Loras had to admit that the grey stone walls of Winterfell were intimidating. He doubted even the greatest army from the Reach could take the ancient fortress. It'd take years of siege, and even then it might not fall. The fact it'd only been taken by deception made utter sense. He swallowed as he saw the fortress was bristling with arms and had the signs of housing a large army within. He also noticed the several hundred men digging ditches around the walls. Dry moats. Multiple layers of them.
Mira looked at him, a tension in her shoulders belaying how close she was to being returned to her family. But then how close likely was why she was so uneasy as they got closer. "They're preparing for siege are they not?"
"Yes." Loras adjusted himself in the saddle. The stories the riders the week before had brought of the North preparing to fight the dead echoing in his head. He'd come North expecting to be laughed straight to the Wall. To die in a prison made of ice and misery with no recourse. What he was finding in the North was not what he'd expected. "The curving grid is strange though."
Markas made a sound of agreement. "Never heard of anything like it."
"It'll keep a siege engine or marching army away from her walls just as well as normal, however." Loras added, he frowned as he saw the way the dirt was being built into nearly sheer sloped walls. How would this deal with the dead? The only reason for the more complicated design was to fight something the done way was incapable of. It was funny, seeing the trenches being built he felt the first flicker of belief in the dead waking.
As they rode it became clear that the lands around Winterfell were bustling with activity, soldiers serving as laborers to prepare for something big. No one did this without cause. Loras couldn't help the chill that went down his spine at that. And for all it was terrifying there was a beauty to the stark harshness of the land and fortress that dominated it.
Loras noted the road turned to freshly made bricks, stretching in several directions. A massive undertaking, but one that was almost shocking in the fact it hadn't been done before. While their party certainly gained looks from the men they passed, it wasn't more than absent curiosity. He realized with a start that he appeared Northern enough not to raise eyebrows. As they rode through the great gates of Winterfell he could hear the grey banners of House Stark snapping in the wind.
Markas unmounted, striding towards a man at arms. "You there, I'm Markas Woolfield and I've come to see Lord Manderly and we've accompanied Lady Mira Forrester here to speak with the Queen in the North."
It'd been remarkably fast how they'd been bustled through the halls and into what was clearly for all its plainness, a royal court. Long wooden tables with benches lined each wall. The Stark banner on the wall, and warms fires. Standing over a table laid out with a map and markers were several people of clear import. But of all the people the one Loras couldn't look away from was Sansa. She was...she didn't look like the girl he'd known.
Where he'd known a grieving and sorrow weighed girl who he was beginning to accept had been far more than he'd given credit, was a grown woman now. It struck him that she'd been near a child when he'd known her. Now she stood, older and free. It showed. Her long distinctive red hair was a banner flowing down her back, narrow braids pulling the front sections back and away from her face. Her face, was clear and strong, not just a pretty face, but a quietly resilient one. Her dress was a green gown with wolves leaping across the chest, and along the hem. Upon her head was a crown of iron knives, a decorative wolf pattern entwining them. The most shocking was her eyes, sharp, clear, and ruthlessly intelligent.
The man at arms who'd escorted them in stepped forward. "Your Grace, Markas Woolfield, and Lady Mira Forrester."
"Lord Woolfield, Lord Manderly has been expecting you." Sansa turned her attention to them, gesturing to where a man as fat as King Robert ever had been was seated by the map she'd been looking over before their entrance.
Their party all bowed, or in Mira's case curtsied deeply. Loras noticed through his lashes that standing behind this strange version of Sansa was Brienne of fucking Tarth. What in the seven hells was that woman doing here?
The whale of a man let out a booming sound. "Markas! You made good time!"
"You may rise." Sansa easily permitted. "Please, you've had a long ride and rooms will be prepared for you." Her eyes turned to Mira, but they flicked to Loras briefly before returning to Mira Forrester. "Lady Forrester, I am glad to see reports of your demise were overly zealous. Your brother will be overcome to find you here."
Mira spoke with that tone of respect mingled with fear that all learned in the capital. "That is most kind of you, your Grace."
"But I assume you did not come to Winterfell to be reunited with your family alone." Sansa had complete control of the room, it was clear to see in how every man's attention was focused on what was occurring then. "I doubt Queen Margaery sent her brother all the way to Winterfell simply as thanks for your years of service."
