Robb
"Lord Bolton, you've served me well. I pray you will serve our new King just as ably."
Was he lying well enough? Sansa probably wouldn't think so. Having heard what transpired in her life, it took much of his restraint not to beat the man before him to a pulp. His bastard was on his way south as well, and Robb wondered if he could control himself if they knowingly passed each other on the Kingsroad.
Yet, it was hard for him otherwise to harbor any excessive amount of personal hatred for the man, because Roose Bolton had indeed served him well, among one of his most trusted lieutenants until he received the letter from Sansa. But he'd trusted Theon too, hadn't he? Maybe she had a point, that he needed to be less trusting, more ruthless.
More like her.
"My king," the new Master of Coin started, before correcting himself, "my lord, words cannot express my gratitude. I honestly expected to hang as a traitor, when I heard of the peace, rather than ever see myself sit upon the Small Council."
Sansa may have worse planned for you. Robb wasn't sure if he liked that or not, leaving the Boltons in her hands, for both their sakes. It gave him some assurance that Stannis would be there, hopefully keeping an eye on the men they both knew to be most untrustworthy.
"I trust you will represent the North with honor in my stead," Robb said, again wondering if he had a facial tic he was unaware of when lying.
"You did well," Sansa said at his side once they rode further away from the city walls. She looked down, thinking. "Well enough, I suppose."
"I still worry for you," he replied, his mother echoing his concern next to them. "Especially with his bastard accompanying him in the capital."
"He won't have free reign in King's Landing," Sansa replied, "not like the Dreadfort, or when they held Winterfell. The Boltons are northerners, the capital foreign terrain for them."
As it is for me, and every Stark, beside my eldest sister.
"And I don't see why Arya can't come home," his mother added disapprovingly. "To go and travel with that brute. What if...she's so young...do you know if he won't..."
"He won't," Sansa replied ardently, and Robb recognized what their mother was afraid to give word to, especially in front of Arya. They'd found the Hound near Harrenhal, the lure of a pardon enough to bring him back to King's Landing, though they said it was more the promise of gold that kept him from killing his would be captors. They would meet at Hayford, where he would have to somehow convince their mother not to renege at the last minute and let her youngest daughter leave with the murderous beast of a man.
"Maybe I'll kill him before we even make the Narrow Sea," Arya spat out, and somehow Robb believed her. Since when did Jon sneak her a sword by the way, and since when did she learn how to wield it?
"Arya's going to Braavos," Robb asked Sansa skeptically, "to learn how to kill?"
"Someone in our family has to," Sansa replied, not meeting his eyes.
"I thought that was me," Robb grumbled. Had he screwed things up so badly, that Sansa did not trust him with any of their futures now?
"You have to lead, Robb," she replied, though Robb sensed it wasn't the whole truth. Perhaps if he had promised to personally execute the Boltons and Freys and Daenerys Targaryen without cause, his sister would view him in a different light, a better light.
"I will." As if he needed to prove himself to his child sisters, except he knew he did. "Once we take Winterfell from the Ironborn, I'll have the bones of our ancestors moved south to Howland Reed's keep until after the battle. And King Stannis said he'll start sending the dragonglass to White Harbor within three fortnights."
"And Jon," she added, both of them noticing their mother wince away uncomfortably, despite Sansa's attempts at assurance during the wedding feast. "Remember, there will be a battle at Castle Black, the wildlings will try to take it, and fail. You need to be ready, when you hear of the oncoming battle. I'm sure they'll ask the Warden of the North for help. March slowly, so that you don't arrive at Castle Black until the day after the battle. Then, you can treat with Mance Rayder."
He shook his head, perplexed. There were so many things he had to remember, so many things he had to do per her instructions, that he could not fully understand, because he hadn't lived it. "Why can't I arrive before the battle? I thought you wanted to prevent bloodshed."
