"The bones remember. The strongest glamors are built of such things. A dead man's boots, a hank of hair, a bag of fingerbones. With whispered words and prayer, a man's shadow can be drawn forth from such and draped about another like a cloak. The wearer's essence does not change, only his seeming."

-ADWD, Melisandre I

Life as a queen was even busier than it was as a lady or a bastard. She took to writing letters to all the lords who would rally behind her. They were lords who had fought for Robb, or were liege lords to House Tully in the riverlands - who were under siege from the Lannisters. She might sit in Littlefinger's solar from dawn until dusk on some days, as the days grew ever colder. Sometimes she thought with amusement that she might have claim to Casterly Rock itself as she was still married to Tyrion Lannister. But they had still not found her erstwhile husband. Littlefinger suspected he had long left Westeros - no one had seen hide nor hair of him for some time. Cersei was considering the man dead which meant that Casterly Rock seemed bereft of an heir for the moment.

She caught up on other news from the realm. Kevan Lannister, hand of the King, had been found murdered by crossbow. Curious, she thought, that he had died much the same way as his brother, Tywin. Cersei's trial had found her innocent, her champion Lord Robert Strong had easily destroyed his opponent, apparently. With her position as Queen restored, it was rumoured she was livid at hearing the news of Queen Sansa. Her hands were tied, however, as there were far more threats to deal with at her doorstep with Queen Margaery right under her nose, and rumours of another queen from the East - Danaerys Targaryen who was rumoured to have three dragons at her beck and call. She understood now what Littlefinger had meant by three queens - but perhaps even he had not expected the fourth nor the dragons. She pondered King Tommen's position in King's Landing, how secure a seat did he sit in the face of three dragons?

In one of the brief moments, Littlefinger was available to see her, they sat together drinking mulled wine to chase away the chills in his solar, discussing their plans. "The Tyrells were staunch loyalists during Robert's Rebellion. There is a chance that they will betray the Lannisters, even if it means Tommen is undermined. Perhaps they hope to marry Margaery to the man who calls himself Aegon Targaryen. He has taken the Stormlands." Littlefinger sipped his wine contemplatively.

"Is it truly Aegon? I had heard he was killed by Gregor Clegane." Sansa asked. "And what of the princess Rhaenys, does she live too?"

"Perhaps she will reappear too. It is hard to say, my dear. If people believe he is Aegon, then he is Aegon. Who else could he be?" Littlefinger said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. She knew he was not entirely convinced. But for now, they had to see what the reception to the long lost Aegon would be by the realm.

"What of Dorne?" Sansa asked.

"Old Doran Martell holds his cards close to his chest. I am concerned, however, he has a young beautiful daughter, Arianne, who would also be a good queen consort for Aegon. It would benefit both very much to ally. I cannot know for sure, but there may also be a connection with Danaerys."

"How do you know?"

"I was informed that his son Quentyn went east, likely to broker a marriage agreement."

Sansa pondered this. Finally, she asked. "What of us?"

"At present, we have the Vale and little else except Harrenhal which is now my seat. Otherwise, our position is precarious." Riverrun was now in the hands of the Freys, with her Uncle Edmure held captive at Casterly Rock- she wondered if she should move south and consolidate her power in the Riverlands, a strategic position, but the Lannisters held it. It was too close to Casterly Rock and they would need to expend significant resources to keep it.

It was starting to seem like the only option to go North. She felt a strong yearning to reclaim Winterfell and be reunited with Arya. She had missed her with every fibre of her being. But even that decision, needed to be deliberated. In the East, Dragonstone had fallen to the Tyrells besieged by Loras Tyrell who apparently lay dying. Stannis was in the North, marching on the Boltons according to reports. Her Uncle Brynden had counselled her strongly to find allies.

"What must we do?" She asked.

He smiled at her, an almost mocking grin. "By now you must trust me, Sansa. Chaos is a ladder, and we will adeptly climb it. For now, we await our chance."

The rest of her time was spent in deep thought in the solar. When she was not reading or writing, the Lords Declarant visited her to discuss their plans. All that time, she was attended by her Uncle Brynden and Ser Byron. She refused to be in the room without them. But in fact, Sweetrobin often sent other Winged Knights to guard his Queen. He was in better health than she had ever seen him. Maester Coleman attended him closely. She had heard he was finally getting lessons in riding and fighting as well. She considered, with amusement, that perhaps he might be a worthy consort for her after all.