Brienne of Tarth's hand fell to her sword's hilt, half a dozen other men suddenly had hands on weapons. Markas and the others they'd traveled with half snarling, looking at him in horror and fury.
Sansa spoke, her voice causing the room to fall silent. The half started cries of outrage fell silent. "Loras, you've looked better"
Loras twitched slightly but stepped forward. He might be a coward but he wasn't utterly without nerve. "Your Grace." He pulled out the letter for her Margaery had written. "My sister sends you this."
Brienne intercepted the letter, snatching it from his hands. She frowned at it. "It's unopened, your Grace."
Mira spoke. "Queen Margaery had my husband killed, myself and Ser Loras placed on a ship in the dead of night so that we might deliver that letter to you, your Grace."
Sansa took the letter, her posture was perfect. But then her posture always had been perfect. It was bizarre to see how wrong he'd clearly been. She opened it, ignoring the alarmed looks on her advisors' faces. Her eyes skimmed the words. Coming to an end she passed the letter to who must be her bastard brother, he looked too like a Stark to be anything but. She seemed to measure him and Mira in a way that was distinctly unsettling. "Ser Flint, if you could see to it that Lady Forrester is given rooms near her brother as befits a Lady of her station."
"Well, what's in the letter then? Why'd the Southern Queen go and send us a damned hostage?" A large bearded giant of a man demanded.
Sansa didn't seem upset in the slightest at the violation of manners when speaking to a Queen, rather she replied, her voice dry, her eyes never leaving Loras. "It would seem the Queen Mother, Cercei Lannister, wishes him dead, and the Faith of the Seven wish him a tool to control the southern Queen and through her the King."
"Why send him to you?" The bastard Prince asked, looking at his sister, with a brow furrowed.
She finally looked away from Loras then. "Because she'd rather be in my debt and beholden to the North than to the Lannisters or the Faith. After all, we don't kill or mutilate known sword swallowers."
The great bearded man scoffed. "What good is some southern cunt? Send him to the Wall or kill him. He's a fucking Tyrell. Why should we help the southern bitch out?"
Sansa was silent for a long minute before speaking. "Escort Ser Tyrell to the barracks, see that he is bathed, fed, and treated as our guest, for now." She looked at the man who seemed inclined to argue with her. "There is time to decide how to handle this later. For now, the court is adjourned." She left in a sweep of her gown, and deep bows of men who clearly respected her.
Loras was pulled away, hands on his arms as his mouth felt thick. This wasn't what he'd expected.
/
Loras was fingering the cuff of the shirt the Woolfield men had given him as he sat on the bed best described as a cot in the tiny room that was as close to a cell as a room could be without being a cell. At the sound of the door being opened, he raised his eyes. "Lady Tarth."
"I'm not a Lady." Brienne looked at him. "You look like shit."
He made a sound of dry humor at that. "I'd thought you dead?"
"Not yet." She eyed him. "If you attempt to harm her, I'll gut you myself."
Loras took in her armor, the proud set of her stance. "Queen's Guard this time then?"
"I'm her sworn sword actually. She hasn't named a Queen's Guard, though she does not lack protection." Brienne had the faintest tilt of smugness to her. "I doubt you'd live long enough for my sword to reach you if you so much as thought of harming her."
Loras found the injured pride at the woman before him beating him into the dirt had long since faded, and what did it matter now? "Was it truly dark magic that killed Renly?" He'd always known the woman, his fellow King's Guard for Renly had been in love with the man. It'd left him...doubtful she'd killed him. But he had to know, and whatever else she was, Brienne of Tarth was not a liar.
"Yes. I killed Stannis for it." Her chin tipped up with vicious satisfaction.
And he was jealous of her then. "Good."
"Come, Queen Sansa would speak with you now." Brienne's jaw ticked slightly to one side. "Don't underestimate her."
He gave a slow nod as he stood. "No, I think I've underestimated her enough."
"Most people have." Brienne responded as she led him out of his room and out into the halls.
It didn't escape his notice the respect Brienne was given as they walked and the suspicion he received. "Tell me, Mira Forrester, her brother has her?"
"As of an hour ago." Brienne gave him the slightest of nods. "She's safe now."
He was glad of that. "Good."
"Do you really care or do you just think you should?" Brienne asked with that bluntness that meant she actually believed that.
Loras couldn't say he hadn't deserved that. "I care."