"The battle will change things for Jon," Sansa answered. As much as it pleased him to hear her speak of Jon with admiration rather than scorn since their father's death, the drastic change still unsettled him, though everything about his sisters seemed to unsettle him since their reunions. "They'll truly see him as a leader after the battle, and he'll have won the Watch's respect."
Robb sighed. He would never understand his sister, he figured who, if he did his math correctly, was older mentally than he, a strange concept he imagined few had ever needed contemplate before. Everything Sansa did she did to keep himself and their mother safe from the Freys and Boltons, yet she was most willing to continue risking the lives of Jon and Arya, as well as her own. Could she be that confident that their journeys won't change this time around, especially since she'd already changed aspects of their new lives, so to speak?
And what about Sansa? Everything about her own track differed now from before, and here he rode, leaving in the south, in King's Landing, to serve, along with the boy she was betrothed to, as something of a hostage to Stannis Baratheon until the king was satisfied their family feud was truly over.
"I trust you, Sansa," he said, hugging her in turn with the rest of their family, as they reached the edge of the woods, marking where Sansa would return to the capital, accompanied by Lannister soldiers. "I trust you'll take care of yourself. But I'm your big brother, and you can't stop me from saying it...take care of yourself, sister."
He watched as the two sisters hugged each other, closer and harder he'd ever seen before.
"What the Red Woman said to me," Arya asked, before fully letting Sansa go, "is that something you see too?"
A mysterious smile to answer a mysterious question. "Say hi to Sandor for me," Sansa replied. "And try to take the back roads, if you can."
Sansa
"Ned?"
"Excuse me, Your Grace?"
Cersei Lannister rolled her eyes at Sansa, the first time she'd seen the former queen since Joffrey's death. The bags were heavy under her eyes, evidence of much drinking, crying, and mourning, Sansa guessed, but everything else about the old queen fit as she remembered.
"Don't pretend with me girl," Cersei muttered abruptly, "you're the first to celebrate our disgrace, aren't you? Or should I address you as Lord Eddard's ghost?"
"I'm afraid I don't understand." She wasn't playing dumb, she genuinely didn't know what Cersei was going at, and wondered whether the loss of her son had truly driven her insane this time around.
"Stannis Baratheon sits on the throne. My Joffrey's dead, the Gods know where his remains are...I couldn't even bury my firstborn properly...Tommen disinherited. That's all you wanted, wasn't it, Ned? This your revenge, you damned ghost?"
Sansa clenched her jaws. As much as she needed the former queen on her side, she would not have her father's memory tarnished as such by the woman.
"If you truly believe I hold any sway with the new King, say my father's name again and I'll have him burn you myself."
First defiance in her eyes, then resignation.
"You're even, aren't you, girl?" At least she was addressing her as a girl again. The less Cersei knew about her abilities, the better. "A father for a first born." Cersei shook her head bitterly. "A warden for a King."
"A good man for a wretched boy," Sansa replied, unable to help herself again. "A great lord for a bastard."
Cersei glared at her with open hatred in her eyes, but Sansa stood her ground, knowing weakness was not a weakness she could afford in front of Cersei. And as she hoped, it was the older woman who gave first.
"That means you're to marry a bastard."
"I'm to marry a Lannister. Don't think there's much of a difference."
She regretted her words as she said them, the two of them both turning to look at Tommen in the courtyard below, sitting alone, watching slightly terrified as his mother and betrothed traded barbs with one another.
"My apologies," Sansa said, giving in first this time, "my words were unworthy, beneath what he deserves."
Cersei shook her head, sighing. "He would've been the first decent king we've had in several generations. Stannis robbed the realm of that."
So she admits Joffrey's rotten. Though Sansa did not press her further, realizing at the same time that Tywin had yet to share his own plans yet with his daughter.
"He needs his family," she said. "He needs his mother. It's not his fault he's born into all these...politics."
Cersei looked at her, and she saw the eyes of an honest woman for once. "They say you want to take him to Winterfell."