He spent his free time with her, reading intently and otherwise occupying himself. When she asked about his change in behaviour of Maester Coleman, she heard that he had resolved to become a man worthy of a queen, a man like the Winged Knight. Maester Coleman was dosing the boy nightly with pepper juice she heard to reduce the sweetsleep in his body, and it seemed to be having a positive effect on his shaking.

She saw little and less of Littlefinger as the days wore on. He told her he was preparing himself for a trip south as an envoy for her. "There are pieces to move to clear the board for you, sweetling. Trust in me. Have I steered you wrong yet?" She shook her head. He referred to her as sweetling more and more when they were alone, and sometimes his hands would run themselves up her arm or around her waist. It was only a matter of time before he lost patience. She was grateful he was leaving as she was not sure if she could hold him off any longer. Between Sweetrobin and Littlefinger she had her hands full.

As the days wore on, and the stars came out, she was always exhausted. She was alone in the solar, with Ser Byron standing beside her. The man had seated himself in an armchair, and was studying a book with his scabbard across his lap. She stood stretching and nearly fell. Ser Byron, with extreme agility, managed to grab her arm and keep her aloft. "Thank you, ser." She said. "I must have stood too quickly."

"Not at all, your grace," He said to her, ever polite. She sometimes sensed he was hiding something beneath the perfect facade. She had seen how his eyes watched her, how intently he protected her. He reminded her sometimes of the Hound, when he let that polite facade drop, she could not quite put her finger on it, perhaps it was a taste for irony. He was very comely. It would not be the first time a queen had had a dalliance with one of her sworn shields. She thought of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Criston Cole and how badly that had ended. She shook her head, dismissing the thoughts from her mind.

But she loathed to retire to her rooms alone, and felt in need of a glass of wine to cool her nerves. She wondered if she should ask him to join her. He noticed her staring at him. "Is something the matter, your grace?"

She shook her head, smiling. "I am just wondering, Ser Byron, if you would acquiesce to a drink with me."

He seemed shocked. "Your Grace?"

"I would not drink alone, ser. It is unseemly. It would be nice to speak to someone about things that do not concern-" She gestured to her crown. "- this. It grows tiresome to speak of grave matters all day."

"I would be honoured, your Grace. But I must let you know that I do not drink."

"If I may enquire, why not, ser?"

"I believe that a man should keep his mind clear, your grace. Wine can enflame a man's worst nature." he told her.

"I see. I hope you do not mind if I partake. What do you drink, ser?"

"Water, your grace. It is pure and sweet in the Vale."

She directed a servant to fetch wine and water from the kitchen while they retired to the balcony in her new rooms. She had been given the best rooms in the castle after her crowning. They were lavishly decorated - by Myranda herself. The bed was plush, the sky blue curtains were rich velvet, and the chamber had two wooden double-doors that opened onto a wide halfmoon balcony. There was always a grate with a fire burning within it in the centre of the balcony, with attendants to keep it going.

As they entered her rooms, her puppy Sandy rushed up to greet them, tail wagging furiously. She sometimes felt tears well up when she saw the dog, thinking of poor Harrold. She picked him up to cuddle him. She glanced back at Ser Byron, and in a split second, she saw the man's brow furrow. She smiled uncertainly at him, and was surprised when he took the puppy from her arms. He still did not speak, gently stroking the puppy who wagged his tail furiously.

"What is his name, your grace?" He finally asked.

"Sandy," she said.

The man flushed. Perhaps it was warm in the room, she wondered. "Sandy?" He said gruffly.

"For his fur - the colour, you see."

"Of course," he nodded. He wore a strange half-smile.

With the puppy in his arms, they retired to the balcony. She took a cushy seat beside the fire, enrobed herself in thick furs and pondered the view before her. The Vale stretched out before her under the shadow of evening. The air was clear tonight with no clouds. Bright stars glittered overhead, highlighted against the dark silhouettes of the mountains, and the peak of the Giant's Lance. They could hear, distantly, the rush of Alyssa's tears.

