The Song of Winter

By MADJACKc1940

This work is original to GRRM, I claim no credit to his books or the show.

Chapter 2

Jon awoke with the light streaming through the window in his chamber. He had claimed Robb's old room in the family quarters of Winterfell. Neither Sansa nor he had wanted to take the Lord's chambers. For Jon, it was the remaining sense of unworthiness that had been instilled in him by Catelyn Stark that kept him from the accommodations, though he was well within his rights as King to take them for himself. Sansa had previously bedded there with her brutal husband and had no desire to return. She had taken her old quarters before the family was scattered. Few of their original belongings survived the multiple occupations of Ironborn and Boltons.

He readied for the day in deep thought. The meeting between his bannermen, the Vale, and the wildlings was slated for the afternoon. Many important decisions were to be made there. The survivors of the noble families who stood with the Bolton forces were to be tried. What to do with the wildlings who stood with the Starks was to be determined, Jon intended to be generous with the noble tribes, they were not so different from the Hill tribes who so loyally stood with his father. They were to see how relations with the Vale were to proceed, which also predicated on how Baelish was dealt with. And ultimately, they had to convince the remaining Northerners and Vale men about the encroaching threat of the Night King and his White Walkers. That left the outstanding issues of the Iron Throne and Daenerys Targaryen to be decided at a later time.

Jon went to break his fast in the great hall. It was early enough that few of the guests had yet roused. He ate quickly on his own and then left to the godswood. Memories of his father spending time there with the old gods of the first men, the gods Jon and his sister kept, remained in his mind. Ghost padded at Jon's heels as he entered the great garden and sat before the carved face of the bone-white weirwood tree. He unsheathed his Valyrian steel bastard sword, an irony lost on no one, and proceeded to hone its edge as he thought.

This picture is what Sansa found as she entered the godswood, struck by the image of what could have been her father sitting in the same place she now found Jon. He too liked to sit and meditate under the shade of the weirwood and see to the traditional family Valyrian steel greatsword, Ice. She shuttered within her cloak, a buzzing sensation sounded in her ears and the briefest of prickling sensations tickled her eyes at the sudden reminder of the innocence of her lost childhood. Ghost sat astride his master, head on his front feet, lazily looking across the plants in the godswood. The huge dome of the glass garden built around the famous Winterfell godswood kept the space unseasonably warm. The warm springs that bubbled up from the earth within also helped to aid in keeping the air warmer. The water from those springs was also piped throughout the castle to keep the halls and chambers noticeably warmer than the outside air.

Sansa had also woken early, though still later than her brother. She found sleep to be a tenuous concept in the wake of her experiences at King's Landing. Her more recent experiences did not aid her either. The death of her husband did not remove the memories of his treatment of her and others. Sansa's loyal guard, the imposing Brienne of Tarth, stood at Sansa's shoulder. As ever, the large woman was fully armored and her hand rested on the hilt of her Valyrian steel sword, Oathkeeper. Ghost sat up at the presence of the two women, each figure imposing for her own unique reasons. The great direwolf bounded over to the Lady of Winterfell, his head as tall as her shoulder, and proceeded to sniff at her.

Sansa smiled and laid her hand on the loyal beast's head, absently thinking of her own direwolf of Ghost's litter, Lady, as she stroked Ghost's ears. Lady had been killed at the hand of Eddard Stark by order of Robert Baratheon after the cruel Joffrey Baratheon had insisted that the direwolf had threatened him. In truth, the direwolf had been protecting Sansa from the late prince's vicious antics. Ghost had taken to Sansa more comfortably than he did with any other new person that Jon could recall. She wasn't technically "new" to the direwolf, but Ghost hadn't seen her since he had been the size of a regular hound.

"It's as if Father never left," Sansa said to the King as she strode towards his sitting place, her and Jon's respective loyal guards in tow.

Jon chuckled as he put down his sharpening stone and examined the razor's edge of his blade. "It's not an irony that I came down here," he responded, "I wanted to see what Father had in mind with this practice."

"Did you discover anything?" she questioned, standing over his seated position, her hands idly clasped in front of her waist.

"I find myself reminded that I know nothing," he replied as he stood to meet her gaze. She had circles under her eyes, her makeup did little to cover her exhaustion. He had noticed these signs of her general discomfort in their brief time since reuniting. "Did you get enough sleep?" he inquired, placing his hand on one her forearm and squeezing lightly.

She graced him with a light smile and placed her hand on top of his that held her arm. "It comes and goes," she answered, "thank you for your concern. Are you ready for the business to be conducted today?"

"Yes. I was thinking that we should meet with Lord Royce here in the godswood. It feels that if we are to commit treachery, we should at least make it easier for the gods to see us for their judgement." He sheathed his blade, satisfied with its upkeep.

Sansa nodded, not disagreeing with his discomfort at how they had decided to deal with Littlefinger. "It is not completely above board," she reminded "but that man is guilty of more true treachery, potentially much against our family, than you or I will ever engage in. The sooner he is dealt with the sooner we can restore the integrity to the land."

Jon assented, looking towards the weirwood tree. "Then perhaps we should not delay in meeting with Lord Royce," he answered, "is he yet awake?"

"I saw him in the great hall with some of the other Vale lords," she replied, "I have yet to see Littlefinger this morning."

"Then let us summon Lord Royce." A quick call to one of the passing household servants had the aged lord informed that his presence was requested in the godswood once he was finished with his food. He didn't keep the siblings waiting. He strode into the godswood behind the servant who had served as his guide.

