A/N: Wow, 50 chapters and over 1500 reviews, I never thought either of those would happen. I'm sure you're tired of reading these, but it cannot be said enough that this story's success is due to the wonderful reception you've given me and this story. So thank you all for your tremendous support.
Our Blades Are Sharp
By Spectre4hire
50: Sansa
Blood and screams.
That what's Sansa remembered from her dreams.
He was there, in her mind's eye she could see Domeric sitting atop Shadow, smiling to her when their eyes met.
"My lady Sansa, are you well?"
Sansa blinked back into the present, looking down at her forgotten embroidery which was resting on her lap. She looked up to see the others in her tent had stopped in their needlework and were looking at her closely.
These were some of the daughters, or granddaughters, or nieces of Lord Walder Frey. Sansa had agreed for them to come with her to serve as her companions in hopes of securing good matches for them amidst the nobility of the North and Riverlands. It had taken Sansa time to remember their names and to recall or piece together the difficult and intricate tapestry that was Lord Frey's progeny and how all these women were related to one another and to Lord Frey himself.
It was Lady Roslin Frey who had asked Sansa. Her big brown eyes shimmering with concern. She was the fifth daughter of Lord Frey and the only daughter between him and his sixth wife, Bethany Rosby. She was Olyvar's sister, who was serving as her brother's squire. She was slightly older than Sansa, a girl of ten and seven. She had a delicate beauty to her.
"I am fine." She smiled to Roslin, who was always been kind and courteous. Out of all the Frey companions, Lady Roslin would have the easiest time in securing a match with her beauty and temperament.
Roslin returned the smile, but it was shy and small. The girl was conscious of the small gap between her teeth.
"Forgive me," Sansa apologized to the others, who took her words in varying versions of etiquette. She put aside her thoughts and distractions from her dreams so that she could watch and remember how each one responded. She needed to measure them in her hopes of securing the Frey cause to her family's. She was certain among them, she'd find a suitable bride for her Uncle Edmure.
They had left the Twins days ago. Robb had insisted on a grueling and swift pace to try to catch the Lannisters unaware, using his calvary to his advantage. They broke camp rarely, and when they did there was little time for rest. The time she had now was a rare opportunity so as the men were planning strategy and waiting scouts to return, Sansa had to make her own plans. She had her own strategies to devise, but unlike her brother, it was not battles she planned for, but betrothals.
"Would you like something to eat?" Roslin offered kindly.
When Sansa thought about food, images flickered across her mind, of a man dying as his throat was ripped open. It had been me. Her interest of any food dimmed at the reminder of the blood and torn flesh. With that in mind, Sansa politely declined, "No, I am just distracted."
A look of understanding and sympathy flashed across Roslin's face, as she nodded, before turning her focus back on her own needlework.
Sansa's heart and thoughts were often on Domeric, as were her prayers since they parted at the Twins. However, upon reflecting on what she saw while she was asleep, she felt no nerves knotting in her stomach when she thought about Domeric.
He was safe. Sansa couldn't explain it, but she knew with the utmost confidence that her betrothed was alive and well. They had received no ravens, no word from riders, no gossip from the fleeing smallfolk, but she knew. She felt it in her bones. She had seen him.
A vision from the old gods. She had been praying to them fervently these last few weeks when the eve of battle hung over her family like a pall. Sansa had once thought of them as her father's gods, as Robb's as Jon's, as Domeric's, but that was a mistake and one she rectified years ago.
They're my gods, and she believed they were blessing her with these images. What else could explain what she was seeing? How she was seeing it?
With nothing else needing to be said, they went back to their embroidery. Sansa had been stitching daggers on black canvas, with drops of red on their tips. A tribute to her betrothed and soon to be her family's words-Our Blades Are Sharp.
"I do not mind the distraction, Lady Sansa," Arwyn Frey spoke to Sansa's left. "I welcome the respite."
Sansa knew little of Arwyn's mother's house only that it was of House Farring which hailed from the Crownlands. In her time with the Freys, she understood that it was imperative that they quartered or created personal coat of arms within the Twins, to help make them stand out amidst so many siblings and cousins.
"Is that a purple duck?" Arwyn's youngest sister, Shirei asked, a girl of six. She was sitting on Arwyn's other side.
A ripple of giggles filled the room.
"It's suppose to be a horse with a knight on top." Arwyn feigned sternness towards her sister, "and it will be, once I'm finished."