"I do," Sansa admitted. "But I have no wish to keep him from his mother. We'll stay in the capital, for as long as the King requires of Lord Tywin. I'd like to go home, yes, but I promised your father we'll go to Casterly Rock after."
I'm the powerful one now. I have sway with the new King, or so she thinks. I have sway with her father, even if she doesn't know the full extent yet. She seemed so helpless, enough for Sansa to pity her, except she reminded herself that Cersei Lannister was at her most dangerous when backed into a corner.
"Jaime won't be there," Cersei said in disgust, Sansa surprised she felt comfortable enough to confide in her on such a sensitive, and dangerous matter. "He's always loved our wretched brother far more than he deserves...I wouldn't be surprised if he stays in Essos and sells himself as a crippled, feebled sellsword, just for coin to pay for the wretched imp's wine."
"He'll come back for you," Sansa said confidently, because she knew from Brienne firsthand the lengths of Jaime Lannister's devotion to his sister.
"Stop."
"Stop what?"
Cersei chuckled, and though she smelled no wine upon her breath, Sansa wondered if the woman was drunk.
"Stop pretending you care."
"You're right," Sansa admitted, watching her betrothed, now chasing mindlessly some cat through the gardens. "I don't care about you. I don't care about Jaime. But you're his family."
"And you care about him," Cersei asked skeptically. "He must seem a boy to you."
"He is," Sansa said, more knowingly than the former queen could even guess. "I won't lie and profess my love for him, but he's decent. Even were we not betrothed I'd not wish to see him harmed. The war's over, and my brother and mother are on their way to take back our home. Now that Tommen's to be my family, I want to see the best for him also."
"Remember that," Cersei hissed, almost as a threat. "You're going to be a Lannister. You go where he goes. Your fortunes rise and fall with your lord husband's. Without him, you'll be nothing, if you let him fall into the hands of traitors like you did his brother."
But it was a concession from the former queen, acknowledging her place both in her family, and with her son. And Cersei was right, it wasn't just her own fortunes, but also her family's safety and her brother's throne, all of it now tied to her success in ingratiating herself inside this most horrible family.
"Was she mean?"
"Your mother's a...strong and determined woman. She loves you Tommen, and she wants to make sure no one tries to harm you."
If Cersei seemed worse for wear, Sansa remembered that the woman had lost two children in one afternoon, Myrcella sailing down to Dorne the same day of the riot, into an engagement that, though the war was over, both Stannis and Lord Tywin knew better than to break.
"Do you miss your sister?"
Tommen nodded sullenly. "I shouldn't complain. You missed your family too."
"What I went through doesn't make it any less painful for you." She looked over to a fence, where the orange cat sat perched, observing the two of impassively, and Sansa tried smiling, and meaning it. "What's her name?"
"Ser Pounce. It's a he." Tommen looked around the gardens. "I haven't seen Lady Whiskers all day, I think she's hiding somewhere."
Gods, he's a child. But the names were cute, in a childish way, as were the cats themselves, and Sansa found her smile wasn't all that forced. "Should we go find Lady Whiskers? I'd like to meet her."
Just as Tommen nodded eagerly, she heard another voice from behind them.
"Can I join you?"
Though she'd yet to meet the girl, Sansa recognized immediately the crown princess, the only child of Stannis Baratheon, First of His Name.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Shireen said, the more nervous one of the group despite her new status as heir to the Iron Throne, and though her condition was no surprise to Sansa, she still had to make a conscious effort not to react upon seeing the poor girl's face. "I didn't mean to listen in."
"Please," Sansa said politely, "don't apologize. This is your castle now, and we're your guests. Of course you can join us."
From what she glimpsed from Ser Davos, the Princess Shireen was a kind girl who had lived a lonely life in Dragonstone. But she laughed and marveled with them all the same as they ran through the lower levels of the castle, poking through nooks and crannies trying to find a lone cat, and for the first time since...when? Since before she left Winterfell for the first time, perhaps, Sansa remembered what it was like to live the carefree existence of a child, if only for half an afternoon.