Lord Royce was an imposing man, older, and donned in the iconic, ancient bronze armor of his house. He had a reputation of great honor and loyalty to the lords of the Vale, a reputation vetted to the siblings by their late father from his time as a ward of the Vale under the king's namesake, the late Jon Arryn-longtime Hand of Robert Baratheon before Eddard Stark. His death had been the catalyst for the Starks leaving Winterfell what felt like an age before. Bronze Yohn Royce stood before the Stark siblings.

Sansa, somewhat familiar with Lord Royce through her time at the Eyrie, decided to begin the conversation. "Good morning, Lord Royce, the King and I have a matter of great concern we wish to confer with you about regarding my cousin, Lord Arryn."

"Good morning, your Grace, my lady," the genteel man replied, giving them a slight bow, "I find myself curious as to why such an issue would be brought to me and not to Lord Arryn's Regent."

"We come to you," Jon answered, "because our father always held you in the highest regard." Lord Royce frowned, unsure where this topic was leading. He and the late Lord of Winterfell had been friends. Eddard had looked up to Lord Royce, like Jon Arryn and his own father, as examples of how a lord was meant to carry himself and rule with a firm hand, but in a manner tempered with honor and restraint.

"The Vale has always been a realm of the highest integrity," Sansa continued, "we believe that you, Lord Royce, are one of the greatest reflections of that reputation, you are also one of the most influential Vale bannermen. Because of that…we have decided to approach you about a matter I find myself ashamed to admit." The stoic lord gestured for her to continue; Jon took a step closer to her in support. "I deceived you, my lord, and the rest of the nobles at the Eyrie at the inquest into the death of my aunt. I was coerced by Littlefinger to lie for him at the threat to my safety: to give false testimony to the fact that my aunt was, in fact, murdered by Petyr Baelish for him to gain further control of the Vale."

Sansa hung her head in true regret at her admission. Lord Royce looked both surprised and angry at the revelation. His initial reaction subdued into pensiveness as he considered what this accusation would mean, especially with the coming meeting. "Lord Royce, I beg your personal forgiveness. My father died for his integrity, but I violated mine at the expense of justice for my own aunt and now Petyr has control of the Vale, Father would be so ashamed of me," Sansa shook, a few tears broke from her carefully kept visage. The relief at coming clean over some of her wrongs and the memories of her beloved father had her emotional. This broke from the cold stoicism she had learned to develop in the face of all of those who would torment her, beginning with her public ridicule at the court of the Iron Throne from Joffrey Baratheon. Jon placed his arm across her shoulder in comfort. Lord Royce stepped closer to the pair. Brienne tensed up at the advance, but his body language wasn't threatening.

"Lady Sansa," Royce began, "it is regrettable that this transgression has stood as it has. But it is also fortunate that you didn't hold your peace longer. Baelish's influence within the Vale, though technically legitimate, is still tenuous. I have long suspected foul play at his ascension, myself and the other bannermen, but we were unable to provide proof of wrongdoing. Also, with Baelish whispering in the ear of young Lord Arryn, we were bound as subjects to accept his order to cease the inquiry. However, right now is an opportune time to correct this wrong. Evidence of your word as the Lady of Winterfell would be cause to reopen inquiry into Baelish, and Lord Arryn isn't here to order us to cease. We could level a formal accusation of the murder of Lady Arryn, and then try the man as we see fit. We even have a King to pass judgement," Royce nodded, his plan coming together.

"We meet treachery with treachery," Sansa grumbled into her hands.

"It is not treachery, Lady Sansa," Yohn Royce assured, "it is justice."

"It does not feel that way," Sansa answered, "if it were, we would not be discussing this behind Baelish's back. We would have just leveled the charges against him outright."

"It needs not be so cut and dry for it to be considered honorable," Royce answered, "what is important is the revelation of the truth and the justice being done. Laying the groundwork to achieve the best outcome is better in the long run to ensure that our plan is achieved as quickly and cleanly as possible, with the fewest amount of people hurt in the potential conflict."

"Do you foresee there being a conflict?" questioned Jon, "and what exactly do you consider the best outcome? We are committed to a trial for Baelish, but when he is convicted, what would you consider the best plan? Lady Sansa and I have discussed it and agree that you would be the best replacement as Regent to her cousin We still do not know your intentions regarding the fact that the Vale came to the aid of the North in contradiction to the orders of the Iron Throne and their appointment of the Boltons as the Wardens of the North. Baelish rules the Vale with their blessing, despite his decision to intervene against the Boltons. If you side with us in our decision to try Baelish, it would only put you further at odds with the Lannisters."

Lord Royce gave no pause, "Fuck those thrice-damned Lions and the orders of that bitch, Cersei Lannister. The rest of the Vale bannermen will side with my decision. We shall try Baelish, an outcome almost assured given his inability to provide defense against these accusations. It will likely come to trial by combat. No one will consent to be his champion. And the ultimate decision will rest in the hands of the gods. Baelish is a schemer not a fighter. After that business is done with, I will consent to be the new Regent to Lord Arryn and we will defer to you, King in the North. I say this out of mutual respect from one honorable realm to another, and because of my affection for your late father. The details of our alliance can be ironed out later, but rest assured that I have no intentions of letting any more King's Landing plotters and snakes into the Vale of Arryn."

"You are true children of Ned Stark," declared Royce. Sansa warmed at this assurance from a man held in regard by her father. "Even you, King Snow, so much so that I counsel you to legitimize yourself as a Stark as your first order of business at this coming meeting," continued the older man.

This gave Jon pause. He had considered the concept, it didn't feel right coming from himself, even if he was a king and no one could tell him differently. It wasn't as if the Lannisters were going to be sending him a declaration of trueborn status as he had always wished for as a child. "I'll think on it," answered Jon. Sansa gave him a look that spoke volumes, he must know that she wouldn't object at all to him declaring himself legitimate, didn't he?