Sansa stood in the great courtyard of Winterfell, her crown upon her head, four Royal Guards arrayed around her, and a great deal of the court as well. She knew what her coming personally to greet her new arrivals meant, and it was a gesture she very much intended. Snow was falling, quieting the sounds of Winterfell as their guests arrived.
The party that rode through the front gates was not impressive in their numbers. But it didn't make them any less important. The perhaps forty men were clearly travel-worn and weary as they came to a halt. The silver eagle on purple of House Mallister of Seaguard in the Riverlands was plain to be seen on near half the men. Beside them was the scarlet with black ravens around the dead weirwood of House Blackwood of Raventree Hall of the Riverlands.
A man who must be Patrek Mallister, heir to Seaguard, a man who was of an age with her uncle Edmure, dismounted. The rest of the party followed his example. Heavy thuds as their feet hit the ground, and they took a few moments to straighten themselves before they'd be required to approach.
Sansa barely kept her surprise hidden as she realized that among the Blackwoods there were two children who could barely be old enough to be squires. She would guess they were older than ten but certainly younger than four and ten.
Finally, as the youngest boy among the Blackwoods was helped off his horse, the party straightened, as Patrek Mallister and a young man in Blackwood colors approached. Patrek pulled ahead and then dropped to his knee. "Your Grace." The rest of the party from the Riverlands took the knee behind him. Every man and boy of them.
Sansa's heartbeat in her chest at it. That was near half the Riverlands, and all but two of the major Houses of the Riverlands pledged to her then. She might have the Riverlands in more than name by the time she was forced to meet with the Dragon Queen. "Please rise, you are most welcome in Winterfell my Lords. My hospitality is yours, rooms have been prepared so that you may rest after your travels." She waved forward a servant who was holding bread and salt.
"Thank you for your kindness, your Grace." Patrek rose to his feet. "I am Patrek of House Mallister and this is Edmund of House Blackwood. We bring tidings of the south, as well as word from those Lords who remember where their true loyalty lies. If we could speak soon."
She hadn't expected them to wish to speak so soon. But she would not deny them this. Both Houses had lost sons in the Red Wedding and countless men at arms in the War of Five Kings and the bloodshed that had followed. "Very well." Sansa gestured for Loras. "Ser Loras will escort you to your quarters. Once your men and things are settled he will bring you to my solar. I will have refreshment brought that you need not thirst or hunger."
"Thank you, your Grace." Edmund Blackwood bowed deeply, his young face was drawn.
Sansa noted the near relief besides the quiet determination they all seemed to carry. Things were not good in the Riverlands. Something she'd already seen, but it was clear the horror wasn't less than she'd thought. Whatever news they brought would be important. "It's nothing after the loyalty both your Houses showed my brother."
Sansa was fond of her public King's Solar. It wasn't ornate, she had neither the spare funds nor the inclination to make it so. Any great tapestries of Stark or Northern history had long since been burned by the various invaders since her childhood. Instead of ornaments, she lacked, or would be foolish to waste man hours on, she'd had it plastered in white. The wooden beams with the shapes of wolves and vines carved upon them were the only bit of the walls not coated in a layer of white plaster. A few servants with good eyes had spent a week painting blue roses, and direwolves across the surface. There were splashes of reds where the leaves of the weirwood trees were painted as well. It was simple, if not too plain for what it was.
She paused, raising a brow as she realized one of her guards was acting twitchy. "Conin yes?"
"Yes, your Grace." The man stepped forward eager to serve. He was one of Daisy's men selected for her guard.
Sansa looked at him critically. She doubted a man loyal to Daisy could be bought to fight against her. And she had two other guards, leaving any risk of him turning on her unlikely to work even if he was fool enough to think of it. "You seem distracted, is there something I need to know?"
"Of course not!" He straightened, though his pale Northern features turned a bright red all the way to the tips of his ears.
She felt herself turning more amused than concerned then, his reaction gave away a great deal. Sansa gave him a critical up-down and ran through what she knew of him. One of Daisy's men, young, clearly out of his depth among knights and nobility but willing to do his duty nonetheless, and he had been on the same guard shifts as Loras for the last few weeks. A laugh caught in her throat as the likely answer to his actions dawned. "Well then, do continue to fulfill your duties when you're not too busy thinking of Lady Forrester."
His face somehow turned even redder, as he ducked his head. He surprised her though by speaking carefully. "Do you think…sorry, it's no matter, your Grace."