Shirei looked at it closely as if trying to see what her sister told her, but within a few heartbeats, she shook her head. "No, Arwyn, its a duck." She declared.
Arwyn Frey was beautiful with dark hair that she kept carefully plaited and striking green eyes. She bore little resemblance to her half siblings or her father. She was Colmar's older sister, and was very protective of Shirei who she insisted on coming with her. Arwyn served as a mother to her sister since theirs had died years ago.
"It's a valiant effort," Sansa put forward, fighting to keep a smile from her lips. A touch of wistfulness pressed to her heart, thinking about her own sister, Arya and her own frustrations with needlework.
Arwyn raised a dark eyebrow at her, "You are too kind, my lady." However, before she could say anything else, another voice broke into their conversation.
"And here, lady Sansa, I feared you were having troubles with your moon-"
"No, Walda," Arwyn silenced her with a stare.
The Frey known as Fair Walda smiled, highlighting her high cheekbones, and pretty face. She was a woman grown, but despite her age and beauty she had yet to be married or even betrothed.
Out of all the Freys, Sansa had met, it was Fair Walda, who she liked the least. At first, she had thought Fair Walda a good match for her Uncle. She was the oldest and very pretty. The latter a trait, Sansa suspected her uncle would prefer and place above all others given what she knew or heard about him. However, with talking to her, Sansa had quickly soured on the idea and had decided her Uncle didn't deserve the cruel fate of being Fair Walda's husband.
Her remarks now another example of the woman's character. Sansa knew Walda was trying to embarrass her. She thinks me some blushing maiden, a ditsy fool, but I am a wolf.
Walda's kin took it differently.
Roslin looked scandalized, Arwyn annoyed. The girl unfortunately referred to as Fat Walda was blushing. While her sister, Marissa Frey's eyes were wide in shock, and their other sister the recently widowed, Amerei was giggling.
Fair Walda blinked first, a slight frown maring her pink lips before she let out a soft yawn. "Forgive me," her tone was too sweet to be sincere.
"There's nothing to forgive," Sansa said smoothly, unimpressed by the Frey maiden before her. She didn't consider the Frey deserving of the name, Fair Walda, despite her beauty. Sansa considered a few choice words more appropriate as a moniker for the daughter of Walton Frey and Deana Hardyng. However, Sansa was a lady and would not deign herself by falling to the level of such lowly depravities.
"If you'll excuse me," Fair Walda slid out of her seat. "I think I'll check on some of my kin before we set out on our march."
"Of course," Sansa was giving her permission even though she hadn't asked. Thinking, she needed to remind her that she was Sansa's companion, entrusted by Lord Frey.
Fair Walda did not want the reminder it appeared. "The Lady Sansa is kind." Her smile was forced. She turned to Amerei, giving her a look that had the girl scurrying up from her seat.
"Give our regards to Black Walder."
Lady Arwyn's words caused Fair Walda to nearly stumble before she looked over her shoulder, sending Arwyn a nasty look. She then grabbed Amerei's arm, and the two Freys left the tent without another word.
In seeing that exchange, Sansa decided she really liked Lady Arwyn. Sansa suspected she was missing something. "I fear I need to be enlightened on something," She said lightly, noticing how her words stirred different reactions out of the Freys before her.
Roslin had seemed to have decided that the best way to react to this was by looking down at her small hands that were folded in her lap. Her ducked head still betrayed her pink cheeks.
Marissa neither looked insulted or surprised by Arwyn's words to Fair Walda. She was the third daughter of Merrett Frey and Mariya Darry. She was of an age between Sansa and Arya, but has flowered. She had light hair and kind eyes. While the other Walda was between Amerei and Marissa, making her older than Sansa. She was a short and large woman, who had been unfortunate by not having gotten any of her sisters' beauty.
"Family secrets, Lady Sansa," Arwyn answered. "Family is supposed to love one another, but some of our kin have taken to following how House Targaryen shows their love within our family."
Incest. It came to her in an instant, as well as the wrinkle of disgust.
"The Twins can be a dangerous place. Surrounded by kin can be as bad as surrounded by strangers. At least strangers are not under any expectation to protect you." Arwyn put her hand on her young sister's shoulder, "Every Frey girl learns at a young age that it is wise to sleep with a knife."