Ser Byron took a seat opposite her. She could see his handsome face illuminated by the flickering flames as well as the sparkling rubies he wore on his armour. Every flick of the embers cast a strange shadow on his face. At times, she saw a darker man, with lower brows and a cruel mouth, at times she saw the handsome blonde with calm green eyes. She thought she must be going crazy. They were served their goblets of wine and water. He kept the dog on his lap, where the pup swiftly fell asleep beneath his large hand.

She sipped her wine, amused.

"What grieves you so, your grace, that you must summon this old sword to lend you an ear?" He said courteously.

She smiled at him. "You are hardly old, ser Byron."

"I am old enough," He responded, sipping his water.

She wondered what that meant. Their eyes met over the rim of his goblet, and she knew he meant for her to answer his previous question. She knew she could not trust anyone, as handsome as they appeared. She had learnt that lesson a long time ago.

"A lady must keep some secrets. A queen should keep them all." She teased him in answer. In truth, she worried daily about her position. She was a target more than ever for Cersei. There were stronger players on the board at every turn. She risked gaining power only to be dashed into oblivion and lose everything. She needed to think very carefully. The best way forward increasingly seemed to be the North. She would be on fairer footing there, and with Stannis's attack on the Boltons, either side would be weak - this meant Winterfell could be retaken by her Valemen. She did not know what Littlefinger was planning, but she was filled with conviction that this was the right way forward. There was no way back but home. She thought of the snow castle she had built once upon a time in the Eyrie. Winterfell is where I belong.

She realised she had been quiet and pensive for too long. He was watching her curiously. She sought for a safer topic to discuss.

"Where did you get your horse, ser?" She asked, thinking of the beautiful dark stallion.

"I bought him near Darry, he was being sold by a most curious salesman. An earless man..."

"What is his name?"

"The horse or the man?"

She gave him a reluctant smile. "The horse."

"Driftwood they called him."

"Your limp does not seem to impede your prowess ahorse."

"Nor in battle, your grace." He said. She recalled the silent brother she had seen in the sept on the day of the tourney. It was curious, he limped too.

She probed once more. "Lord Baelish tells me you hail from the Westerlands."

"Yes, near Lannisport."

"You have the look of a Lannister."

"So I've been told, your grace."

"I knew someone from near there once," She said, not sure why she was telling him. "He was a fearsome man. Not nearly as well mannered as yourself, my lord. But in the end, he certainly was one of the greatest friends I have ever known." She smiled at him. To her surprise he smirked back.

"Does he have a name, this friend, perhaps I know of him?"

"He is gone now. I have heard news that he perished, slain."

"I'm sorry to hear that, my lady."

"I dream of him sometimes." She said. It was more than sometimes, she might even describe it as often. She glanced at him, and was certain that his expression revealed a burning curiosity, but he restrained himself and did not ask her more. She decided to have mercy on him.

"I do not know why I have these dreams. I suppose I imagined I would meet him once more, perhaps to thank him for all he did for me. He saved me countless times."

The man was silent for a time. "While the gods may take away those we love, I have sometimes thought that they remain with us somehow. Wherever he may be, I am sure your friend hears your words and your gratitude."

She supposed she must be satisfied with that response but she knew that there was more to Ser Byron than appearance suggested. He was far too soft and genteel to be like the Hound, even if she sometimes saw glimpses of the man in him. Perhaps it was just aspects of him that recalled the ferocious man - the way he jousted, for example.

"You said in the tourney that you fight for love, ser. Is this love of a lady, your liege lord, or…?" She enquired, innocently curious.

He nearly smirked at that. "I knew a lady once, she meant a great deal to me. I thought I had lost her but thankfully she appeared before me once more. She was changed. I hardly knew her, and she I, and now she seems further than ever. I fear I will lose her again." He gazed out at the starlit landscape.

"Will your lady not be jealous that you spend your days protecting another?" She asked.

He looked at her now, and asked, "Would she?" They stared at one another. Once again, she wondered what he meant by that. There was a kind of frisson in the air.

He sighed out a half-laugh. "I jest, your grace. I do not know what she thinks, only how I feel, which she does not know."

"Perhaps you should speak your heart to her, ser."

This seemed to bother him. He gently placed the dog on the cushion, and rose. What rapport they had established seemed to evaporate.