"I have a few minutes." Sansa found herself allowing. It was funny in a way, it was the first time one of her guards had attempted to ask anything of her of a personal nature. "If you have a question ask."
He resolutely looked at her with every shred of bravery he likely had. "I want to help Lady Forrester, I like her. But if I do, then I'll have to leave the Order. I'd…her Holiness trusted me to protect you. I've never wanted anything like I've wanted the Order. How can I even think of leaving it?"
"Ah." Sansa faced the man and felt bad for the position she, Mira Forrester, and the political nightmare that was the Forrester/Whitehill blood feud had put him in. But she also understood why he would be the sort of man that Mira Forrester would ask to marry her. "Is it without question the Order would have you resign your place among them?"
He seemed to shake slightly. "To be a part of the order is to sacrifice, I can't do that if I have a wife a…family. It would be unfair to have both."
"You're a good man." Sansa reached out, laying a hand on his shoulder. It felt awkward to touch someone who wasn't one of her siblings or Daisy. But he wasn't a threat to her. "No matter what you decide Daisy, the Order, they won't be disappointed in you. Go, talk to Hogg and Brienne. You need their words more than mine."
He cleared his throat. "I'm your guard."
"I know, however, I have two other guards here, and I have no doubt you'll send one of your brothers from the Order to stand in your place while you make your decision?" She dropped her hand.
Conin wavered and then bowed. "I…"
"And Conin, for what it's worth she chose you." Sansa could see the doubts on his face. "Not because you're convenient, but because she trusts you."
He gave a nod and then left the room.
Sansa sighed, well that was a disaster waiting to happen. Man at arms who'd need a knighthood was a bit of a stretch. She wished Daisy was there, she'd know how to handle this ridiculous situation. Breaking all social rules was just another day for Daisy anyways. But then…it might be a good thing Daisy wasn't here to add to the chaos. She looked up at the second guard. "Please send for food from the kitchens."
She frowned as she looked at the endless paper stacked on her desk. Sansa accepted she was going to need to find someone whose job was purely to organize her paperwork. A scribe, she needed one. She was going to have to speak with Bower and Flint about it. She took her seat and ran through the various summaries of various runnings of Winterfell.
Sansa noted a portion of the women had turned from sewing to carding and spinning wool. It looked like she'd need to order looms to be built and set in one of the various abandoned chambers of the castle. The many ways Winterfell had been underpopulated for what she was beginning to realize was centuries continued to show. Outside of the central keep, she had room to expand the various needs of her capital. However, every time it took work and man hours to do so. The Broken tower, now God's Tower, alone was glaring proof of that.
She looked up at the sound of the door opening, her seneschal Flint entering, his cane making the distinct clicking noise she'd become accustomed to. "Good, I was just hoping to speak with you soon."
"What do you require, your Grace?" Flint took the seat across from her, long since having learned he was always to take a seat when possible. She had no interest in the man being in pain when he could just sit.
Sansa offered out the sheet she was reading. "We need to open up the old rooms for the looms. If we mean to produce enough fabric to keep our people warm and clothed through the winter we need to increase what we're creating greatly. I was thinking some of the old halls near the old Bailey?"
"That is out of the way, but there are rooms that could be converted to that purpose, perhaps a week and twenty men to prepare it." Flint winced. "Unless the stone itself requires repair."
Sansa nodded, she could accept the delay if she had more roofs to see fixed. "See to it, and that's another thing. I need a scribe."
"Educated, loyalty above question." Flint frowned. "But most educated commoners are from Manderly lands."
Which was the issue. "And I've already given more power to that House than is likely wise. And between Brienne, Loras, and Wagstaff in my guard as well as the Vale now here, I can't give the position to a southerner. And I've pulled too much from the Order already."
"You could ask the Order to train a scribe for you?" Flint offered.
She wished that was an option. "And the time it would take to educate them if common born would be excessive. Surely there's a third or fourth son from a nearby House that would be convenient?"
"So many are dead…" Flint grimaced. "I'll see who is of age and position to be likely and bring their names to you."
Sansa lifted the next matter to discuss. "It's a priority if we wish to avoid drowning in the management of a country. Now, about Wull requests for arrow shafts, what from our stores can we spare? And why is this even coming to me directly? Surely I have an advisor whose eyes this should have gone to first?"
/
Edmund Blackwood looked at the rooms given to him. He turned to his three younger siblings they'd hidden as squires. "All of you are to stay here till I've spoken with her Grace." His focus turned to his closest sibling. "Alyn is in charge, but no one comes in unless it's on orders of the Queen. Understood?"