Sansa found herself at a loss of words in Arwyn's bleak description of her family and home. She could not imagine such a thing ever happening upon Winterfell with her family.
"We may all share the Frey name, but we are just as different and divided as any half a dozen houses you may come across," Marissa Frey spoke up.
The Walda known as Fat Walda nodded. Her jowls shaking at the movement. "We are fortunate to be here, Lady Sansa." She looked around at her kin, who were nodding, "We all hope not to return."
"I shall do my best to insure it," Sansa had already been inspired to help the women before her. However, upon hearing the shocking secrets within the Twins, she was more determined than ever to make sure that they could find husbands and homes and not need to return to their family's seat.
"Thank you," Marissa was the first to say it, but the others said it too, one after another. Each one as sincere as the one before them.
"And we shall help you as well," Arwyn looked to the others, each of them nodding to her in turn. "To let you know which of our kin are can be trusted, and which need to be watched."
"My thanks," Sansa knew how important such information could be. The Freys were a large and powerful family, and it was clear that each one had different ambitions and some of which, she suspected would be directly at odds with her family's.
"Sansa." Her brother's voice was heard first before he entered. She thought of father when she saw him, dressed in his armor. He looked older than the ten and seven he was. They shared mother's coloring, but seeing Robb before her, she saw their father as clear as day.
"Robb," Sansa greeted him with a smile, while the Freys around her dipped their heads.
"I am sorry to interrupt, but we are to be leaving soon." He apologized to the flock of Freys around him, "and I would like a word with my sister."
"And you shall have it, Lord Robb," Arwyn spoke for her family, taking her young sister's hand, and leading her away while Roslin, Marissa, and Walda followed.
However, Sansa noticed certain Freys' lingered in their looks towards her brother. Betrothed or not, it was clear Robb had some admirers. Sansa pushed that aside, knowing nothing could be done for their enamored feelings towards him. "What is it you need to speak of?"
"I am tempted to insist you stay behind with a retinue of guards and your Frey companions," Robb admitted humorlessly.
"You already have my answer on that, brother."
Robb sighed. "I know," he took the seat beside her, "But can you blame me for trying?"
Sansa took his hand in hers. "I cannot, and I appreciate the concern, but I am needed here," she squeezed his hand. "Regardless of whether you're willing to see it or not."
Robb chuckled, patting their enclosed hands. "I can see it, I just do not like to." He seemed to sense her annoyance since he was quick to try to diffuse it. "Growing up, it was always you looking after us when Mother couldn't. Even as the older brother, you'd try to care for me." He smiled at her, "And I am thankful for that."
Sansa returned his smile. "You and Jon kept me busy," her smile wistful upon thinking of their youth at Winterfell. "And Arya," she surprised herself with the giggle that followed as she recalled the mischief her younger sister would get into. Then, she had always found it annoying, but now, she looked it at fondly.
"Aye," Robb agreed, "I came to tell you that I received a raven from the Greatjon. They planned on engaging the Lannisters, and I suspect the battle has already commenced." He looked stoically ahead, "It is why, we must leave soon. They are buying us time with this distraction, and we must use it. We should reach the Lannisters soon, and then afterwards…"
"You will fight," Sansa finished for him, "and you will win." She squeezed his hand again so that he could look at her, which he did, "otherwise, I'll be very cross with you."
Robb's eyes twinkled in amusement, while his lips curved upwards. "That is strong motivation, sweet sister."
Sansa nodded, "As it should be."
Robb stood up abruptly and started to pace. "Regardless, I cannot promise you the next time you will hear from our other forces."
Domeric, Sansa correctly guessed what her brother left unsaid. He is safe. She knew it. She saw it. She thought of speaking of what she saw to Robb, of the battle, of Domeric, but she hesitated, unsure how he'd react. Would he think me mad? Possessed? Would he use it to send me away?
She could not risk it, no matter the chances, so she stayed quiet, and took silent comfort in already knowing that Domeric was safe.
Sansa had been a girl the last time she saw Riverrun, remembering how impressed she had been at her mother's castle. How in awe she had been when Mother had explained it to her especially at how the moat can be filled allowing Riverrun to be surrounded on all sides by water to make into an island. It had made her wish Winterfell had been able to do something similar. It was at a time in her life when the south not the north brought out a sense of wonder and envy within her.
Now, she stood on the battlements of her mother's castle yearning to return north. The rivers roared below her, and looking around, you could see lingering signs of battle that sent the lions running and Riverrun safe. The siege had been broken thanks to her brothers.
