Winterfell
Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell
Sansa Stark stood out on the balcony of Winterfell, watching her sons Torrhen and the twins Tyrion and Robb in the training yard, and wondered how times changed.
When she was a young girl, she had taken after her mother and sought out to act the part of noble lady of the Seven Kingdoms in hopes it would get her married to her beloved Prince Joffrey.
How foolish she had been.
If she had only known the things that would happen and the type of monster that the Prince really was, perhaps she would have spared her family from any miseries they were put through. It had taken Sansa a great ordeal how to survive and play the Game of Thrones. It cost her so much, but in the end she was rewarded with five beautiful children given to her by her late husband Lord Brandon Tallhart.
He wasn't bloodthirsty as her second husband, the late Ramsay Bolton, which was a good sign, but at the same time he wasn't nearly as gentle as Tyrion was when they were married. He had allowed Sansa to keep her House name even though she could tell he was somewhat disappointed by it.
Naming her son after her first husband, the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands spread the rift even further between Sansa and her husband, who demanded to know if she still had feelings, if any for the Imp of Casterly Rock. Sansa insisted she and Lord Tyrion were old friends and nothing more. Her husband and her relationship was rock hard to any outsider, but from the inside, it was falling to pieces.
A small part of her thought that it was a good thing that he'd died when the Iron Bank's assassin came.
No.
That wasn't Sansa Stark. That was someone else, an imposter, living within her. Her husband was a good husband, a great man. He had never mistreated her, never.
"My lady." Sansa glanced up to see her handmaiden, Alba, looking at Sansa with sorrow and worry painting her eyes. Sansa immediately composed herself, before replying.
"What is it, Alba?"
"Little Tyrion and Robb want you to watch them duel, My Lady."
Tyrion and Robb - the younger ones - were ten and seven, yet, they were still called 'Little' by Alba, for she had been there since the two were born. It was Alba's sister who had pulled the twins out of Sansa in the first place - she died in the Iron Bank's attack, she had sacrificed herself so that Lord Tallhart could escape. But when she had died, he'd stopped trying to flee, and tried to face the assassin on his own.
That was his undoing.
Sansa shook herself from her mournings, and nodded. "I'll be there."
Sansa moved through the ancient halls of Winterfell, humbled, again, by the fact that the fortress had survived eight thousand years. Descending down the stairs, it didn't take her long to find the twins: They were the only two in the practice yard who fought like demons possessed.
Sansa could also recognize the two by their fighting styles. Like his namesake, Robb fought wildly, swinging his blade like he was in an actual war. Tyrion, on the other hand, had a maddening habit of always defending, rarely attacking until the enemy was thoroughly tired.
Sansa would have thought that Robb would have gotten used to how his brother fought, but in practically every fight with his brother, he started out slow, well aware of Tyrion's strategy to tire him out, but then, he'd slowly lose himself in the fighting and launch over - the - top thrusts and swings, which allowed Tyrion to tire him out easily.
Basically, if a fight lasted more than thirty seconds between the two, then it was Tyrion who would win. If it lasted less, then Robb won.
And it seemed like Tyrion was going to win this fight as well.
Robb kept swinging his blade wildly, and Tyrion kept blocking and defending. Tyrion barely moved, though, for that would drain his energy as well, if he kept ducking or rolling with every hit of his opponent.
Sansa kept watching, silently, waiting, waiting for when she knew Tyrion would win.
It turned out to happen sooner than later. Robb overextended on one of his swings, and Tyrion pressed his advantage. Robb hadn't been expecting Tyrion to do anything other than block, so the initiative was completely taken from him. Robb took a step backwards, trying to reassess his position, but Tyrion continued prushing, until Robb was off - balance, and fell.
Tyrion grinned as he pointed his sword at Robb.
The master at arms, Jared Snow, stepped forwards."Good job, Tyrion. Robb, I've told you several times, when fighting your brother, do not tire yourself out. You don't last well in prolonged combat, which is something we need to work on."
Sansa nodded in agreement. "Robb, you allow yourself to be tired out by your brother. You need to increase your endurance."
Robb replied, "I know, Mother. But today is the death anniversary of Father, and every time I think about that day, I remember…. And I get..."
"I know, my love," Sansa said softly as she hugged her son, who returned the embrace. "I know."