"I'll keep them safe." Alyn puffed slightly, he was six and ten, should be a squire to a knight, not here in the North guarding their younger siblings.
Bethany pulled the hat off her head, her long hair falling down. "Do you think I'll be allowed to wear dresses again?"
"Of course." He reached out gently mussing his baby sister's hair and hoped he wasn't lying. "We're safe here."
Two and ten Robert just made a sound of assent and slumped on the bed. "Can we sleep?"
"You can sleep." Edmund looked at Alyn. "I don't know how long I'll be gone. No one comes in."
Alyn gave a sharp nod. "I understand brother."
He gave a last nod, his eyes sweeping his alive and safe siblings. Edmund tipped his chin up and shut the solid wood door behind him. His steps felt awkward and noisy as he made his way down the hall. Reaching up he touched his chest, the thick packet of letters sewn into the chest of his jerkin were still there.
"Edmund, ready?" Patrek Mallister asked from where he was leaning against the wall.
He glared, he wasn't a boy. He was eight and ten damn it all. "Let's do our duty."
Patrek snorted but didn't argue as they walked to where the Northern knight was waiting for them.
At the end of the hall was the Northern knight who was to escort them. He was a striking man, his hair was all brown curls that shone gold where the light hit them. His beard was neatly trimmed on his face, his outer jacket a Stark grey, the green cloak the Queensguard seemed to wear, crisp and clean. He was the picture of knighthood, a strange mixing of Northern and southern traits. The man's green eyes locked on them, his accent southern as he spoke. "If you two would follow me, my lords."
"Southern accent, and southern name. What are you doing in the Northern Queensguard, Ser?" Patrek asked the confident swagger he'd held before the War of Five Kings, shining through.
Ser Loras's eyes near sparkled. "I am a sworn sword to the Queen. And we're a Royal Guard, you know Northerns, can't even keep the name of things if it's too southern."
Edmund frowned, there was a joke there that the guard was laughing at neither he nor Patrek were noticing. "What House are you from Ser?"
"Tyrell." The man grinned as he lengthened his stride. "Come along, best not keep her Grace waiting."
Patrek made a choking sound as he tripped over his own feet.
Edmund felt like he'd been punched in the gut, but he did spare enough thought to be smug that he hadn't physically tripped like an idiot. Who was the boy now? Biting back the words he followed after the man who was apparently the Knight of the Flowers. No flowing locks and roses here though, it was strange, but frankly, it mattered little in his mission. "Her Grace, do you have advice on how best to speak to her?"
"Be honest and don't bother hiding things." Ser Loras glanced at him. "And keep your mouth shut on the subject of her Grace's paramour if you want to survive in the North."
Patrek spoke up, clearly missing the very obvious advice. "Her Grace has a paramour? That's not just the songs. But she's a woman?"
Ser Loras actually laughed. "You should let the boy talk, he clearly has the brain between you two." He raised a brow. "And really, her paramour is the single scariest thing I have ever beheld. Good luck if you piss them off."
Edmund wondered if Patrek noted the fact that Loras had very carefully not said the Queen's lover was a man. If the songs were true… he would be taking the knight's advice to heart. Best not to speak at all until he knew better what the situation was. His family depended on him after all. Besides, in a world where the old ways no longer were followed and men were more monsters than any beast from tales what was to say a Queen couldn't fuck who she wanted? Or to say they hadn't brought a god of ruin upon them all?
/
Sansa noted neither of the Riverlords had changed from their traveling clothes. The ingrained dirt while not atrocious was notable. Patrek Mallister was a tall man, one comfortable in his own skin and one who knew his own worth. Edmund Blackwood was a fourth son and had only just turned eight and ten if her memory served. He was stiff, seeming to try and fill a role he had yet to grow into. The black crow feathers attached to his collar were slightly bent as they poked at his chin. And yet, if Loras's quiet gesture upon entry was correct, it was Edmund who was the more useful. "You insisted on seeing me, my Lords, what is so pressing you dared not wait till you'd rested?"
Edmund took a halting step forward, pulling a thick packet of parchment out of his jacket. "My father Lord Blackwood sends his highest regards as well as assurances of his loyalty to the rightful ruler of the North and the Trident. But he also sends to you his legacy that it might survive the wars to come, your Grace."