/
Sansa stared into the fire, as close to a slump as she could allow herself, the letter from Margaery still held between her fingers. It'd been nearly three years since she'd last seen the woman who'd been...kind even in her manipulations. Even when she hadn't needed to be. Which after everything meant something. Something that meant hearing from Margaery meant something to her.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Daisy asked from where she was sitting on the floor, cross-legged and near the fire.
She looked away from the letter. "No, but I'd appreciate your advice on whether Loras is lying to me."
"I'm not infallible but between feeling people and well, spy, I'm close to it." Daisy's attention felt like a near brand on her. "But if he's accustomed to lying, he may be good enough I won't always catch it."
Sansa's jaw tensed slightly. "Your advice is enough." She finally met the other woman's eyes. "I know we haven't spoken much recently…"
"Uh you're Queen and utterly exhausted." Daisy waived off easily. "Besides, helping Fitz make paper and working with the Order's been good for me. Which I've had the boys doing something I believe you will find useful."
Sansa raised a brow, that could be a very good or a very bad thing. "What have they been doing?"
"Recording all the gossip they hear and alphabetizing it by topic, House, and importance." Daisy's eyes were bright, she knew exactly what a gold mine she'd just described. "A depository of intel." She grinned at the look on Sansa's face and it was slightly viscous but mostly proud. "Spy, remember?"
And Sansa couldn't help it, she laughed. Her god and tactic threat of utter ruin had gone and created what was essentially an answer to her lack of a Master of Whispers. "When did you start this?"
"Around the time we got back from Barrowtown. They needed to be writing something, and if they think it's useful they try harder." She shrugged, the smug look not leaving her face. "And they are very eager to prove themselves outside of digging trenches."
Sansa couldn't help her slight smile at that. "Jon mentioned something about the ground where the men are digging being looser than the ground anywhere else."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Daisy winked as she half hopped, half floated to her feet.
She huffed at the display of casual power, it'd long since stopped being frightening. Now it was…something else entirely to behold. She straightened her shoulders. "We'll speak of your men's information later."
"Sure, and hey, want to work on learning to break a man's hand if he tries to touch you? Cause you've kinda got the stabbing bit down pretty good." Daisy offered easily.
Sansa paused slightly at that, she knew Daisy had specifically been avoiding that lesson and she wasn't ignorant of why. "You think I won't panic?"
"I think you'll try to stab me if you do." Daisy held her eye, the playfulness fading. "And I don't think you'd let yourself panic enough to try and stab me if you don't want to."
Her brow furrowed slightly at that. "What would you do if I tried to stab you?"
"Hope I haven't taught you to stab too well." She grinned lightly. "And your southern knight, or well Brienne, Jon, and someone else are about to reach your door."
She closed her eyes, drawing herself together. Whatever game Margaery was playing she needed to be the Queen her people had chosen for it. Breathing out she opened her eyes, every bit of her controlled as she had to be. "The door if you please."
"Got ya." Daisy waved her hand, the door opening without being touched. She barely glanced at the door just stepping to the side table where the customary pitcher of wine sat, and the cup of water and tea leaves Sansa had taken to keeping on hand.
Sansa didn't pay attention to whatever magical, power shenanigans Daisy was doing with the tea. She'd noticed Daisy freezing and then boiling her tea repeatedly one too many times and wasn't inclined to ask. It was probably boredom...also if Sansa had the god's powers she'd probably do the same. Instead, she projected her voice, as she heard the footsteps her friend had likely felt. "You may enter."
"Your Grace." Brienne stepped in, bowing her head as she stepped to her post as her protector.
Jon had the faintest humor, though she doubted any who didn't know him well would note it as he bowed his head. "Your Grace." Honestly, he didn't bother with that when he wasn't being a noble idiot.
Between them entered Loras Tyrell. He was notably changed from the last she'd seen him. The short beard, northern leathers and furs, and general sell sword appearance notwithstanding. No, it was the look in his eye that was most different. He bowed his head with a perfect level of manner. "Your Grace."
"Please, sit. We have much to discuss." Sansa laid her hand in such a way it drew the gaze to the crown sitting beside her. Instead of touching it she lifted the letter and offered it out. "I believe you'd appreciate reading what your sister asks of me?"
"I would, your Grace." Loras carefully accepted the letter, reading slowly.