"Father says you're...special," Shireen ventured, less nervous than before, as they all sat panting in the same courtyard where they started hours ago. "That you're like Lady Melisandre."
The way she said the last words, it was clear the princess did not trust her father's red priestess, and Sansa couldn't blame her, knowing what happened to her before. So she shook her head.
"I'm afraid I can't claim to be like her. I have no connection to the gods, I don't see visions in the fire."
"But you see visions?"
She saw that Tommen was watching intently as well, and wondered just how much his grandfather had told him about her, of their plans, to the boy they intended to together make a king, by taking away the inheritance of the girl they'd just chased cats and rats and ghosts through the castle with.
"I don't see them, like you see things," she lied again, though she felt guilty for once, lying to someone who was not a cruel warlord or bloody witch. "Sometimes, I just wake up, and know things."
"You don't believe in her Lord of Light?"
The princess was studying her, awaiting her response, and Sansa wondered which answer would be correct. She guessed.
"The things I've seen...the gods...or god, they're real, something's real. But I can't keep to any of them, not after what I've seen."
Her answer seemed to satisfy the princess, and even Tommen didn't seem too perturbed, unpious as his own family was.
She doesn't trust the Red Woman.
She has good instincts.
"Princess Shireen." A deep voice, accompanied by the King, and a man she'd all but banished from her nightmares a lifetime ago.
"Lord Roose Bolton," Stannis said curtly at his daughter. He finished his introductions. "His bastard Ramsay. Lady Sansa Stark. Tommen Lannister."
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Princess," Ramsay said, bowing, as...courtly...as she'd ever seen him. And thankfully ignorant of her, though she couldn't help but feel nervous for Shireen from the evil gleam in his eyes as he looked at her.
"Lady Sansa," Roose said, not forgetting his own liege lord's sister, "a pleasure to make your acquaintance. You were quiet on the King's Road when we bade farewell to your brother."
That's because I avoided you on purpose.
"Lord Bolton," she curtsied, "my brother speaks highly of you."
"He fought a war for you, my lady. It warms my heart to see you safe."
And it breaks your heart peace has come and you're no better off than before, Small Council seat notwithstanding.
"He fought a war for the North," Sansa replied.
"And what of his peace," Roose asked skeptically, inducing even the King to raise his eyebrow. While she could not be certain of who knew and who did not know, Sansa was sure that Robb had told the traitor none of what had transpired during the council. And Stannis knew him to be a traitor and dishonorable, the only reason for his appointment an agreement with Robb to draw out his treason before the crown, so she trusted him to keep her secrets from the Boltons as well.
And he's testing me and Stannis.
"My brother realizes that there's more important things than a crown, and more dire threats to the North than Baratheons or Lannisters."
Roose bowed. "I admire your forbearance, my lady. Marrying into the family of a former enemy must be trying."
"Former," Sansa emphasized. Though she'd think she hid it well, she could no longer stand to be in his presence much longer. "My Lords. Princess. Your Grace." She spared one glance to her former husband before she departed. "Bastard."
Whatever mask Ramsay wore now, she saw him flinch at the word, just as when the King uttered it minutes earlier.
Tyrion
"It's not that bad," his brother said, his left hand gripping awkwardly the glass. "I'm not much for wine, but this one seems...like it's not shit."
"I've no complaints about the wine," he said, the chirps of strange birds bustling through his ears. He looked over towards Shae, wandering a faraway beach with one of Illyrio Mopatis's courtesans. "Or the company."
"But you miss it, don't you?"
"Miss what," Tyrion asked.
Jaime spoke dramatically. "Leading. Running the realm. Prepare the city for a siege. Mastering the Small Council. Changing the King's diapers."
"I don't envy Ser Davos, having to change Stannis's diapers," Tyrion remarked, and they both chuckled. "You're right. I liked it. I did it well. Well enough, I suppose, until Joffrey got himself killed, and I started listening to her."