"Your grace, the hour grows late and there is a chill in the air. I suggest your grace returns to her bed lest she catch cold. I will keep the shadows at bay while you rest." He said, smiling tightly.

She nodded. "I will, ser. Good night."

"Good night, your Grace." He rasped, his voice low and husky.

Once again she found herself in another council meeting. Even though she was the Queen of precious little, there were many matters at hand to attend to.

Lady Waynwood spoke. "Your uncle Edmure has been taken to Casterly Rock. It may be that we go West to rescue him."

Ser Byron was at her side as always. She turned to him, "Ser Byron, you are a Westerman. Is this wise?"

Littlefinger's eyes flickered to the man.

"Casterly Rock is near impenetrable. Even with 6000 men it is folly, your grace." Byron answered.

Sansa nodded thoughtfully.

There was a knock on the wooden door. A squire appeared, out of breath and breathing hard, he leaned against the wall to keep himself upright. "Your grace, my apologies but there are visitors without. They request that you see them urgently."

"Who are these visitors?" Lord Bronze Yohn Royce asked sharply.

"A terrifying l-lady knight with a scarred face who calls herself Brienne of Tarth." The squire answered.

Sansa exchanged a glance with Petyr.

"Tarth of the Sapphire Isles? Was she not sworn to Renly Baratheon?" said ser Lyn Corbray.

"Yes," Lord Nestor Royce said darkly.

The Blackfish interjected. "She was, until she swore an oath to my niece, Lady Catelyn Stark."

At that, Sansa stood. "My apologies, my lords, I will speak to Lady Brienne. Lord Baelish, Uncle Brynden, may you accompany me?" She left the room and followed the squire. Ser Byron, Littlefinger and the Blackfish followed behind her.

"My, my, you have become our queen's shadow, Ser Byron." Littlefinger commented as they walked. "I have not seen one without the other since our tournament."

"A queen always needs a good shield." Byron replied.

"I would rather him here than not, Littlefinger," said the Blackfish. "The crown is ever in need of loyal swords."

They came to the great hall to receive their guests. Sansa instructed a servant to begin preparing wine and food.

Lady Brienne was one of the largest people she had ever seen, as large as the Hound, and all in armour. She would have appeared to be a knight in totality were it not for her clearly feminine face: she had big blue eyes, long thin blonde hair and freckles but her cheeks were badly scarred from some terrible wound - like an animal attack. She was not pretty but she was no doubt a woman. Her eyes widened at the sight of Sansa. She was accompanied by a man who was plain of face, with many battle scars and a sigil of a brown deer slung on a pole; and another man who wore plain armour, beneath a hood. Sansa could not see his face, and would not know him. There was also a squire, a boy she recognised at once.

"Podrick?" She asked of him, shocked.

"Lady Sansa…" He said, nodding politely and somewhat shyly.

"Queen Sansa," Brienne told him not ungently.

"Q-q-queen S-sansa," He said again, stuttering.

"How have you come to be with Lady Brienne, Podrick?"

"I left King's Landing not long after Joffrey's wedding, my la- your grace, to find Lady Brienne who was searching for you. I had hoped that finding you would lead me to my Lord Tyrion."

"Alas, my lord husband is not with me. I know not where he is nor whether he still lives." Sansa answered, feeling a bit sorry for the boy. He was skinnier than she recalled. She noted his neck was badly bruised and inflamed. Despite this, he seemed stronger somehow and more confident. Before he could only blush when she spoke to him, now they flushed only a little. He looked crestfallen at her words.

She glanced at Lady Brienne who spoke next.

"Your grace, we are here as envoys from beyond the grave, I was sworn to your lady mother, Lady Catelyn. She bid me to find you and your sister Arya before her passing. I am here to swear my service to you, and return you to Winterfell as your mother wished. I bear a sword made with the steel from your own lord father's blade Ice. Here it is, your grace, Oathkeeper which I do pledge to you." The Lady Brienne kneeled before her.

This was Ice? It looked nothing like her father's great sword. It was decorated with rubies. She felt ill thinking of the damage done to it. Ice had been the Stark's valyrian steel sword for thousands of years.

Sansa also thought of her lady mother. She missed her often. Her wisdom, her kind words, her long auburn hair so much like her own. She had been nothing like Lady Lysa, she thought. Had she really sent this lady knight to her from beyond the grave?

