crossbows at him, though Roose Bolton was unafraid. "One wrong move by your men, Lord Bolton" Ser Brynden warned him, "And you will find yourself being leeched by a hundred thirsty bolts."
Lord Bolton urged his horse forward, his pale eyes shining and fixed on Sansa. "Lady Sansa knows she can trust me." He said in a soft, promising voice, "I will never hurt her, or hers."
Sansa made herself nod to him. He was desperate for a pardon, and he knew the only person that will give that to him was Sansa, whose mother he held. That was why he had agreed to this, to curry her favor, to tell her that she could trust him. It made Sansa sick to her stomach, but she swallowed it down. She motioned for Hallis to lead the way with the wagon. In the wagon was the cask in which Sansa's father lay. She spurred her mount to follow it.
It was beginning to snow as they passed beneath the double walls of Winterfell, yet Sansa pulled back her hood. She wanted to look at her castle. Inside the inner gate, Winterfell opened to them.
The castle was the same as the one Sansa remembered from her childhood. The same structures welcomed her, the same buildings and towers and turrets. The same paths. But at the same time, it was so different. It was almost as if she was as much a stranger to this place as the Silent Sisters that rode before her.
The castle was a sad gray all around, with white snowdrifts covering the grounds. Where was all the color? Men were stationed at each door and each walkway, standing tall beside their spears. But Sansa remembered the household the Stark's had kept. Wards and grooms and pages and squires, servants and cooks and stablehands, people from the Winter Town, all in a hurry to get from somewhere to somewhere else, and among them, the five Stark siblings ran amok with their friends. Compared to that, this place was as still as a graveyard. The castle held at least five thousand swords, wildlings and Flayed Men and Dustins and some Ryswells and Freys, but to Sansa it felt as if the castle was empty. Faces peered at her from over the walls and countless windows, even from keeps that hadn't been used in centuries, yet there was no life to this castle. Where were the shouting children? The men practicing in the yard? The hounds barking at each other? Where was the smell of dung, the smokes rising from the kitchens? Why was it so cold? Winterfell had never been cold in Sansa's childhood. And if it ever was, Sansa would just run to her mother and wrap herself in her warm cloak.
Beside her, Jon rode with his eyes fixed straight ahead. Maybe I should do the same, she thought. Then the memories won't barrage me like this. Some of the faces were giving them dirty looks, Jon more than Sansa. They were probably the Wildlings. Maybe that's why Roose Bolton had stationed men along their paths, to safeguard them both from the Wildlings. On a balcony of the First Keep, Sansa spied a woman who could only be Lady Barbray Dustin, wearing a gown whose neck was as high as her opinion of herself. I am burying my father, Sansa said to her in her mind, and maybe it will be your bones that dogs will feast upon. Beside her stood what looked like the nobility that Roose Bolton kept in this castle, the four Ryswells, and a wildling king. Sansa looked at them as she passed, wishing they will disappear and leave her castle to her.
When the reached the First Keep, Sansa made herself keep her gaze forward like Jon. They dismounted in the the lichyard where the Starks buried their faithful servants. Lady was buried here somewhere, Sansa knew. She knew she wouldn't be able to continue if she caught the sight of her grave. So she kept her mind on only her father's grave.
The gates to the crypts were open, shoveled snow around it reaching taller than Sansa. She descended the stairs with Jon by her side. Hallis and Ser Lyn and Wallace walked ahead with the Silent Sisters, carrying the chest and torches. The crypts at least hadn't changed, Sansa thought as the light illuminated the faces of the Stone kings sitting between pillars. Sansa had never liked these crypts, and it was no different now. The eyes of the statues shone in the firelight, and it was like they were all looking at her pass through the crypts. Watching her pass through Winterfell, through the North.
Her father's statue was the last in the line, past a group of four closely standing figures. Sansa felt Jon quicken his pace past them. He stood as far away from the statue of his mother as possible.
Ser Lyn unsheathed his sword and with Wallace Belmore, they wandered into the crypts, their torches leading. Sansa knew that Lord Bolton wouldn't have hidden anyone in here, but she let them search the tombs for ghosts anyway. When they returned, Sansa nodded for them to begin.