Brothers, smiling upon hearing of Jon's not only survival, but his arrival to the battle. He rode alongside Lord Piper at the head of several hundred men. They had come crashing down onto the lions who had already been trying to stave off Robb's unexpected attack. The Lannisters having already unknowingly lost the Kingslayer to her brother's cunning, the night before, were overwhelmed, many important lords and knights were captured before the retreat was given. It had been a mad dash by them to try to escape the prowling wolves.
They were all safe. Sansa was grateful for such a blessing.
A raven had eventually arrived to confirm what she already knew, Domeric was alive and their army had fought hard before being forced to call a retreat. Their infantry was no match for the Lannister cavalry, but the deception had worked. When Tywin learned of Robb's trickery, it was too late despite the Warden of the West ordering his army to withdraw instead of pursuing the northern forces.
There had been some casualties and some hostages taken during the battle. However, she knew little of the men whose names she heard save for a few exceptions, but the most noticeable to impact her was Medger Cerwyn, the Lord of House Cerwyn. He had been killed in the fighting. She knew him not just because his castle was a day's ride from Winterfell, but also because he was the father of Lord Bolton's new bride, Jonelle Bolton nee Cerwyn.
It was in the letter, however, she heard more details of the battle than her visions had given her. She heard how the forces marched at night and launched a daring raid before morning had broken. How it was Domeric, who led the little cavalry they had into a successful skirmish against the unexpected lions. Her heart filled with pride upon hearing of his role in helping their cause in the battle.
A white blur pulled her from her musings, she turned her head to see Ghost approaching. The direwolf proving to be a herald for her brother's arrival as Jon was a few steps behind his wolf.
"Jon!" Sansa cried half elated and half relieved upon seeing him. She greeted him with none of the etiquette expected of a proper lady, but instead like a little girl who missed her brother. Her met her embrace with equal fervor.
"Sansa."
She felt tears prick her eyes. She had hated leaving him with father in the capital despite Jon's insistence and reasoning that she had no other choice. Since that departure she feared for him. Those fears only grew when word reached them of father's arrest, and nothing was said or heard about what had happened to Jon. It was then that she was plagued with nightmares of Jon in a cell beside their father or with a Lannister sword through his belly.
"I was afraid the Lannisters imprisoned you," she hiccuped, "or worse killed you."
"They've been trying."
Sansa's hiccup became a wet chuckle. "You know it isn't proper to keep a lady waiting," she feigned reprimanding him, pulling back to see his dark eyes shone with amusement.
"My apologies, my lady," he gave her a mocking bow.
Sansa laughed, but not before hitting his arm which only made Jon laugh harder.
She had been waiting for this. Waiting for a proper reunion with her brother. Sansa had seen only glimpses and heard only gossip of him since Riverrun had been taken by her brothers' forces. A battle that had only ended hours ago, but Riverrun did not rest, with only a little jubilee to mark their victory. They had to wait to see what Tywin's next move would be now that his forces were defeated and his son captured.
Ghost made his presence known by pressing his cold nose into Sansa's hand. She looked down, smiling at her brother's direwolf, as she scrubbed the fur behind his ear to Ghost's satisfaction.
"Where is Lady?"
"She is with Domeric. They are safe."
Jon raised an eyebrow at her confidence, but did not press her. "I am glad."
Ghost moved to sit beside Jon. Her brother was standing ramrod straight. His hands were tightly clutching the merlons of the battlement. Every few heartbeats would look over his shoulder as if expecting to see someone.
"Jon?" Sansa was confused by the sudden shift in his demeanor.
"It is nothing," he said too quickly to be convincing.
Sansa was not fooled. "Have you been treated well?" She knew she guessed right when she saw Jon stiffen. "Has anyone given you any trouble?" Sansa pressed, "I'll want names." She would not allow anyone in this castle treat her brother poorly. Sansa did not care that his was her mother's castle and he was her father's bastard. Jon was her a brother, and she'd not allow any slight to or curse be directed at him, not while she could help it.
"I have been treated well," Jon turned to her, "truly." A ghost of a smile coming to his lips, "It does not hurt that I helped in the battle against the Lannisters."
"Helped?" Sansa was amazed at her brother's modesty. "It sounded like you did more than help," she added. "I heard stories that it was you who freed my Uncle from the Lannisters."