"I am grateful. My lady, your party must have travelled far to find me. Please enjoy food and drink from our hearth, we have much to discuss." Sansa said, as the servants came into the room bearing the food she had ordered earlier.

Ser Byron spoke next, his voice rough. "Not before he shows us his face." The servants who had been preparing the table slowed their movement to stare. Byron pointed at the man who hid his face beneath the hood. Sansa glanced at the man, he was uncharacteristically uncourteous.

"My lady, good ser, I shall repeat my man's request once more, please may you show us your face so we may know your countenance. You must forgive our rudeness," she said, "but there are ever shadows in the dark."

Lady Brienne looked somewhat pained. "Your grace, may we speak privately perhaps?"

This time Littlefinger spoke, a sibilant whisper, "That would not do, Lady Brienne."

"Introduce yourselves, sers," Lady Brienne said nervously to her party.

"I am ser Hyle Hunt, of House Hunt, formerly bannerman to House Tarly in the Reach." The plain man said.

The other man lowered his hood to his shoulders. There were gasps.

"Lannister?" Ser Byron spat.

"Ser Jaime?" Sansa breathed - too shocked to wonder too much how Byron knew Jaime.

"My lord," Littlefinger said in a clipped tone, ever polite.

"Lannister?" roared the Blackfish.

Ser Byron and the Blackfish both drew their weapons.

Sansa frowned deeply. "I do not understand this, Lady Brienne, but I do not think we can have this man at our hearth." This was not good. They had bared their weapons in the great hall - near as bad as Freys. It was good that Byron had stopped them. She vowed to thank him later. She nearly relished having Jaime in reach, she could only imagine Cersei's expression.

"Wait, my lords!" Lady Brienne petitioned. "We are all here as Lady Catelyn requested."

"You dare show your face in the Vale, Kingslayer?" snarled the Blackfish, brandishing his weapon.

"I am here to help, Blackfish, if you will hear me." Jaime pleaded. Sansa noted his missing hand, now golden, his ragged clothing and dirty countenance. He looked far older and wearier than she remembered.

"I've listened to you far too many times," the Blackfish snarled back. "I do not intend to again."

Jaime sighed. "Put me in chains if it please you, but I will speak to her grace, Queen Sansa. I came here under my own volition knowing the risk."

"You came here under a false identity," Ser Byron added, roughly. He seemed an entirely different person now.

Jaime took note of him, squinting closely. "Do I know you?" He asked. "I don't believe we've met."

"I believe we should continue this discussion in the gaol. Lord Baelish, summon Lord Nestor. Lady Brienne, unfortunately, I will be imprisoning yourself as well, until this matter is resolved." Sansa commanded. "I am sorry Podrick, Ser Hyle."

Lady Brienne nodded. "I understand, my lady." In the next moment, Lady Brienne and her party were all escorted to Lord Nestor's gaol. Sansa, ever courteous, sent the food after them as well. She was curious about Lady Brienne's story, but preferred to err on the side of caution.

"I will visit them in the gaol tomorrow." Sansa said. "It is late."

"This is folly, Sansa," her Uncle Brynden told her. "We should have beheaded him and sent it to Cersei. The Lords Declarant will not like this."

"I would hear their story." She replied in a tone that suggested the matter was settled.

Littlefinger stroked his pointed beard. "Hmm, I believe...this may work in our favour."

Sansa glanced at Ser Byron whose eyes narrowed.

She retired to her large, fluffy bed very late in the end. She collapsed into the sheets, with barely enough energy to undress. Her mind was racing after they had sat in the solar once more to discuss the latest developments. Her ladies were all fast asleep in their quarters. She did not have the heart to rouse them, and besides she could undress herself. She struggled groggily with her laces for a bit and shrugged out of her gown. She wore only a slip now. It was nearly morning, she thought, judging from the sounds of birds already singing in the gloom outside her windows.

She went to her window, to close the curtains but a shadow moved in the sill. She stepped back in fear. The dog roused, suspicious but he did not bark instead his tail began to wag. There was a hooded man in the window, she saw. She had started carrying a knife on her person at all times, for exactly this purpose, and held it aloft now towards him, terrified.

He stepped down to the floor off the sill. She almost jumped out of her skin.