Hallis opened the coffin's door so that Sansa could gaze upon her father one last time. "Lady Catelyn should be here." Jon said suddenly. "And Rickon." And Arya, and Bran and Robb, Sansa thought. "I couldn't risk Roose Bolton say no to me, so I didn't ask" She answered Jon. "My mother is his only shield beside Winterfell, he won't take any chances with her." She took her gaze back to the blackened skull of her father. Joffrey had stuck it on the Traitors Walk, but now it was here, it was home. Below the skull, Lord Eddard wore his armor, with his hands clasped on the hilt of his sword. Hallis pried open the bone fingers and removed the sword. He transferred it to the lap of her father's statue. The Starks believed that the swords kept the spirits of the dead locked in the tombs. Sansa glanced at her Uncle Brandon's statue, and saw that his sword was missing. She'll have to replace it once she took Winterfell back. She wondered if Bran had taken the original. Could he even wield it, his back being broken and all? She looked back at her father, and wondered for the hundredth time where Ice was.
One small victory at a time, she told herself to try and calm the sudden anger she felt at the Lannisters. I brought him back. I did that much at least. I couldn't bring back Bran and Arya, but I brought two of his sons back. And him as well. I did that.
Before the statue of her father, a pit was already dug, with soil piled up around it. They lowered the coffin into the ground. Tears formed in Sansa's eyes at the sight. She wanted someone to hug her, but there was only one family member present here, and Sansa didn't know how he would react. Hallis had offered a shovel to Jon, but he had declined silently. Instead, Sansa and Jon stood quietly, without talking, listening as the crypts were filled to the sound of soil crunching beneath the shovel and then hitting the ground as it was thrown over her father's cask. While they were waiting, they were both gazing at the stone face of Sansa's father. He looks younger, Sansa thought. He shouldn't. It makes you forget how wise he was. She looked at Jon and wondered what was going on in his head. He felt her gaze and turned to look at her. "Do you know?" He asked quietly. "Yes." Sansa told him. They returned to the silence again.
When her men were done and the ground was level at the feet of Lord Eddard's statue, Sansa commanded her men to leave them alone. "I wish to speak with my brother alone."
Ser Wallace left one torch behind in a scone on a pillar before leaving. In its light Sansa turned to Jon. He was still looking at Lord Eddard. "He would be proud of you." He said in a dead tone.
Sansa looked at the empty space next to her father's tomb. "I dug up Robb's bones at the Twins as well, and those of Grey Wind's." She said hoarsely, "But we'll have to wait for the statue first." Jon nodded, the same dead expressions on his face. "He will be the first Stark king after Torrhen Stark. Beside him…" She closed her eyes, "I should never have called that council. It's turned the people supporting you from just two to almost half the north. Now if Ser Brynden somehow manages to place Rickon on the throne, he will surely kill you for a deserter, so as to remove any possibility of a future rebellion." She opened her eyes to find Jon staring at her, "Your only chance to life is to become King in the North."
Jon stared at her for a bit, before turning away. "I don't want that chance."
Sansa started. "What?"
"I don't want to be their king." Jon said, some emotion creeping in his voice. "I am not even in the line of succession. Are they fools…?"
"They don't know about that." Sansa said, "And they don't need to know. At least not now. If they knew that you were a Targaryen, they will kill you."
"I am not a Targaryen." Jon turned back to her, "I am a Targaryen bastard."
"Robb legitimized you. He was a king. You are not a bastard anymore. You can become King in the North, or even march down south to take your father's kingdom back."
Jon waver her words away, "I've heard this song before. I didn't like it then, I don't like it now. I don't want to become a king. Why would you even want me to become a king, after all I've done and failed? The throne belongs to Bran."
Sansa looked at him aghast. "Did you not hear me? They will kill you. I am not going to let my brother die for an oathbreaker and a usurper."
Jon turned away from her again. "I am not your brother."
His words hurt more than they should have. "I don't care." Sansa said, "I don't care who your father was. It does not matter. You are still half a Stark."
"I care." Jon shouted, startling her. "All my life… All the time on the wall… I asked myself, will my father have done it? Is what I am doing right? Will he be proud of me?" He looked at Sansa, panting with anger, "But the truth was that the man I thought to be my father wasn't my father in reality. My true father raped my mother till she died. I'd always wondered about my mother, and whether my father loved her. Now I know that he didn't give a fig about anything. Not about her, or his own wife and his other children. He was a monster, and I would rather not become one. Bad enough that I am already a bastard born of rape."
