Sansa poured hot wax onto the letter she'd just written. She pressed the new ring with House Stark's direwolf into the wax before lifting it. The ring was new, the smith had only finished it a few days before. It felt odd to wear what was clearly a Lord's ring. But needed. The more she appeared as the lady of a great house, the more she would be treated as one. "Take this to Maester Wolkan. Tell him to send it to Riverrun, to my Uncle the Blackfish."
"Yes M'Lady." Podrick took the letter from her and scurried out of the room.
She let out a soft sigh and then pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and set her quill to the page and began to write. -Lord Wyman Manderly,- Her quill neatly scratched over the parchment as she wrote out the man's many titles. Reiteration of their families' long history together, filled with praise for their house's loyalty. She ignored the fact the Manderlys had recently pledged to the Boltons. The Manderlys were too important for feeding the North for her to be willing to do anything to them for it. Their position also left them trapped between Bolton loyalists, pledging to the Boltons was likely the only thing that had saved them from swift annihilation.
-In the wake of the fall and utter ruin of the traitor House Bolton, the North has been left unprepared for the coming winter. Ahead of the Lord's Moot that I have called to determine our future, I request that you send a representative to Winterfell to discuss an increase in trade to Essos. If we mean not to starve we must address the ruin of our food stores now. Any delay will be disastrous to the people of the North. House Stark is willing to invest a sizable amount into the purchase of grains...- Sansa continued to write out the possible profits and benefits of aggressively beginning trade now. She needed House Manderly's support; they were one of the largest and certainly the richest house in the North. Their support would be invaluable.
Also as a sign of favor to their house, as well as a convenient method of acquiring assistance from non-Bolton men, she continued. It was a sign of trust, and an offer of allowing Manderly influence into House Stark. Trust she didn't feel, but prefered over continuing to have only former Bolton men. -It is a small matter, but Winterfell has found itself without a Senchel. Due to our Houses' long friendship I would offer the position to a man of your household, or a man of your recommendation. As well as positions for any smallfolk looking for honest work.-
From there it was just a matter of finishing with the closing niceties and signing it. Sansa took a deep pleasure in signing her name 'Sansa of House Stark'. She set her quill back into the pot and lifted her dish of wax. Pouring and then pressing her seal into the hot wax once more she leaned back. That was that.
Then there was the matter of the other letter. She stared at it. She'd done her best to imitate Roose's hand. That as well as the seal of House Bolton in pink wax made it as convincing of a forgery as was possible. But it could go badly if it was discovered she'd committed this fraud. On the other hand if it worked...if it worked it would guarantee House Umber's loyalty. If it worked she'd be forgiven for the trickery, possibly praised for it. If it failed it'd be a hammer to discredit her. In the end it was no choice at all.
Which left the last matter she intended to see to, before leaving the Lord's solar and seeing to the business of running a castle, a small but growing army with only a quarter of the staff required for such a task. Not to mention her efforts to get as much of a crop planted as possible before winter truly started. Everyone could taste the coming winter in the air. There wasn't much time if any to wring a last harvest from the ground before it was too late.
With that not particularly pleasant thought she began to draft an official line of succession for House Stark. Half the houses of the North were having succession crises and she would not risk it happening to her family. She paused, staring at the page. It needed to be written as if the Starks were still Wardens, not Kings. The Lords of the North would not risk nor could they afford to remain in rebellion against the crown. If they could be persuaded to name House Stark their liege Lords again it would mean submitting to Lannister rule. For the length of the winter at least.
So she penned out the line of succession for the noble House of Stark. Within it she referred to Jon as Jon Stark. He was her heir. If Bran still lived he would become Lord Stark upon his sixteenth name day. The same for Rickon if he should be found and Bran lost to them. Should she die without issue and neither of her baby brothers returned, Arya inherited. Should Arya also not be found then Jon. She placed herself as regent should Bran or Rickon be found, Jon as regent should she perish. The line was clear. Bran, Rickon, herself, Arya, Jon. Herself and then Jon in the case of a regent being required.
Sansa stared at the document, and then placed the seal of their house upon its page. And it was done. Perhaps not the most secure method of securing the line of succession, but it was something. Something she could solidify with time. In the meantime she would have to ensure Jon was legitimized. He was a Stark and should hold that name no matter who his mother was. It risked the Lords choosing Jon as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. But Jon would be a fair Lord. Especially if she could keep him from doing anything monumentally stupid.