The dog went to lick his hands. "Sandy!" She cautioned, but the man did not slow.

Her heart was in her throat. She was too terrified to cry out. He came towards her, something red glinting in the dim candle light on his chest. Ser Byron? He came towards her, a huge man, hulking with large muscles beneath his dark clothing. He was terribly familiar. She was now certain it was the silent brother she had met in the sept.

"Show me your face," She commanded, in a voice that was just barely above a whisper. He lifted his head, beneath his hood was simply shadow, his features obscured by the light of the moon falling through the window glass. She remembered now. He stepped closer. You came to me like this once before.

He kept his silence. "Are you afraid to speak to me?" She asked. He shook his head, removing the hood.

She felt the fear dissipate suddenly. She saw the burned face, the dark hair, the hard eyes - but somehow they were different than she remembered.

"Sandor?" He waited, almost shyly, watching her reaction. Still not speaking, almost as if he could not trust himself. She stepped towards him again, lowering the knife. It clattered to the floor.

"You left me in King's Landing, with nothing but a cloak and a kiss…" She murmured.

He was so close now. She saw his eyes widen.

"A kiss?" He said gruffly. Finally, he was moved to speak. "I did not kiss you, but I should have."

"You don't remember?" Her heart sank. She was a bit hurt, but she was almost in his arms now. It felt exactly as she had imagined in her dreams.

"Little bird…" He murmured, his voice was deep and rough but his touch was gentle. He touched her as if she was a little bird. "Shall I make amends?"

He pulled her closer. She tilted her chin up, staring into his eyes. They were gentler now, as if his rage had been cooled. It was nothing like the night of the battle of Blackwater. She wanted him, she realised. She could see in his eyes that he wanted her too but he seemed uncertain.

"Please," she whispered. "Sandor…"

He lowered his mouth towards hers. He kissed her. Her heart sang. She did not wriggle away as she did when Petyr kissed her. Sandor Clegane held her tightly, closely and he was warm and she felt safe. She knew no one would ever hurt her again. He would never let them.

She felt tears streaming down her face. Gently, he wiped them away. She saw him closely now, he had changed. She knew it in her heart.

"It was not you in Saltpans," Sansa said, muffled into his chest. "I know it wasn't."

"It wasn't. But there is time for that tale later. I cannot stay long." He said.

"You may stay...if it please you." She said, softly. Sandor shook his head.

"You are a queen now, Sansa." He rasped. "Your place is in the North. But the path there will be beset with enemies everywhere. I will be here to protect you...I won't let them hurt you."

She nodded, hugging him close. "Why did you come tonight?"

"I would speak my heart…" She glanced up at him, remembering she had said that in the conversation with Ser Byron.

His burnt face was close, as terrible as she remembered it, but it broke her heart to think of the pain he must have endured at his brother's hands. She gently touched the scorched red skin and traced her fingers along his jaw. She felt him shiver at her touch.

"Sansa…" he breathed.

She pulled him closer for another kiss, but he did not indulge her but gripped her shoulders urgently.

"I am here to warn you to be wary of Littlefinger. Every word from his lips is a lie. I've seen the web he spins, he is far worse than Varys." Sandor rasped.

"I need him…" Sansa admitted. "He will help me reclaim Winterfell. I would see my sister. I have no other allies. My situation is dire. A queen of nothing."

Sandor nodded, his face seemed worried. "Arya…" He murmured. "I wonder if it truly is her."

She tilted her head, confused at his familiarity. He shook his head at her expression. "I must go. Another time. There is much to discuss. For now...keep your wits about you - always," Sandor paused here, and said in a half-growl. "Littlefinger desires you."

"I know." She said. His face contorted into a familiar expression of rage. He is jealous, she realised. She pulled him towards her once more.

"I have only dreamed of you." She told him. He reluctantly seemed to let go of her hand.

"I must go but I will always be near." He told her, and went back to the window. She saw a glint of red in his palm as he left.

When he left, she dreaded sleep, hoping it was not a dream she would be forced to wake up from.

A/N: It has been quite fun trying to figure out where GRRM hopes to go with the end of the Song. There are so many moving parts and loyalties and allegiances, it is so hard to keep track of but I have tried. If you enjoy this, do let me know what you think.