"You don't know that." Sansa whispered, not knowing what else to say, "Maybe they loved each other." When she was a child, Sansa had loved the romantic and tragic love stories where princes lost their hearts to women and fought against all odds to gain them. Maybe that's what had happened between Rhaegar and Lyanna. "Maybe they eloped out of love, and didn't hear about the war till it was too late. Maybe Lady Lyanna died in childbirth." It was unlikely though. Life was not a romantic love story. If Lyanna Stark had loved the Dragon Prince, and if Rhaegar Targaryen had known about Lord Rickard's southron ambitions, he would have brought Lyanna Stark to the Red Keep and traded Dorne for the North and its friends. Lady Lyanna must have objected, she was after all betrothed to the Lord of Storm's End, bur Jon didn't need to think about all that. "If you don't care about your father, think of your mother. She loved you. She made my father promise her that he would take care of you. My father loved you as well, no matter who or what your father was. He sacrificed his honor for you and raised you with his own children."
Her words had no effect. "My mother made Lord Eddard put me through this life." he said bitterly. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for all these choices, each one worse than the next. They should have killed me when I was so little I couldn't understand it. Aegon had it better." His mouth twisted, "And as for your father's honor… He taught me his honor. I thought that saving the wildlings was the honorable thing to do, so I let them pass through. I thought that father would have saved Rickon as well if he had been in my shoes. Hadn't he dishonored himself with my mother? Do you know why both of those ventures of mine went to shit my lady?" His voice was growing with his anger, "Because the honor that he build my life on, his honor, was BULLSHIT!"
Sansa stared at him, "My father," she said, her voice as rigid as her neck, "Was not bullshit."
Jon was pacing before her, breathing short, shallow breaths, "He could sleep in the nights, couldn't he? No matter how much others called him on fathering a bastard. At night he could tell himself that he was doing it for his sister. His sweet sister's babe was living because of him. Do you know what I think of in the nights?" He looked back at her, tears streaming down his face, "I think of you, facing the northmen and the queen's men alone. I think of Rickon, surrounded by the cannibals. I think of the Night's Watch, being led into darkness by the likes of Alliser Thorne. I think of the Wolfswood, burning before me while I am safe on an island. I think of Winterfell, wildlings rooting through the ancient stronghold of the Starks. And I think of myself. Of how big a failure I am and how I did not need to be. If father had not taken me…"
"You would have died." Sansa whispered.
"Still better this humiliation."
"If you are king, you can revert it all."
"If I am king, the first defeat I have will be attributed to the taint in my blood. The bastard born of rape. I know how this goes. This kingship is nothing but just another bucket for these lords to throw more shit in. They may want me as King now, but that will change. I've seen it before, and I am sick of. They turned on Stannis, didn't they? He was the one who alone deserved to be the king, the one who could've united Westeros. But they killed him. The Night's Watch elected me as their Lord Commander, and then Marsh killed me. If that is what is going to happen again, why wait? Just tell them to do it right now and spare me further pain."
"What is it that you want from me?" Sansa cried. "I am trying to make the right choice here. I don't know anything about what is happening in the north, about all these prophecies and Azor Ahais. How can you abandon me like this? What about all the wights that are crossing the wall? Don't you care about what that means for the North? For me and Rickon?"
"These wights are no threat." Jon said, his voice calming down a little, "They are sent by Bran. He wants you to take some of your Vale lords to the Wall to show them the real threat. He wants you to spread the truth about the Others all over Westeros. He understands this all better than I do."
For a moment Sansa thought she had heard incorrectly, "Bran sent the wights?"
"He is with the Children of the Forest, somewhere in the Haunted Forest beyond the wall." Jon told, "He is training to become a greenseer."
Brienne had said that Jon had claimed to talk to Bran on the island. "You still talk to him?" Why hasn't he talked to me?
"In my dreams. He says he is okay, and not to worry about him." Sudden grief clouded his voice and made his mouth twist again, "It is Ghost that I cannot feel. He almost died at Melisandre's hands. I haven't been able to feel him since then. All my dreams are either of these crypts, or of a dragon chasing me to burn me. Whenever I try to look for Ghost, it feels like there is a wall between us. It feels soft, as if made of sponge, but it is as unyielding as the Wall in the north." He shook his head miserably, "He was so weak, but we had to send him out from the island to bring us game to eat. The last time he didn't come back."