"I helped," Jon used that word again, "But I was not alone in the endeavor," he looked out at the river. "It was Ghost who found him." One of his hands leaving the merlons to rest atop said direwolf's head.
Sansa noticed a odd inflection in her brother's voice when he spoke of Ghost, but she put it aside. "You are welcomed here, Jon." She came to stand beside him. The brother and sister looking down at the Tumblestone that rushed below them. It's blue waters looking deceptively shallow, but Sansa recalled it was deeper than its Red Fork counterpart. The water was frothing and churning, serving as a worthy shield having helped protect the ancestral seat of House Tully for centuries.
"You saved my mother's family's castle, my uncle from the lions' clutches and the Tullys from defeat," she pointed out. "I would wager that would grant you a roof over your head here for as long as you liked."
Jon smirked, "When you say it like that, it sounds silly, I suppose." He shook his head, the smirk disappearing, "But I still do not wish to impose on them or insult your mother's family," he paused, as if expecting Lady Stark to appear out of thin air to scold or glare at him. To claim he was trespassing and was not welcomed here.
Sansa's heart ached at seeing her brother worried over such things. "You are my brother." She put her hand atop his. "If the stories are true, it is said you are also a knight!" She couldn't help but smile at how Jon squirmed at the word.
"I am."
Sansa laughed, "you sound as if you're condemned." She had heard the gossip surrounding his new title and the story behind it. It had caused a stir. Dragging her brother into the light when he was use to standing in the shadows. "Knight or not, I am thankful you are here and alive." She tried to keep her tone measured, but her voice betrayed her with a slight dip at the thought of losing him.
"Thank you, Sansa."
A heavy silence fell on the brother and sister, the two content to look out at the sky that stretched before them, and the river that slithered below. The rustle of the cool breeze that washed over them was the only sound between them for some time.
"However," Sansa reluctantly broke the quiet between them, "Are there not other ways you could have earned a knighthood besides fighting the Mountain?"
Jon laughed. "It was not my intention to be knighted, sister," his tone was rich in mirth. "It was just to survive the fight, and I am thankful for that."
"And you've picked up some new names too," She teased. "Which has me confused in how I should now address you," she added lightly, "Should I call you Jon? Or Ser Jon? Or the white wolf?"
He groaned, "I'll only respond to Jon," he warned her. He turned to frown at her, but it melted into a smile within a heartbeat of their eyes meeting.
Sansa giggled, "my brothers," she said aloud, musing on the names they'd earned in the last few weeks. "The Young Wolf and the White Wolf."
"Sounds like one of those silly songs you adore, sweet sister."
Sansa and Jon turned as one to see Robb grinning at them. Grey Wind was at his side. The direwolf playfully yipping to Ghost who replied silently, but looked no less excited at the arrival of his littermate. The two began to play with one another, resembling a pair of overgrown puppies in their antics.
"How did you escape the nobles?" Jon asked dryly.
"With some difficulty," Robb clapped him on the back, "But it's not just me they wanted, Jon. Your heroics in the Riverlands has drawn some attention, and a few interested families have broached certain subjects."
Jon flushed at that, stiffening at what it was Robb was implying.
"Lord Bracken offered one of his daughters," Robb slipped his way between Sansa and Jon.
The one who was raped, Sansa suspected. Pitying the girl who had suffered at the hands of the Mountain. To marry the man who killed her attacker, was there justice in that? Sansa couldn't say.
"Lady Mormont spoke to me too," Robb continued. "The Mormonts do not hold as rigidly to customs like some of the other houses," he said respectfully, hinting at their relaxed stances on certain traditions.
Sansa saw his point. Lady Mormont's second eldest daughter already had two children, but no husband, but both children were Mormonts, not Snows.
"She implied, she'd be interested in a match between you and her eldest daughter and heir, Dacey," He nudged his brother's shoulder. "Think on that, Jon, if you were to marry Dacey, your children would rule Bear Island!" Robb sounded delighted for Jon and the new opportunities that were being presented to him.
"Robb, please tell me, you haven't married our brother off."
Robb laughed, "Of course not, Sansa. I do not have the power to make such betrothals. I can only hear them, and let me just say, my ears have heard little else these last few hours save for battles and betrothals," he groaned at the last part.
