Sansa was roused from her sleep by a hand on her shoulder. She startled but calmed seeing Brienne's face kneeling by the side of her bed, her other hand holding a single candle. "What is it?"
"Mira Forrester, Hogg, and Conin beg an audience with you before dawn, your Grace." Brienne said seriously.
She pushed her covers down, sitting up. "Bring them to my solar, I'll be there presently." Sansa watched her sworn sword duck her head in acknowledgment and then leave to see to her orders. As the door closed she sighed. She was unsure if it was early or late, either way, it was far too soon for her to have been roused. Though she could guess the reason.
Leaving her bed she didn't bother with unbraiding her hair or any of her formal court gowns. Instead, she pulled on the simplest and thus easiest to dress in gown from the bottom of her chests. It was one of the few gowns from her time as Ramsey's wife that she hadn't sent to be turned into rags. She wasn't sure how it'd remained in her wardrobe so long, likely just forgotten…or the small part of her that had made it and been too loath to be parted from it. After all her sewing had been the one thing Ramsey hadn't taken from her.
She laced it up the front without hesitation, grabbed an embroidered wrap, and pulled it around her shoulders before walking through the door into her private solar. "The Forrester party arrives tomorrow then?" She addressed the question to Hogg.
He bowed quickly before straightening. "Aye, best guess an hour or two after dawn. They changed their pace after Woolfield removed Lady Whitehill from their custody."
Sansa accepted that it'd been an expected possible turn of events. She looked at the disparate though connected people in her solar. "Well, what decision have you reached?"
Conin straightened. "If you would bless our union, your Grace." He reached out, taking Mira Forrester's hand as he spoke.
Sansa's eyes tracked back to Hogg. "I assume it's been settled within the Order?"
"Aye." Hogg gave Conin a sharp nod. "He's no longer a part of the Order."
She glanced at Brienne. "Send for Ser Flint to meet me here in an hour, and have Loras dragged out of bed." Sansa gestured to the door. "Two hours in the gods' wood then." She smiled faintly as Conin bowed and Mira curtsied. She hoped they were happy, it certainly was a sign of times to come. With more living noble daughters than sons, marriages below one's station were going to happen. Still, it would seem she would be giving her blessing to the beginning of the pattern.
Sansa looked up from her desk at the sound of Ser Flint her senschel's arrival. "I'm sorry for rousing you from your bed, but we have much to see to and little time to do it in."
"The Forresters, your Grace?" Flint asked, sharp man. And why she appreciated his service.
She hummed. "Indeed, Mira Forrester is eloping in the gods' wood with Conin of my guard in an hour." She ignored his startled expression. "We'll need to have rooms set aside for them and their possessions moved to quarters in the same wing as the rest of the Guard's quarters. Something with a few rooms, at least two. The morning meal will need to be a small celebration for their nuptials. Some fresh mistletoe over the headboard in their new quarters and on the tables in the great hall. And then we'll need everything prepared for justice in the Forrester and Whitehill matter."
Flint, ever professional, folded both his hands over the top of his cane. "And when Lord Forrester is rightfully irate that you would not only allow, but bless the union of his sister with a man who lacks even a family name?"
"He will know exactly how displeased I am that he would put personal grudges over common sense on the eve of war after I've so richly rewarded him and his House." She forced her ire over the pointlessness of the matter down. "And I have no intention of leaving Mira to rot."
Flint didn't flinch from her words. "You'll make the boy a landed knight then?"
"Indeed, that should solve his lack of name and quite honestly it's past time I had proper ladies in waiting. Mira is uniquely suited for organizing such a thing. It also solves my lack of scribe." Sansa set her quill down from where she'd been writing the required papers of ennoblement. "I'll give them one of the minor keeps at the northern edge of Stark lands. The Bolton's so kindly slaughtered several of the branch families who once held them."
He gave a thoughtful nod. "I can see the wisdom of such a thing. Lord Forrester may duel the boy."
"And he'll lose." Sansa was half counting on the man being stupid enough to do so. It'd legitimize her decision, after all. Rodrick Forrester, lingering injuries from the Red Wedding or not, had a reputation as a warrior. It'd make Conin's skill at arms above reproach. "Thoughts on Lovewell as a name?"
Flint snorted. "Well that'll make a statement, you Grace." He titled his head. "This will make you few friends."
"The carrot and the stick. Lord Forrester has refused my goodwill, he and the rest of them will learn why that was stupid. I can't tolerate infighting now." She handed him the list of what was needed. "You'll see to it?"
Flint tipped his head. "Aye, I suppose you'll be giving the boy a horse and armor?"
"He already has armor thanks to his position. If you could see to the horse, it'd make a fine wedding present, don't you think?" Sansa raised a brow. "Ensure nothing is stated as a gift to Conin alone, but rather two of them. It's Mira whose loyalty I want the court to note."
"I'll see to it, your Grace." He dipped his head before turning to see to his tasks.
Sansa let out a long sigh, rubbing at her temples as the door closed. It was going to be a long night and then day. But she had a wedding to attend.
/
Mira Forrester had known since she was a girl her marriage would be a tool. But then every woman's marriage was such and she'd trusted her father to do well by her. Her time in the Reach had taught her far more of the realities of marriage than she'd known. She'd thought she'd been prepared. And then it had all fallen apart and she'd been forced into a marriage she'd despised on threat of death until Margaery Tyrell had had her husband killed. A thing she'd met with relief.