And it seemed curious she could foresee everything except Joffrey's death. He weighed his options, whether or not he ought to tell Jaime his suspicion. But his brother thought him crazy enough already, and Sansa was now to marry Tommen, so there as no harm in stirring the family pot any further, if only for Tommen's sake.
"She seems like a nice girl. A bit more clever than I remembered...I wouldn't have believed it, had father not vouched for the truth of it."
"'A nice girl.' Cersei will have your tongue for that," Tyrion joked, but Jaime frowned.
"You really think she used these...visions...for the sole purpose of shipping you off to Essos? Rather than to help her brother, or end the war so she could go home? And all for the reward of marrying a boy without a castle?"
"He's your heir," Tyrion said glumly, taking a long drink. "You're heir to Casterly Rock, father got at least one thing he wanted out of this war. And Tommen... he'll likely follow you into lordship." The question of Tommen's parentage became essentially a detail the realm would willingly forget. Stannis disinherited the boy from House Baratheon, but legitimized him as a Lannister, for the sake of Robb Stark, so his sister would not marry a bastard. As to the identify of Tommen's father, or Myrcella's for the matter, it would be a question they would all leave unanswered, for the sake of the peace.
"Unless you take a wife, of course." He watched Jaime shirk uncomfortably at the idea. "I'm sure father's sending scrolls to all seven kingdoms by now."
"You hear of such gossip here," Jaime asked, eyebrow raised.
"Some say Margaery Tyrell." He shook his head. "Stannis isn't fool enough to bestow us ties to more than one great house. Though...I wouldn't count our father out entirely. Play his cards right, you may find yourself sharing the throne one day with Queen Shireen, First of Her Name."
And the kingdom will weaken, as every house major and minor scrambles for the inevitable crisis of succession.
"Lord of Casterly Rock," Jaime shook his head, as if the words themselves were a slur.
"It's what you were born for," Tyrion admitted, despite the fact that he could not deny he wanted the title for himself.
"It's not," Jaime answered truthfully. "Though let's hope I'm better at it than I was as Kingsguard."
"You're too hard on yourself."
"I saw three Kings die under my watch. That's got to be a record."
"One at your hands, who didn't deserve your vows. The other two, in your absence. If anything, it speaks to your effectiveness." Setting his glass down, he put his hand on his brother's arm. "Jaime. You need to learn from father."
He scoffed impatiently. "Not you too."
"You're a piece in the game now. They agreed to this peace, knowing there's a war to come the moment Stannis dies. Which can come sooner than you think, if he's supposed to lead a battle against an army of dead men."
"Then you are, too," Jaime insisted, and Tyrion knew what he was going to say next. "When Stannis dies, you can come back. There's a role for you to play yet."
It did touch him, to be honest, that there was at least one person in Westeros who did want him back.
"Maybe you're right. It's not a bad life here. And now that I've said it out loud, it doesn't seem like much fun. Not the dead men part...not what's to come after either."
He felt Jaime's touch, his left and remaining hand clasping his chest. "You're not a good liar, brother. And besides. I need you. If only to make sure I'm not the one father puts on that throne."
He missed Jaime already, but it was good he didn't dally, suspicious as it was for one recent enemy of the new King's to be conferring with an exile for an extended period of time. He drank more after his brother left, though Jaime vowed to return before winter. Day into night, he drank, until even Shae grumbled in frustration, willfully ignoring him until he broke out of his drunken haze. Which he swore to do, tomorrow, then tomorrow, then tomorrow, then the day after that.
"Just a few more minutes," he yelled, the knocking on the door the sound of castles crashing against each other. To his chagrin, the door creaked opened anyway, and a servant appeared.
"Lord Tyrion, you have a visitor."
"Did my brother forget his hand," he muttered.
"Nor does all the realm forget their Hand," Lord Varys said appraisingly, entering his chambers with a smug smile, accompanied by the less joyous face of Loras Tyrell.
