Chaos ensued the following morning.
"A month," Bran whispered inside the Great Hall. The audience clamored, each individual louder than the next begging for their questions to be heard. Sansa could not focus on any particular person; it was a cacophony of fear, anger, and desperation.
The dead march south and all we can do is go mad.
"Lady Stark!" shouted Lyanna Mormont. The hall grew silent for the feisty, young girl as she stepped forward towards the dais. "Why were the heads of the Northern houses not consulted about taking these dragons north of the Wall? The Others could not march past and they posed no immediate threat! Now your decision has officially begun the war!" Several in the audience began tossing out their own complaints, pounding against the trestle tables in agreement.
"My Lady," Jon began sullenly. "Lady Stark only granted the request, but it was my proposal. The Others would have found a way past the Wall given enough time. By taking the dragons beyond the Wall, we were able to destroy a significant portion of their army."
"One hundred thousand dead men that cannot pass a Wall is preferred over sixty thousand dead men who can with a dead dragon in their company!" Lyanna cried out. The audience in the hall erupted again and Sansa could feel Sandor tensing up beside her.
Gods, do not lose your temper now.
"All right, quiet, the lot of you!" Sandor roared. Though the hall became quiet, Sansa noticed a few of the Northmen spit on the ground at Sandor's request. "Did you think we were hosting Dothraki screamers, an army of Unsullied, and every remaining Northern soldier for a bloody tourney? They came for a war! You came for a war! And we have another war in the south! How long did you expect to sit here on your arses and not fight?" he shouted. Sansa had to cover her mouth with the back of her hand to hide the faint smile that came upon her lips.
"If it is a war we shall have, I will hear it from the Lady then! I swore my allegiance to Lady Sansa Stark, a true, noble northern Lady, the blood of the first men in her veins, not to the dead boy king's dog!" spat Wylis Manderly.
Sansa's smile quickly faded and she stood quckly from her chair, having had enough of the disrespect towards her husband. "Lord Manderly, you are speaking to your Lord Paramount. He is no longer a Clegane but a Stark, and he sits where my father once did. You would do well to treat him with the same respect," Sansa reprimanded.
"Ned Stark, rest his poor soul," Wylis shook his head. "A most honorable man replaced by one of the least. First Petyr Baelish and now a bloody Clegane," he sighed.
Sansa clenched her fists on the table and nearly dismissed Wylis Manderly from the hall until Sandor placed his hand on top of hers. His touch was the only thing to remind her to keep her composure. As she sat back in her chair, Sandor leaned forward, glaring at the fat lord.
"You can keep your respect. I need men, swords, arrows, fucking armor. Every man in this castle will prepare from dawn to dusk whether that is working in the armory, dueling in the practice yard, or fortifying the walls. One month, that's all the lot of you get. It doesn't mean spit to me if you find me honorable but you will do as you are ordered," Sandor rasped.
Lord Manderly began to speak up defiantly until one of the Winterfell soldiers stepped forward. "Lord Manderly, I spent two months with Lord Stark traveling to and from the Wall. You must not let his reputation precede him. Unless you mean to imply that Lady Stark is incapable of choosing a proper husband?" he asked as several whispers stirred throughout the hall. Sansa watched as Wylis Manderly became flustered at the man's insinuation.
"How dare you! I would never ques-"
"Or perhaps you would have preferred that monster Petyr Baelish to remain your lord?" the man added, causing Lord Wylis' face to flush red.
"Absolutely not! Petyr Baelish will burn in all seven hells for what he did to Lady Stark!" he defended himself.
"Then I would suggest you respect the Lord and Lady of House Stark." The man nodded at her and Sandor before returning to sit at the trestle table. Wylis stood with his mouth gaped open as others snickered in the audience.
"Lord Manderly, please sit," Sansa ordered. "Winter is here. The dead march south. We will defend our lands, our homes. Your men will join Daenerys' forces and destroy those who mean to kill your children and add them to their army. If any man or woman would like to defy the orders of your Lord and Lady, speak up now." Sansa stared at every face in the in the Great Hall and saw the effect of her words. They respect me, she thought. Not one objection was raised amongst the audience.
"Prepare your men, ready your armor, do every bloody thing you can do. Any man seen lingering about will be thrown over the walls and left to fight for the other side," Sandor stood, the audience following suit and exiting the hall. He offered Sansa his hand to pull her up before making his way towards Jon on the dais.
Daenerys arose from her chair and Sansa could scarcely stand to look at the grief on her face. The whites of her eyes were red, swollen from crying. But there was also a coldness, an anger in her that Sansa had not seen before.
She lost a dragon. They are her children. What would I do if I lost my child? Sansa shuddered at the thought and placed her hand gently over the swell in her belly.
"Lady Stark, would you care to take a walk?" Daenerys offered unenthusiastically. Sansa felt Sandor's hand tighten around her own but ignored the subtle gesture for her to deny the offer.
"Of course." Sansa stood on her toes to give Sandor a kiss, sensing his uneasiness as she followed Daenerys outside of the Great Hall. The courtyard was packed full and the sounds coming from the armory and practice yard were overwhelming. Sansa gestured for Daenerys to follow her towards the godswood, escaping the sounds that came with preparing for war.
They walked in silence until the two stood in front of the weirwood tree. Daenerys studied the face engraved in the bark as if it had been the first time she had seen it.
"How is the child?" Daenerys asked, placing her hands on Sansa's belly.
Sansa looked down at her hands and began to feel apprehensive. "She feels bigger everyday," she said. "Most of my sickness has subsided."
"Good," Daenerys feigned a smile. "When I come into my throne, can I count on the North to bend the knee?" Daenerys asked as she continued to caress the fabric of Sansa's dress.
The thought of bending the knee was not a pleasant one; Sansa wanted nothing more than for the North to become an independent kingdom. That would make me a queen, Sansa thought. And Sandor a king. However, if Sansa refused to bend the knee, Daenerys could take her armies, dragons, and all of her resources and leave the North to battle the Others alone. If that were to happen, all hope would be lost.
"Your aid in this war will win over many of the Northmen," Sansa said. It was not entirely a lie. Many would learn to respect her if her dragons and armies kept them alive during the Long Night.
But will they respect her more than me? Or will my men declare that I become Queen in the North?
"You are a powerful woman, Lady Sansa. That man, Petyr Baelish, said so right before being executed. I assume there are many others who share the belief that you are capable to rule over the North," she expressed, continuing to rub the spot where Sansa's child grew. "However, during my reign, the North will not be permitted to become an independent kingdom. You and your husband must bend the knee," Daenerys' swollen lilac eyes met Sansa's.
"The North will help you win the throne. You might consider granting us our independence for many of my men will die for you to reign." Daenerys' face became still, her hands pressing firmer into Sansa's belly.
"Your men will help me win the throne because I will help the North win against these dead men that come after you," Daenerys replied unkindly.
"Every living man and woman should be on our side. It is not us you should fight for but the realm you wish to rule. If Cersei Lannister had any honor she would be here, fighting for the living, even if that means becoming our ally." Sansa did not realize how combative her tone had become until she finished speaking. Daenerys did not respond, but instead smiled, returning her gaze back to Sansa's belly.
"When I claim the throne which is my birthright, I will legitimze your brother. He will then become Jon Stark, eldest surviving son of Eddard Stark. I may not have been raised in Westeros, but I am familiar with custom. I believe that would make Jon's claim better than your own, the proper Lord of Winterfell," Daenerys said in a hushed voice.
"My husband is the Lord of Winterfell," Sansa defended, pulling herself away from Daenerys' touch.
"Until he is not. Valar morghulis." Daenerys whispered before departing the godswood.