"What does he mean by legacy?" Sansa asked as she accepted the packet from the serious and drawn young man.
His chin tipped up slightly, his shoulders squaring. "His three youngest sons and only daughter. House Blackwood has already lost two sons to the Lannister scum and Braken betrayal. As our land shall surely run with blood once more, my father asks that you allow a guarantee that some of his blood will survive, your Grace."
Sansa stared at the young man and felt a great swell of pity. Not that such an emotion had any place here. "Your second brother died in the Red Wedding beside mine own oldest brother. I had not heard House Blackwood had lost another son?"
"Jaime Lannister and House Bracken took our contested lands and took my brother as a guarantee of our submission to Lannister rule." Edmund's face was a stiff mask as he spoke. "Once news of our allegiance spreads his head will be forfeit."
Sansa felt the cold certainty then that the man was likely already dead then. "Your House and brothers' sacrifice will not be forgotten. I assume the two youngest boys in your party were your sister and youngest brother?"
"Yes, your Grace." Edmund replied, braving to defend the fairly rude gesture of dumping uninvited guests upon her doorstep.
She considered her options. The girl would be young if disguising her as a boy for safer travel had been effective, the youngest in the party had been too young to squire, perhaps old enough to page. "Your siblings, what ages are they?"
"Alyn is six and ten, Bethany is three and ten, and Robert is two and ten." Edmund replied promptly.
Sansa gave a slight nod. "Very well, you and your family are most welcome, it would be my honor to provide my protection to those of so loyal a House. Your youngest may partake in lessons with my brother as a ward of House Stark. Your sister I will gladly name a ward as well. As for your brother Alyn, it would seem Ser Loras is without a squire."
Loras startled slightly but he gave a faint tip of his head in agreement.
"I assume you and Ser Loras can agree on the details after this meeting. In the meantime, I assume you had more news that was pressing beyond your family's care?" Sansa could see the promise of having a Blackwood squire for Loras, a position in the Royal Guard once the boy had earned his knighthood would be expected and was an honor she had no qualms at offering either.
Edmund bowed his head, gratitude practically radiating from the boy. She'd been generous, a mercy she could afford and would benefit her as well.
"We bring word from over half the Houses of the Riverlands." Patrek pulled out a large stack of letters bearing the seals of a dozen different Houses and set them on her desk. "We await your orders to march north or south as you will it."
Sansa swallowed, she'd won then, the Riverlands were her's in more than just name. "I will send riders in the morning, but I would not ask the Riverlords to march north or south."
"We can fight!" Edmund puffed up, a desperate pride and stubbornness there before he blanched. "Apologies, your Grace, I only meant we are still strong."
She smiled slightly at him. "I know, but your lands have been ruined enough. I would have you defend your homes. Should my brother secure a lasting peace with the Dragon Queen a third of your armies can be marched north. Until then, I mean to name two Lords to command so that they may further secure the Riverlands and prepare it should our enemies attempt to retake it. Already I have ensured two thousand men of the Vale are stationed at Harrenhal as well as another three hundred at the Twins."
"You mean for us to hold the line while the rest of your armies fight the Dead." Patrek looked thoughtful. "It is not a bad plan. And if the Dragon Queen's army turns its eye on us, your Grace?"
She didn't waiver under the true question. "Then you are to surrender without hesitation. My grandmother was once Lady of Harrenhall, I will not ask any man to face that certain ruin when I cannot face it beside them."
Sansa was exhausted as she collapsed in her great fur-covered chair by the fire. It was a long day, and she expected the Forrester men to arrive any day now. She missed Jon. He should be dealing with half of this.
"What crawled up your ass?" Arya snarked from where she'd been idly spinning a dagger between her fingers.
She gave a half-hearted glare toward her sister.
Bran looked away from the fire. "Daisy will leave Highgarden to return to you soon. She only delays to secure Jon's safety."
"Highgarden, I thought Jon was on Dragonstone?" Arya stilled, lowering her knife as she looked at Bran in disbelief.
Sansa felt a migraine coming. "To be there she would have had to have flown them there."
"Your lover can fly?" Arya's voice pitched up.
She ignored that. What could have caused them to go to Highgarden? It couldn't have been to escape dragons, they would have returned to Winterfell if that was the case. "What did you see?"
"A lake of blood, old eyes reopened." Bran frowned. "I did not see well, but old things wake from their slumber."
Sansa closed her eyes. Well fuck. That was not helpful at all. She stood up. "I am going to bed."