Sansa

In the main courtyard, steel met steel and arrows flew from bows into straw men. Jon's orders to have more people trained in combat were being followed in full vigor. Over seeing all of it was Ser Kyle, the Master-at-arms. He was strolling about the yard – feet crunching in the snow & the bottom of his cloak getting caught in the wind – observing his men-at-arms running through drills with their trainees. The knight was a handsome man with a pair of bright green eyes complimented by golden brown hair that he let grow as as fair his shoudlers. Lining his jaw was a beard of the same colour that was allowed to grow thick to comabt the cold. Sansa had never bothered to notice this about the knight before, but her attention was drawn to it as Ser Kyle bent his toros to bow slightly as she briskly stepped outside the main keep with Brienne at her side and Pod close behind them.

"See about joining in with the others Pod," Brienne told him, "I will be training Princess Sansa on her own."

"Yes, My Lady," Pod answered, before doing as he was bid.

"What shall we be doing today Brienne?" Sansa asked her sworn sword.

"I thought I might get you on horseback, My Lady," she answered. Sansa raised her eyebrows, the corners of her lips curling upwards slightly.

The pair retrieved their mounts from the stable and pulled themselves up into their saddles. They trotted into the northern courtyard, choosing it for being less crowded than the main courtyard where others practiced there swordplay. The hooves clopped softly through the snow as the two horses carried Sansa & Brienne. Sansa always looked forward to training. Today, it would hopefully be a good way to relieve some of her stress.

She'd held her first court on her own this morning. Normally, when Jon was at Winterfell, she only played the role of advisor during court, but today it'd been her making the final decisions. Luckily, she'd had Brienne and Maester Wolkan by her sides, lending advise. Most of those who'd come to court were smallfolk from nearby villages, towns and communes asking for a place in the castle now that winter was upon them. Winterfell was well equipped for these sorts of cases. Every winter saw smallfolk moving from their farms in the surrounding countryside to the castle, requesting to take up residence. None of these smallfolk were turned away, the cases easy to deal with. The stress had only come when a petty lord in charge of a holdfast near Winterfell started complaining about the increased amount of food that he had to send to the castle this winter.

"This is obsurd," the lord had said. "How do you expect me to feed me and mine for the whole winter if you take more of my food?"

"Because, My Lord, it is very likely, certain even, that your smallfolk will be called to take shelter in Winterfell for their own safety," Sansa had told him. "And you yourself will be called upon to bring what men you have in your household to fight against the White Walkers when the time comes that King Jon decides the time is right to take the fight to them."

The lord had spat. "Bugger that. My food is needed to feed my children, men-at-arms and smallfolk, not the smallfolk of other lords that would be staying in this castle."

Sansa had kept calm while saying, "Guards, please escort this man to the dungeon. Perhaps a few days in a cell will help him come to realise that we all need to work together to survive the coming threat." The petty lord was dragged out of the hall, kicking and screaming. Sansa had continued on in court, doing her best to act like what she'd done had been natural rather than making her extremely nervous: she wasn't very confident yet about ruling by herself without Jon. The two of them had been relying on each other since Jon was named King.

"I think we should begin by simply hitting our steel together while moving slowly on our horses," Brienne began. "Swordplay on horseback is obviously more complicated than on foot because you're having to control your mount at the same time as worrying about your opponent." Sansa simply nodded along.

They began by first lightly clashing their blunt steel, picking up speed gradually. Eventually they got to winding their blades around each other, so Sansa could get a feel for how to properly handle steel on horseback. After that they performed their first proper duel, keeping their horses still for the first. Brienne won – unsurprisingly – but Sansa felt her confidence grow enough to begin moving their mounts.

Swords clashed atop horses. Brienne's sword thrusted toward her. Sansa deflected it to her left, winding her own blade around the top of her opponent's to then slide it down toward the crossguard. She kept her mount under her control during the sword maneuver with the riens in her left hand, tightly wound around her fist. The blunt tip of Sansa's sword pressed lightly against the skin of Brienne's neck. A smirk grew on Sansa's face. "Dead," she simply stated.