Sansa indeed knew that her husband's death affected all her children, especially Robb. The moment he found out about his father, he immediately stalked off to his room and refused to come down for supper. The next day, Ser Jared had came in with her son who was struggling against him.
When she had gotten over her grief and asked what happened, Ser Jared had told her Robb had been picking fights with the maids and servants of the castle - but not before destroying a training dummy and leaving the armory a wreck.
In the present, Sansa pulled away from Robb when she noticed a young man walking up to her master at arms, and whispering something to him. Sansa looked questioningly at him, was this a personal matter for Ser Jared or what?
"My Lady, a messenger has arrived from The Crown, and wishes to see the whole Stark family. Shall I bring him here, or..?"
"The Great Hall should be empty now, no?"
"Yes, My Lady."
"Then we will meet him there."
Several minutes later, they met the messenger in the great hall where Sansa's father, the late Eddard Stark and brother Robb, had once sat. The messenger bowed his head in respect to Sansa, who sat in the center of the table between them, with Torrhen directly to her right.
"Milady."
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Ser?"
"His Grace, King Aegon, invites you and your family to the Crown to celebrate the fortieth anniversary of the Night King's defeat."
Sansa's eyebrows shot up in surprise. She had nearly forgotten about the fortieth anniversary of the last stand against the Night King and his army of wights. It seemed like a lifetime ago, yet Sansa could still remember the events like it was only yesterday. It was also the last time that she had seen her brother Jon, who was now King Aegon to the rest of the Realm.
It would be nice to see him again, even if it might be the last time. Sansa shook her head at those thoughts. She turned to the messenger.
"Tell His Grace that my House and I happily accept this invitation," Sansa said.
"Thank you, milady," said the messenger who bowed his head to her.
Sansa had the servants accommodate some chambers for their guest as she thought over the invitation. Sansa had been thinking about finding some husbands for her twin daughters for quite a while now. The invitation was an answer to her prayers, as well as reuniting with Jon again.
She turned to Ser Jared. "Bring my children to the solar immediately. I wish to speak with them."
Ser Jared nodded. "Of course, my lady."
Torrhen, her eldest, turned towards his mother, and began to speak. "Mother, how many people do you think will show up for the… festivities?"
Torrhen had an abhorrence for extravagant spendings of any kind, and despised it when on New Harvest's Day, Winterfell would be decorated, and lit up by massive bonfires. As the ceremonial burning of the last Winter's bad luck would happen, the extravagant decorations were meant to signify the fact that the new harvest would be much better than the last - at least, they were supposed to be.
After all, Torrhen's father had died on the day of one of these 'festivities', protecting a servant girl.
"I believe the census will count them in the tens of thousands, Torrhen. It is the fortieth anniversary of by far the biggest battle of eight thousand years." She said, a bit of sadness dotting her eyes.
Torrhen was training to be the next Lord Paramount of the North, so he accompanied his mother almost everywhere she went when tending to the North, and learnt how to be a Lord. At this point, he was probably better at this than Sansa herself, and Sansa truly wanted to relax and let Torrhen take over. As soon as she found matches for the younger ones, she promised herself she'd hand over the reins to the North to Torrhen.
Sansa set off for her solar. When she arrived, she heard a faint noise, and Torrhen smirked from behind Sansa, but didn't say a word. She suddenly walked around the desk, and then bent down and yelled, "Boo!", causing the young girl hiding under the desk to giggle even more.
"What do you think you're doing, young lady?"
"I am not a lady!" the young girl said in defiance, causing Sansa to smile as she remembered Arya.
"Yes you are," said Sansa. "And you know that Septa Viola is going to be furious with you for skipping your sewing lessons again, but it's quite good that you are because I have so-"
"There you are!"
Both Sansa and her daughter turned to see a brown haired girl who was identical to her twin.
"Lyra, I've been looking all over for you. Septa Viola is very angry with you."
"She already knows that, Lyanna," Sansa said, speaking to her daughter named after the late Lyanna Mormont, as her head began to hurt of how she and Arya had been in their childhood before everything happened. "But never mind that, I have some news for you and your brothers."
"What is it?"
Before she could answer, Sansa found herself interrupted again by the arrival of Robb and Tyrion.
"Now that you are all gathered here, I have some news I'd like to share with you."
"Oh bollocks," Tyrion said with his namesake's sarcasm. "You're getting married again, aren't you?"