As he read, Jon closed the door, then stepped to where Daisy was standing and accepted a cup of tea he wrinkled his nose at. The two of them had a silent conversation before he took a seat and drank in silence.
Loras slowly dropped into the chair set aside for him. He lowered the letter. "I see. Will you accept the offer?"
"I haven't decided." Sansa examined him, it'd been years, not many, but enough. "Tell me, what is it you want?"
He swallowed, his eyes flickering to the others in the room before back to her. "To do as my sister asks."
Daisy frowned ever so slightly. "Lie." She looked at him. "And not a good one."
Sansa was silently relieved it would seem Daisy could confidently pick his lies out. It would make things far easier. "Speak truth or not at all Ser Tyrell, or I will do as my advisors wish and throw you in my dungeons and send your sister your hands."
Loras narrowed his eyes looking at Daisy with some outrage. "Who are you to call me a liar? I would have your name."
Daisy took a sip of her tea. "I don't see how what I am matters. You lied, not well and stupidly. I'm not the one asking for my life either."
Loras swallowed back a retort. He nearly shuddered, looking back to Sansa. "My apologies your Grace. I did not mean to offend. Only my sister sent me, my duty is to do as she asks."
"Truth." Daisy took another sip of tea.
Sansa ignored the twitch the man before her made. "We both know your sister wishes you to swear your sword to me. To be my sworn sword safe in the North, or else to travel further to the Wall itself and to become a Black Brother. Both are honorable choices, but both are for life and neither would be easy. But not what I asked."
His head remained high, but he tensed as if he'd like to duck it. "I...I don't know." His eyes flicked to Daisy, before back to her. "I'm not lying. I can't go back to the Faith. I'll do what needs to be done for that not to happen. If that means being your sworn sword I'll do it."
Sansa didn't need to hear or look at Daisy to know that was the truth. Though her silence was reassuring that she read this man correctly. A part of her wondered what the Faith and the High Septom had done to this proud man to reduce him to this? "I will not accept a vow given without loyalty, but I also will not throw you out of my home." She leaned ever so slightly back in her seat. "Leave us."
"Sansa-" Jon started only to silence as Daisy grabbed his shoulder and half hauled him to his feet.
Daisy patted Jon's shoulder. "Till tonight, your Grace." She didn't bow her head. A detail no doubt meant for Loras to pick up on.
"If you're sure." Jon saw the certainty in her face and bowed his head before leaving after Daisy.
Sansa knew Brienne would protect her if need be. "Margaery, is she well?"
"I...I think so." Loras seemed confused.
She gave the slightest of nods at that. "If anyone can survive Cersei it will be your sister."
"You survived Cersei." He dipped his head. "I see that was no accident."
Sansa wondered what would have been had the two of them as they were now, been expected to court and perhaps marry back in King's Landing? It didn't matter now. "Your sister was kind to me, even once she had little or no reason to do so."
"Margaery is kind to everyone." There was a thrum of pride there.
"She is." Sansa felt...conflicted. That kindness had been used to manipulate her, to give House Tyrell power. She'd been a playing piece that Margaery had wanted to take for herself. "What can you tell me of the south?"
Loras shuddered. "Everything, I will tell you everything. But it's not complicated. Cersei is a mad bitch who unleashed the Faith Militant on us all. Margaery will gain the Faith's favor, may have already. But Cersei is a monster."
"Tommen?" Sansa asked. She had no doubt the Faith would turn against Cersei. Her latest news of the South indicated it had.
Loras shrugged. "A sweet boy, he might even be a good King someday."
"He might." Sansa knew if he was anything as she remembered that war might not even come from the south should Cersei be ruined. Certainly, something to think on. "Tell me, does he still have cats?"
Loras snorted, it seemed to shock him he'd done so. "He does, Ser Pounce."
"He always was a sweet boy." Sansa looked away from him. "Do you think it will be long before they march on us?"
He frowned, clearly taking time to think on it. "They won't be able to march till the Faith Militant is handled. I cannot say how long that will take."
"But they will march." She tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. "I will give you a bed in the barracks. You will work with the men, eat with the men, and be treated as one of the men. If you try to leave I'll have you thrown into the dungeon. When you know what you want of me come and tell me."
Loras swallowed. "So I'm to be your prisoner?"
"That does not mean you cannot also be my guest." Sansa wondered if she was wise to offer him this chance. "For the sake of the kindness, your sister showed me."