"Yes," Brienne agreed. They left the bind and brought their arming swords back toward them. "You're certainly feeling the blade as part of your arm now. But on horseback you need to remember that your mount is a target as well." Brienne laid her sword in against the neck of Sansa's horse. "The horse is easier to hit than you are." Sansa gave a nod before they continued with a number of more duels. Brienne won most of them. Sansa could not help but think back to when she & Theon were being chased by Bolton men after escaping Winterfell, of Brienne & Pod riding to their aid. As the sparring continued, Sansa felt her arm growing more tired, but the stress seemed to be going anyway. That was until a guardsman came running into the courtyard, yelling for her.

"My Lady," he shouted, armour rattling. "Princess Sansa."

Sansa left her duel, bringing her horse around to face him. "What is it?" she asked plainly.

"Lord Baelish is trying to leave," the guardsman answered.

Sansa turned her head round and gave Brienne a nod. Returning her attention to the guardsman, "Thank you for telling me." She and Brienne dropped their sparring swords on the ground. "Take those to Ser Kyle." The guardsmen gave a nod as Sansa's stirrups went into her horse and she cantered to leave the courtyard.

"Clear the way!" she called those in her path. Her horse broke into a gallop and the people in front of her made way as she travelled all the way around the castle to the southern courtyard; Brienne following. She didn't take the shorter trip through the main courtyard because she knew it was far too crowded to gallop through.

Baelish was atop a horse in front of the southern gate, barking at the guards, "Let me through. I have urgent buisness to attend in the Eyrie."

Sansa brought her mount to a stop a meter from Littlefinger's. "Lord Baelish," she greeted him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'll tell you what I've told these guards, My Lady," he replied. "I need to return to the Eyrie in order to see to ugrent buisness."

"And how urgent is your buisness that it would require you to disobey an order given to you by your King?" Sansa asked.

"Winter has hit the Vale harder than I expected. I need to be there to organise the effort to properly provide for my smallfolk."

"You were ordered by King Jon to remain in Winterfell. Regardless of what needs to be done in the Vale, you will follow that order. Otherwise you will be commiting treason."

"Sansa, ple–"

"You will refer to me as 'My Lady' or 'Princess Sansa,'" Sansa snapped. "I will not have my athuority undermined. His Grace, King Jon, put me in charge of Winterfell and I will follow the orders he gave me, so will you. I remember you telling me yourself that the Vale has competent people running it while you are away. If you're so eager to know what state the Vale is in then send a raven and ask. I'm sure my cousin Robin will understand that you can't be there due to a royal order."

"This is outrageous. I will not be held hostage here."

"Then you should have thought twice about admitting to me that you think I should wear the northern crown." Baelish huffed, scowled, then brought his horse around. He broke it into a canter in the direction of the stables and Sansa smiled at herself for how well she handled the situation. Brienne came alongside her.

"That went as expected," she observed.

"If we're lucky, he'll try to leave again and then we'll have cause to throw him in a cell."

"But he's smart, so he won't. He'll keep to himself."

"Sending ravens with whatever information he thinks will get the crown off Jon's head and on mine. But we shan't worry about that."

"Why not, My Lady?"

"Wolkan is going to keep records of every raven sent & recieved. Who wrote them, who they were intended for, where they were going or came from. It will mean Littlefinger can't send a message without us knowing what it's about and also means he has no good reason to think he's being singled out."

"Well that's a good way to keep on top Baelish's plotting."

Sansa nodded. "Of course it was under the guise that Jon wanted the record kept so he could read them once he returned."

"Was it his idea?"

"Yes." She turned her head to Brienne. "I'm honestly surprised how quickly her learnt to play the game." She smiled her admiration for her brother. Changing her tone, "I think that'll be all the sparring I'll do for now. I've need to speak to Bran."

"Of course, My Lady. Would you like me to accompany you?"

"No. Get Podrick sharper."

Brienne gave a nod and circled her horse around toward the main courtyard. Sansa took her own mount to the stables, dismounting with ellagance and handing the riens to a stableboy. She left the stables and made her way round to the entrance of the crypts.

Down she went, making in the direction of the Weirwood throne chamber once she came to the bottom of the stairs. Her cloak dragged behind her and her footsteps echoed against the stone of the archs she passed underneath. Coming to the chamber where Bran spent his days, she took a seat on his wheelchair. Her brother was lost in the past, looking for something or discovering an event no one had known of. Being honest to herself, Sansa still wasn't entirely convinced by his ability to see the past; but she knew Bran wouldn't lie to her or Jon about such things, so she'd kept her secpticsism to herself up to now. Then he was back, fully alert and a smile on his face when he saw Sansa. Perhaps I'll ask him about it now.