Despite her brother's teasing, Sansa agreed with Robb's point that Jon could be seen as a desirable match to some. He was a newly made knight, and the son of Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, natural son or not, he had the Stark blood in his veins. That was not to be dismissed. She knew if not Father than Robb would gladly and without hesitation give Jon land and rights to a castle in the north.
Sansa thought about her new Frey companions, and her promise to try to see to it that they did not have to return to the Twins. She was certain that if needed she could get Lord Walder Frey to agree to marry one of his daughters or granddaughters to Jon. House Frey was one of the strongest families in the Riverlands, but as such a large family, Sansa did not doubt that Lord Frey would not deny one of his kin marrying Jon, especially at the promise of being a Lady of a new seat Jon would be given.
Sansa did not know if a tie to the Freys would be the best match for Jon, but it was an option, and she would consider it for her brother's benefit. As well as keep it in mind when she spent time with the Freys she traveled with.
Jon chuckled, "I wasn't aware my knighthood would be so challenging on you, brother."
Robb took Jon's teasing with a roll of his eyes. "My own brother a knight!" He brought his arm around Jon for a one armed hug. "I'm pleased and proud for you, Jon. You deserve this." He released his grip, "A hearth, a wife, a family." His voice dropped, and there was no mirth in his tone when he added. "I know they are things you've wanted, but have denied yourself because-"
"Thank you, Robb," Jon cut him off, "I mean it," he added sincerely, as if afraid his blunt interruption would be seen as him getting upset.
Robb nodded, "I've made no promises or suggestions, Jon. I just wanted to let you know of them."
"So I don't run off to the Wall when this over."
Robb had the grace to blush. "Aye." He looked down, like a child caught stealing a sweet.
It was Jon's turn to hug his brother. "I am thankful for it, but I hope to have your support no matter my choice."
"You will, Jon," Robb answered without hesitation. "You are my brother." He affirmed, "Taking the Black will not change that. Nothing will."
Watching her brothers interact,Sansa recognized this for what it was, a rare moment to just be with them. They were in the middle of an army, in a castle full or nobles. This was the first time she's been with both of them since they were back at Winterfell. That had been when the King had visited and had named their father, the Hand of the King. So much has changed since King Robert went to Winterfell, and Sansa couldn't help but notice how much of those changes had poorly impacted her family.
"How's the Kingslayer?" Jon broke Sansa from her thoughts.
In standing atop the ramparts of Riverrun, it was easy to forget that Ser Jaime Lannister was in one of the cells of her mother's ancestral seat. He had been taken in Robb's first battle and first victory. The Kingslayer had killed nearly a half dozen man-at-arms when fighting his way to get to Robb. Thankfully, he never reached her brother, and was eventually overwhelmed and put in chains.
"As arrogant as ever," Robb frowned. "You'd think we were his guests and not his gaolers."
"His family is rich and powerful." Jon pointed out, "He believes he'll be free in a matter of time."
"Aye, and that worries me," Robb confessed. "I've put a few guards on him, our most trusted men."
Sansa could tell Robb was cautious but also concerned about how they were going to keep the Kingslayer their hostage. The three of them were walking down the steps of the ramparts. They were heading towards the castle's godswood if Sansa remembered correctly.
"You suspect bribery?" Jon correctly guessed his brother's worries.
"Aye," Robb did not hesitate or try to lie. "We cannot afford to lose him." He stressed, "He is the only hostage we have that the Crown would consider to trade in order to get Father back."
He was right, she agreed on both counts. Of Jaime's value, but also to the danger he posed at bribing or threatening someone to help him escape. They couldn't afford to lose him.
"I can guard him," Jon offered, "I can look after the guards too."
Robb's tone was thick with relief when he replied. "Thank you, Jon." He clapped him on the back, "I would appreciate it."
"You are right. The Kingslayer is too valuable," Jon nodded. "It would only take one guard greedy or stupid enough that could ruin everything."
The three walked down a stone pathway that led them into the open and airy godswood of Riverrun. The sun shone brightly down on them. Riverrun's godswood seemed to be treated more like a garden for social frolicing then of the religious reverence and solemn solitude of its northern counterparts.
It was filled with elms, redwoods, colorful flowers, and trickling streams that snaked their way through the godswood. Birds sang above them, sweet tunes of melodies and whistling that carried over the voices of passing guards and gossiping servants. This allowed for some privacy for the siblings as they walked to the heart tree at the godswood center. It was a slender weirwood, the face carved into it was jovial. The weirwood's red eyes were open and friendly. The lips curved into a lopsided smile.