But bending the knee, an oath that no Stark would leave the North for a hundred years, the North no longer in rebellion against the throne, but also likely a concession of a keep to a Lord of the Westerlands ensuring the North could not be closed to the crown again, and Tommen might accept. It burned to think of the North leashed to the Lannisters in such a way. But the North didn't have the strength to fight the South and the dead. And it would give them precious time to rebuild their strength before summer returned and with it an appetite for war. It was necessary.
She stood, and left the Lord's Solar.
The halls smelled clean, the filth of the Boltons freshly scrubbed away. She walked, the heavy footfalls of Brienne following behind her. As they walked an older serving woman came bustling towards them. The woman gave a bow. "Lady Stark."
"Grainier, yes?" Sansa had had little contact with the woman whom she believed to be a seamstress. "Did you require something?"
Grainier easily fell into step besides, but just a touch behind her, allowing Sansa to continue to walk. "M'Lady. It's just what are we doing for the wardrobe of her Holiness?"
"Yes, that is something pressing." Sansa considered as they walked the issues at that. "Her Holiness seems inclined to not notice her garb." Which that wouldn't do. Leaving a god to walk around in Roose Bolton's things was unacceptable. "Do you have a suggestion?"
Grainier nodded eagerly. "I thought I might take Lord Bolton's wardrobe and use what I can and send the rest to be used for the men. Then if I had leave to use some of the finer fabric for the outer tunics, I could make something suitable."
"What are your current tasks?" Sansa asked, she couldn't afford to work any of her people too hard. Hard, but not into the ground.
Grainier replied easily and without hesitation, a point in favor of her loyalty at the moment. "I'm repurposing the Bolton banners M'Lady."
"Then your time can be afforded for the project." Sansa allowed as she considered the constraints. "Two outer tunics in a men's cut but tailored for a woman's body. Use the linen from Roose's chests to make a week's worth of shirts, breaches, and small clothes. Repurpose the fur as needed to make a proper cloak for her."
Grainier 's eyes lit up. "I can do that," she beamed. "I was thinking, silver or grey with red weirwood leaves as a pattern?"
Sansa gave a slight nod. "I agree. I expect to see your work in the evenings."
"Of course M'Lady." Grainier curtsied.
Sansa turned her attention away from the woman as she continued on her way. The Lords of the North may still be loyal to House Stark, but loyalty would mean nothing if she wasn't strong enough to claim that loyalty. She had much to do and not enough time to do it.
/
Daisy had come to the conclusion that killing the Boltons had been a far better choice than she'd thought. Every word about them from their former soldiers filled her with a sick sense of disgust and revulsion. The flayed corpses, men permitted to rape, and obvious psychopathy of that vile Ramsy had made the decision of eliminating them easier than it should have. But the more she learned the more she was sure she was glad she'd done it. Not that she'd personally killed Ramsey.
She shifted in the saddle, her legs only ached a bit. Unexpected perk of the serum. Her eyes were focused above the tops of the trees. "That's the Dreadfort then?"
"Aye your Holiness." Hogg touched the hilt of his sword. "We come out of the trees around tha' corner. You'll get a proper look at it then."
Daisy glanced at the men. "Joran, make sure the men stay behind or beside me. None of them need to die for this."
"Your Holiness." Joran pulled back to give directions to the men.
She squeezed her legs tighter, her horse speeding up into a quick trot. As she came around the bend she took in the great jutting fortress as her shoulders fell back. The Dreadfort lived up to its name. The towers looked like great sharp teeth reaching into the sky. The light turning its walls nearly to red in the light of the fading dawn. It looked every inch a cursed place. Her fingers tightened around the reins. It'd take a lot to turn something that massive to dust. She could do it, knew she could down to her bones. But not cracking the earth open beneath it when she did so would be the trick.
The approach was silent save the noise of the horses and leather as they rode up the road to the great gate of the fortress. Daisy pulled up her horse a stone's throw from the gate. She gave a slight gesture to Joran, hopefully the man knew what to say. Cause riding up on a castle and demanding it be looted and everybody volunteer to go be prisoners or join up wasn't exactly SHIELD protocol. Wasn't even close to being in the book. She'd fix that when she got back. Whole ass chapter on what to do in a medieval hellscape.
Joran proved to have a brain as he cupped his hands and shouted. "OPEN THE GATE ON BEHALF OF HOUSE STARK AND THE OLD GODS AND BEND THE KNEE THAT YOU MIGHT BE SPARED!"