"Well done," Bran told her.

"About Littlefinger? How did you know?" Sansa asked, confused.

"I was watching. Besides seeing the past, I can also control animals. It's call warging."

She chuckled playfully. "Prove it."

"Alright. A crow will fly in here and land on your shoulder. It will be me."

His eyes rolled back until they were just white. Sansa instinctively went to check her brother was fine. He was. After a minute or so, she heard a crow's quork echoing from the crypts. Looking toward the chamber entrance, she saw it glide in, coming to land on her shoulder. Sansa stared at it, apprehensive. The crow rubbed its beak against her temple. Sanas flinched as it moved.

"I told you so," Bran said as the crow flew off. Sansa looked at him, impressed.

"Littlefigner will keep to himself for now, if he knows what's good for him."

Bran smiled. "I'm glad to hear."

Sansa nodded, then took hold of his nearest hand. "Since you've just proven you can control animals, do you think you could prove your ability to see the past? I don't think you'd lie to me, it's just quite far fetched thing and I'm not entirely convinced."

Bran's faced darkened all of a sudden. "Not to worry," he replied with anger bleeding into his voice. his grip on her hand tightening, "it's only a problem if you have twins."

Sansa's hand instinctively covered her left breast, a phantom pain filling that part of her chest; face grave, eyes wide. "H-how?" she stammered.

"I wanted to cut that bastard's throat when I saw him mutilate you," Bran told her, subdued.

"But how would you know to look for it?" Sansa asked.

"I didn't. When I go into the past, events that I see are much like a dream. One flows to another naturally, usual linked by a person in each of them. When I first touched our Weirwood, I had all of history to look at. I wanted to see our family. When I thought of you, your wedding to Ramsay appeared to me and it was followed by him mutilating you."

"You saw me nak–"

"Yes, I saw you naked. I barely remember what you looked like, so don't berate me. I would rather I never saw it." His tone calmed. "Is it alright? A wound like that would be easily infected."

"Maester Wolkan came to me as early as he could and applied a medicine and a cover. He and I and Ramsay were the only ones to ever know."

Bran brought Sansa's hand up, his lips meeting the leather glove she wore as he kissed the back of it. "You're safe now. I'll look after you. Jon'll look after you. We're a pack again, in our den, where we belong."

"And Arya's somewhere. Lost." A tear came to her eye at the thought of her sister. "She's in Westeros at least. But we don't know when she'll be home."

"She'll come home. Don't worry."

Sansa gave a small nod, smiling a small smile, before standing to leave. When she reached the arch connecting the throne chamber and the crypts, Sansa stopped to turn back around. "I rememebr you mentioning being able to see the future as well."

"Yes," Bran replied. "Glimpes."

Sansa moved back toward him. "Can you look for mine?"

Bran gave a nod then touched one of the roots forming the throne. He was gone for a brief time and when he returned, Bran told her blankly, "You will be the Queen in the North."

The shock hit her like a sledehammer against her head. "Me... Queen in the North?" Bran nodded, emoitonless. The panic set in and she ran, first to the crypt entrance and then to the main courtyard where Ser Kyle was. Sansa didn't care if she didn't look lady-like, this was too important to worry about looking proper. "Ser Kyle!" she barked.

The Master-at-arms turned to her, worried. "Yes, My Lady?" he said.

"I want you to send your fastest rider to catch up with King Jon. I'm certain that there is an assassin amoung his men or the men he's transporting. I also want men keeping close to Prince Bran day and night, I believe his live is at risk as well."

Ser Kyle nodded, face serious. "I will see to it immediately."

The rider left through the northern gate and Sansa saw him off personally, telling him to ride as hard as he could to catch with up His Grace. She stood there, watching the horse kick up snow & mud behind it, thundering up the Kingsroad, appearing smaller with each meter it travelled north. I don't want to be Queen if it means Jon has to die for it. She did not know what she would do if the news came back that Jon was dead. The realm would be doomed, of that she was sure. And all Littlefinger will have to do is have Bran killed before he can say the Vale will only be an ally to the North if I marry him. For a brief moment, she thought, The White Walkers are a better fate than that.