"Have the Crown made any overtures towards suing for peace or a prisoner exchange?" Sansa had not been part to any of the talks with the nobles since their army arrived to Riverrun. For the moment, she did not press for her presence to be there, knowing there would be other meetings to attend and other councils to hear.
She had used the time to seek out her grandfather. Sansa had been warned by the maester of his sickly and frail health, but he was thankfully lucid when she met with him. Grandfather Hoster regaled her with stories of Mother when she was younger that Sansa found quite amusing, but was certain Mother would not, if it reached her that these stories had been shared.
Returning to the moment, Sansa did not miss the look that was exchanged between her brothers. She ignored the hot flames of annoyance that flickered within her chest. Sansa trusted Robb and Jon not to keep secrets from her.
"They have," Robb's eyes were on the weirwood ahead of them. "We also received other news from the south."
"Oh, what sort of news?" Sansa couldn't tell by her brother's tone if this was news that would help or harm their cause.
"Renly has crowned himself King and has married Lord Tyrell's daughter," Robb answered. "With the Reach and the Stormlands, Renly commands a hundred thousand men."
"Renly a king?" Sansa repeated, remembering the vain, but polite Lord of Storm's End during her time in the capital with Domeric. She knew he was proud, but she never thought he was one who saw himself a king. Especially since it meant he'd be usurping the crown from not just his nephews but his older brother too. "How can Renly call himself king?"
"With the largest army in Westeros," Jon said simply.
"He goes against his own blood?" The idea sickened her down to her core. Just the thought of fighting her own family was enough to turn her stomach.
"Aye," Robb's face showed he shared her outlook on the revelation from Renly. "For a crown and the throne, he'll plunge the kingdoms into a bloody civil war."
Jon shook his head, face solemn, but his eyes showed his distaste of Renly's actions.
"What do the lords say?" Sansa didn't know the riverlords to gage how they'd take to the idea of allying with a usurper against Joffrey and the Lannisters.
"Some want to join with Renly." It was Jon who answered. "They believe by joining with him we'll insure a Lannister defeat as well as the safe return of Lord Stark."
"Renly cannot inherit before his nephews," Robb pointed out, "Or his older brother, Lord Stannis."
Jon nodded, looking pleased that Robb didn't seem keen at the idea like some of the nobles had been.
Sansa agreed with her brothers' sentiment and wisdom. Leaving her left to wonder why Renly would make such a move. Did he desire power so desperately? Would he truly take the throne if it meant walking over the corpses of his nephews and brother? She shuddered at the image that conjured.
"If the riverlords wish to pledge their swords to Renly they are welcomed to," Robb shrugged. "I want to get Father back." He looked to Sansa and than to Jon, "And then for us to go home."
Jon smiled, "I'll take the north and the snows over the south and all this squabbling."
Sansa smiled too, knowing that in the north what awaited her was hearth and family, and a new life with her betrothed. If they stayed south it was war and death, and the unexpected. The choice was clear to her.
Grey Wind sprinted past them, Ghost right beside him. The two direwolves oblivious to their concerns, as they enjoyed each other's company within the godswood.
Robb was watching the direwolves. "We will wait for the Crown's envoy, and hopefully within a few weeks, Father will be returned to us."
"Aye," Jon looked pleased with that.
"However, we will be here for sometime both waiting for the envoy and then for the negotiations." Robb put his hand to the pale bark of the weirwood tree. "So I made the decision to write to Winterfell. I did so in part to let Mother know what happened here, and for her to know that her family is safe and Riverrun secure, but I wrote to her on another matter, an important one that requires our attention."
"What matter is that?"
Robb looked over his shoulder toward Sansa. "A matter that had me write to Domeric, summoning him to Riverrun." He revealed through a smile, "Since he has a wedding to attend."
A/N: I don't know why this chapter was so frustrating to write, but it was. I knew what I wanted to happen, but just could never be pleased when I would write it down, again and again and again. So I'm sorry if this chapter doesn't deliver.
The Freys are difficult to write. We know so little of some since they're just names on an appendix page. You may as well consider them OC. Regardless, of that polarizing label, I tried to write them not just compelling and unique, but also to insure that they'd fit into this world and their family. I hope I was successful.
Thanks,
-Spectre4hire