"What?!" Everyone in the room said, surprised by Tyrion's answer. Her children then turned to her with looks of disbelief written on their faces, while Torrhen looked like a fish out of water.
"No, I'm not getting married," Sansa said, while giving a dirty look at Tyrion, who sighed in relief with his siblings. "I received a raven from the Crown this morning."
"Uncle Jon?" asked Lyra in awe.
"Lyra!" her sister said in distress. "You can't call him that. His Grace goes by Aegon now."
"Yes, your uncle has invited us all to celebrate the fortieth anniversary of the Second Long Night."
Sansa's words seemed to bring the reaction she expected of her children as they cheered.
Maybe their future won't be so bad after all, Sansa thought.
Dragonstone
Morghon Targaryen, Lord of Dragonstone
Dragonstone. The former home of the Targaryens, future home to the Tarstarks. Such a fact would have been able to please the newfound Tarstarks and fuel their arrogance into thinking they were on top of the world.
But Morghon Tarstark, the First of His Name, was not arrogant. Far from it. He knew that arrogance was what led to his ancestors' defeat, and he made sure he would never make any of the same mistakes they did. Besides, his pride had consistently been hurt again and again by father dearest, the King of the Seven Kingdoms, Aegon Tarstark or in Morghon's eyes, Jon fucking Snow.
He was aware of his father's life story, growing up in Winterfell as the bastard child of Ned Stark, who was known to the realm then as the most honorable man in all the Seven Kingdoms.
Honor, Morghon scoffed. Such a weak notion. If he was so damn honorable, then why in all the Seven Hells did he refuse to acknowledge me and remove me from being next in line to the Crown?
"You're sulking again," a soft voice spoke, which caused Morghon to look down upon the beautiful woman laying her head on his chest, with silver blonde hair and purple eyes staring up at his.
"I'm afraid I got that from Father," Morghon said bitterly, his hand unconsciously twirling with her hair.
"You should really stop letting him get to you like that," his sister said. "It's killing me seeing you like this...and it's taking the joy out of what we're doing."
"Why don't you let me make it up to you?" Morghon said, bringing his face closer to hers.
"Alright then," she said. "Convince me." Their lips finally locked with one another.
They were passionately enjoying themselves in the moment when the door to their chambers flew open to a brown haired young woman whose face physically resemble their sister.
"Could you at least knock to let us know that you are coming in, Lyanna?" Morghon ground out in frustration, annoyed by his other sister, who had a penchant for making an entrance.
"Oh, I'm sorry, big brother," Lya retorted. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you and Elyssa aren't in a hurry."
Elyssa rolled her eyes while Morghon sighed. "If you want an invitation, you're always free to join us anytime."
"Oh, I wish I could," said Lya. "Unfortunately, now is not a good time… considering the invitation extended to all of us from the Crown to celebrate the fortieth anniversary of the Long Night."
Morghon pulled away from Elyssa, causing her to yelp in pain, as he got up to get dressed.
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by this. After all, it's only for the sake of public appearance. It's a chance for the whole realm to see the son our great King Aegon utterly despises for not being enough for him, for not being the heir he so desires. For having fallen to the same indulgences our ancestors had."
"Morghon," said Lya.
"What? It is the truth, and the whole realm knows that this is Father just rubbing it in my face how I am his greatest failure. After all that's why he decided to push Mance forward next in line, despite him being the younger brother. Well I'm sorry, my dear sisters, but I've just found more and more reasons not to attend this sham of a feast."
Lya and Elyssa exchanged looks before Lya walked up to her brother and smashed her lips against his, catching him by surprise. Her next words would surprise him even more.
"To hell with Father and to hell with what he says," Lya said. "Just because he is the king doesn't mean he can order his own children around."
She then put her forefinger and thumb to her mouth and whistled loudly, which was followed by three distinct roars outside. "Father can choose to ignore us, but the realm does not. Trust me, brother, they do not forget the wrongs done to us by Father."
"And neither will we," Elyssa said in agreement to her sister.
"Father expects us all there?" Lya said. "Well, we'll give him an entrance he and the realm won't soon forget."
"So what do you say, big brother?" Elyssa said.
Morghon looked at the sisters he loved deeply, before nodding his head at them. He wouldn't let Father have the last laugh. That would be him.
This chapter was written by SV 21075, please go give him some follows!