There was a sound from up on the wall. Daisy barely caught the arrow in the air, turning it to splinters before it could pierce Joran's throat. She sighed. "Right." She reached up, finding the vibrations of the gate.
The great gates that had likely stood for hundreds of years shattered in a rain of twisted metal and splinters.
With her hands already facing their party it was far easier to shatter the replying hail of arrows. Daisy swung herself out of the saddle and stepped forward. She looked up at the wall. The fear of the men was tangible to her, she could feel their hearts roaring and the fumbles of their fingers. She raised her voice enough to carry. "Get the man in charge down here before I bring this entire castle down with you in it."
Daisy didn't take her eyes away from the threat ahead of her. But she spoke conversationally to the men behind her. "They've sent a man to fetch whatever man is in charge here. It shouldn't be long now."
"Right...your Holiness." One of the men choked. This definitely counted as proof of divinity as far as they were concerned.
The wait was tense, but slightly awkward in it's silence. Seizing castles was meant to be a bit more...well important maybe? Daisy had never been a fan of period piece films anyways. She stood steady as a man came rushing into the courtyard behind the now broken gate. He had maybe fifty men in full gear behind him, shields held up as they formed up in the courtyard.
Daisy sighed, fine. Dramatic it was. She'd been practicing lines in her head during the ride at least. "Joran, Hogg with me. The rest of you stay here till they've surrendered." She didn't have to bother with checking if they followed her orders. She could feel it. Endless meditation time had benefits.
Stepping forward she let her powers bubble beneath her feet. The ground rumbling with every step. Daisy ignored the cries and screams as she walked through the arch of the gate and out through into the courtyard. Daisy eyed the older, bearded man clearly in charge as she came to a halt some feet in front of him. "I assume you're in charge."
The man stared at her in horror.
"Bow before her Holiness." Joran urged the man to do as instructed. "She emerged from the heart tree of Winterfell."
The man dropped to one knee, the men at arms following his example with some hesitation. But they did so. Their hearts all racing as they nervously looked around, unsure about what they were doing. The man spoke. "My name is Walder Frey, the men call me Big Walder your Holiness." He held out the hilt of his sword.
She raised a brow at that. The dagger she could feel him palming, the way his vibrations felt braced for action. Daisy's mouth tightened, no easy surrender then. Make a statement strong enough and the rest should fold. Afterall, they didn't have a leader to remain loyal to. So she stepped forward and took his sword's hilt.
The man lunged, a snarl on his lips and stabbed forward with his dagger. "Witch!"
Daisy caught his hand holding the dagger. She'd have managed it without powers. He hadn't been careful. "Wrong." Holding onto him she slowed the vibration in his arm starting where she held him, all the way through him.
Walder cried out in horror, after all humans were sixty percent water. And she was freezing it. It was gruesome, but it was about the statement needed to prevent further bloodshed. And it was fast. Walder didn't even get a word out before he was frozen solid. His face trapped in a mask of horror. His skin an awful pale color.
Daisy released the now dead man's hand. "You have three choices. Surrender and swear fealty to House Stark. Surrender and take the black. Or don't, and follow in Walder's example." She held back her disquiet over killing like this. "Now, who is in charge?"
/
Sansa measured her new captain of her guard and Master of Arms. Davith Bower was maybe thirty, with a certain hardened edge to him. "Do we have the men to spare to send a party of five to meet with my brother on his journey from the Wall to Deepwood Motte or not?"
"Strictly speaking we don't have enough men as it is M'Lady." Bower scratched at his head. "I could maybe spare three if it's that important though."
She stayed still, not a twitch of self doubt. "It is that important, and these messages are too large for a raven."
"I'll go fetch the men now if ya want M'Lady?" Bower tipped his head.
Sansa gave him a nod of consent. "If you would." It wasn't a question.
He was gone in the swish of a cloak.
"Lady Sansa, are you sure it's wise to leave us so vulnerable?" Brienne asked once Bower was out of earshot.
She touched the flap of the leather satchel she'd placed the correspondence she meant to send to Jon. "If we're not to be vulnerable in the future we have to risk it now."
"Very well then." Brienne settled.
Sansa explained to her lady knight. "House Hornwood is in a succession crisis. If I settle it for them I earn the loyalty of the heir I've named and supported. I further ensure House Glover's loyalty as they'll approve of my choice. And I'll have shown I'm capable of doing what is required as Lady of Winterfell, Wardeness of the North."
"Who are you naming heir?" Brienne asked.
It had been the obvious decision. "Lawrence Snow, ward of Lord Glover and the only surviving male issue of Lord Hornwood."