"He is fine." Sansa said desperately, not caring if she had to give him back, "You can have him back."
Jon shook his head. "Keep him. I don't deserve him. I was trying to push him away before, afraid that I would get locked in his body. I deserve this. It is good that he has someone who cares for him, who is not the curse I am."
This wasn't how this talk was supposed to go. "Just tell me what to do." Sansa said weakly, "I cannot make these decisions. I've already failed father once, I can't fail him again. Just tell me what to do and I will do it. Tell me what you want me to do."
Jon turned back again, "I want you to leave me alone. I am sick of it all. I do not want anything to do with anything. They can call me a turncloak or a bastard or a traitor, I don't care. Kill me if you must. I have nothing left to live for anyway." He strode down the length of the crypts, walking away from her as the Stark kings looked on.
Sansa watched him go with tears in her eyes. When he was gone, she turned to look at the statue of her father, "Tell me what to do." She said, "If Rickon becomes king, they will kill him. Tell me what to do." But her father was dead, she had already killed him so long ago, so he couldn't answer her.
That afternoon in the council, Lord Davos Seaworth held the stage. "This council is failing its purpose." He cried to the assembled lords, pacing behind the seats of his men, "There is no clear majority. The only thing between our two camps, is a matter of opinion. You say Jon Snow is a deserter, we say he fulfilled his vows by dying. You say he tried to march before he died, and we say the gods killed him for that. You say the gods revived him as well, so it wasn't much of a punishment. There is no accord being reached, and our camps are feeling it. Our men are ready to attack each other as our real enemies sit inside Winterfell, eagerly waiting for us to kill each other for them." He thumped his hands on the table, "There's no need for this battle, my lords. Thousands of men don't need to die. Only one of them. Lord Snow tried to march south to make Ramsay Snow answer for his words. The gods judged him then, they can do it again. The Bolton's bastard is in my custody. Let me give him a sword. And let Jon Snow face his judgment with his own sword in his hands."
Sansa left the council in a daze. She looked for Ser Brynden, but couldn't find it. So she left a message for him with Hallis and went to her tent, to Ghost. Her uncle came to her within the hour. "What does it mean?" She asked as soon as the Blackfish entered, hoping her Uncle will prove her fears wrong.
He didn't. "It means that we underestimated the Onion Knight. This must've been his plan all along. To get the council to agree to a trial by combat, in which he can show off his king's burning sword."
"If it burns, that is." Sansa said desperately, stepping near ghost where he sat on his haunches. "Anyway, it is only to determine whether he is a deserter or not. Not for determining who should get the throne."
"No." Ser Brynden said grimly, "Your council is for that. And when they see that sword burning, well, seeing something is different than hearing about something. Halfway through the battle, they will be imagining how that burning star would look like leading them in the battles. They will imagine the smallfolk hailing this new hero, and they will imagine their enemies cowering before him. I wouldn't be surprised if someone even kills Ramsay Snow if the battle seems like going in his favor."
And they all knew this, just like Ser Brynden did. They all still agreed to let the trial by combat happen, even the lords who currently supported Rickon, because of Sansa's speech yesterday. "They will take him for their king." Sansa said miserably, looking at her uncle. "And you?"
"I will hail him as the White Wolf, and ask him if he will want Robb's old crown or should I have a new one made for him? And I will make you present ghost to him as a gift." He saw the despair on her face, but he had no words of comfort for her. "I am not foolish enough to march against him with only the Knights of the Vale beside me. If I had even two northern lords with me, that would be a different matter." He paused. "You've brought this upon yourself." He said finally, before turning his back on her and walking away yet again.
As yet another person walk away from her, Sansa Stark looked at Ghost. He was staring at her innocently, his red eyes looking into her soul. But that was it, she realized suddenly. She could no longer feel it. The feelings, the senses that had been with her these past few days, they had all vanished. Suddenly, she was as alone again as she had been in the Red Keep.
OMG (old ones), was all the inducement given to Sansa just a plot to have Jon receive the North without any bloodshed? Or did they leave their plot to get Sansa to kill him 'cause she fucked up?
Will Jon accept kingship? We all know what he will do when he sees Ramsay Snow.
I know I shamelessly wrote the lines from the show. When I heard them the first time, I knew I was going to use them in this scene. At least I changed them a bit.