"You don't have the authority to legitimize a bastard?" Brienne frowned. "Unless you mean to claim the Northern crown?"
Sansa's spine felt like steel. "I'm a princess and a lady. Until the Lords of the North name a Lord I'm both royal and noble. And who will contradict me?"
"That seems a risk." Brienne remarked.
She knew she'd chosen rightly. "Sometimes risks are required to survive. And House Hornwood will hold no love for the Boltons after what Ramsey did to the late Lady Hornwood." Sansa saw the lack of comprehension on her sworn sword's face. "He forcibly married her, starved her, and claimed her lands and titles for himself."
"I'm glad you stabbed him." Brienne's eyes narrowed.
Sansa felt an odd mix of nausea and vindictiveness at the memory of his death. "Theon tackled him." She tipped her chin up. "When a god begins to wreck death and vengeance as the ground shakes with their wrath, there is nothing left to lose." She paused. "And I needed it to be me who killed him."
Sansa listened to Maester Wolkan's report. "And Walda Bolton?"
"Is in good health, her pregnancy is progressing well." Wolkan flinched slightly at whatever he saw on her face. "Have your orders changed for her?"
Sansa breathed out slowly. "No, she will remain my prisoner and unharmed. If she has a daughter the girl will be sent to become a septa when she is old enough. A son will be sent to take the black. Walda will be sent to the Silent Sisters as soon as she's recovered from the birth. I will not have a pregnant woman murdered."
"Your mercy does you credit Lady Stark." He bowed, his chains clinking.
She hated that she was showing that mercy. The sooner the child was born and she could be rid of Walda Bolton the better. "Our guest shows no change?"
"His color has improved, and his heart remains strong. But I cannot tell when he will wake." Wolkan folded his hands inside his sleeves.
Sansa moved on then. "Have you prepared the plans I requested?"
"Your idea to turn the Broken Tower into a storehouse is well reasoned. I've had plans drawn up." He pulled out a scroll and rolled it open on the table, using two candle sticks to hold it open. "I believe there is enough labor to be had from Winter Town to begin repairing the roof and the support beams. It will take a while, but it will be worth doing."
Sansa parsed through the plans. They appeared solid, not that she would know much of anything on the topic. "What of the accounting of the coffers?"
"Your father was a good Lord and was fiscally responsible from what I've been able to gather from the remains of the ledgers. However war is expensive and House Stark was never the wealthiest of Houses. Your brother spent a great deal, and Lord Bolton used a great deal to pay his own soldiers from your family's coffers. Which has left you with two million four hundred thirty thousand and six gold dragons. A not insignificant amount."
Sansa felt sick. "But not enough for a House Paramount. And not enough to last us ten years of peace, let alone to rebuild anything." So that was another thing to desperately repair. There was the Ironbank. But it was nearly ruinous news. Even if they could get an army those funds wouldn't last three years under the strain required as a House Paramount in winter. Forget a House Paramount under the strain they were under and in a region as ruined as the North with a war on their doorstep.
"No, it's not." Maester Wolken at least refrained from adding anything to that.
She pressed her hands against the front of her skirts. "And the letters between Lord Bolton, Lord Ryswell and Lady Dustin?"
"I've found my records of letters I sent between those houses. As well as some few more missives. But not as many as you had hoped, My Lady." Wolkan replied.
Sansa remained calm. It was all she had. If things continued in this way she would be forced to request aid from Lord Baelish no matter how she felt about the matter. And he would provide it. He needed her for his goals. And he had both gold and armies now as well as Regent for Sweet Robyn. "Thank you for being so prompt in your work Maester."
"If you require anything else, Lady Stark." He waited for her decision.
She shook her head. "No, that will be all for now." It would seem she had no choice but to make an example of Lady Dustin and Lord Ryswell. Jon wouldn't like it, but it needed to be done and would be their only hope of stopping the financial bleeding. If it was summer there would have been options. Taxes and careful stewardship might have saved them. But not with the dead coming and winter on their doorstep.
"Lady Sansa, do you still wish to speak with the Master Huntsman?" Brienne asked carefully.
Sansa turned, as calm as she could present herself. "Of course, we need to bring in what fresh meat we can before the snow falls in earnest."
"Lady Stark." Brienne held open the door for her.
Sansa gave a ghost of a smile to her sworn sword. "It could be worse." Her lips twitched slightly. "Dragons could be burning the countryside."
"Quite fortunate dragons are gone then." Brienne replied.