Being home in the North, safe and secure she'd thought herself free to finally expect the marriage that she'd been promised. A good man of correct standing and the ability to aid her family. It wasn't much to hope for. But her brother was held in high esteem by their Queen, their House's position was secure so long as they survived the next handful of years. The few months to perhaps a year she had to be a widow were a blessing. And then Rodrick had fucked it up. She'd realized then what marriage was laying ahead of her, and marrying a crotchety old man was nauseating. Her brother wouldn't be able to afford to marry her to someone for any reason save power. Power only an established Lord with no wife could provide. So a widower of some years.
Her mouth felt dry as she laid her hand in the crook of Loras's arm. "Thank you."
"Always." Loras smiled at her. "I underestimated you."
Mira couldn't help the huff at that. "You underestimate a lot of women."
"Well, I can't be perfect." He paused before leading her into the gods' wood. "You could still change your mind?"
She looked away from his face and to the future. "No, I've made my choice."
"Well, let's go and get you married then." Loras squeezed her hand, and then led them forward.
Mira walked into the gods' wood in the early first rays of dawn. The sky was just beginning to lighten as they walked across the fresh snow through the wood. As they came to the heart tree she was…surprised by the dozen or so bleary-eyed Lords who'd clearly been woken and dragged from their beds to witness. She didn't focus on them, instead, her eyes found Conin waiting at the tree. She was heartened to see the several members of the Order of the Shield. She had not broken that for Conin, and she was glad.
She didn't feel afraid looking at him. Their future days would be difficult and dangerous, but she was not afraid of him. Which meant more to her than love or rank or wealth. She calmed her heart rate and felt it slowing. She refused to focus on the pain that it was Loras giving her away instead of her brother. Instead, she focused on Conin's dark curls and the splattering of freckles across his pale nose and cheeks.
Her voice was clear as she spoke the words that would bind them, her lips curled faintly at how Conin's voice nearly cracked. She didn't doubt her decision as they knelt before the tree, her hand in his. Of the many silent prayers she might have given, the one she asked for was for them to survive the coming storm. And then her maiden's cloak was removed, and Conin's simple green Guard's cloak was wrapped over her shoulders. And as they turned to face the world as husband and wife, hand in hand, she felt like she could breathe freely.
/
Sansa smiled to herself as she saw the new couple on the second to the highest table. She knew her court was confused, many an early riser had sent word to rouse their allies. Nearly the entire noble population of Winterfell had made it to the morning meal despite Sansa not doing a thing to cause it. Every nobleman and woman was nervous. They had yet to realize quite how large of a shift was about to happen, but they knew one was here. Sansa rose from her seat, the hall quieting instantly. "Lords and Ladies, people of the North."
Everyone was paying close attention.
"We live in dark times with little time to partake in joy. But for that reason, it is more important than ever that we celebrate what joy there is, and that loyalty, faith, and goodness are rewarded." You could've heard a pin drop. Sansa looked at the newly wedded. "Approach."
Conin and Mira rose and made their way before her, both lowering their heads in respect.
She walked around the table before halting. "Conin, kneel."
His eyes widened, interesting, no one had told him what was going to happen. But he kneeled without hesitation. Mira took a half step back.
Sansa held out her hand to Brienne. "Your sword if you would."
The cold steel of the hilt was promptly laid in her hand. Raising the sword she laid the flat of the blade on his shoulder. She spoke the shorter words of the oath of knighthood, so as to avoid speaking of the Faith of the Seven. "Conin, do you swear before the eyes of the old gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord, and your queen, to fight bravely when needed and do such other task as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"
Conin's voice didn't waver or crack. "I swear by the old gods and by her Holiness."
She tapped his other shoulder before lowering her sword. "Then rise, Ser Conin Lovewell, and may you not only serve long and loyally but may your future be bright and full of the love you and your wife share."
The hall filled with clapping, it was done to be polite, but it was there nonetheless. And Conin's face was full of a joy and awe that was beyond words as he looked at Mira as if to check it was real. "Thank you, your Grace!" His cheeks were bright red and flushed.
"I know you will prove my generosity wise, Ser Conin, in the days and wars to come." Sansa took a roll of parchment, her seal prominently on display. "As such you and your wife will be given the keep at the edge of the Wolfwood and the lands beholden to it, to serve and protect."
Mira accepted the role as her husband seemed beyond words. She lowered in a curtsy, and Conin quickly followed suit, bowing. "We are honored, your Grace."
Sansa smiled, turning her attention to the court who very much were realizing just how large of a political move she'd just made. "Now, it is rather the wrong time of day, but our love birds insisted on an early ceremony. So, let us not buck all tradition. Let us bed them!" She stepped back.
And well, they were Northerners and the fun of a celebration easily broke any tension or oddness. The enthusiastic Order members certainly helped. The newlyweds were swept away with laughter and shouts of the usual good cheer, rewards, and love for gossip could inspire.
Sansa returned to her seat. Well, her opening gambit had begun. By end of the day, her court would realize the true measure of the threat. She felt a settled determination as a man hurried before and bowed before speaking. "Forrester banners approaching the gate, your Grace."
Well, that timing couldn't have been neater. "Have Lord Forrester, Lord Whitehill, and those men of standing from the party brought to the King's Hall." She rose, projecting her voice. "Please, remain and eat. I leave you to see to a matter of justice." She turned in a swish of skirts, Brienne and Wagstaff falling into step behind her. No doubt no one would be sitting out of court today. But well, manners.
Sitting upon her throne, Sansa coldly watched Lord Rodrick Forrester stride down the hall. The benches and room on either side were crammed with people. Rodrick clearly had realized he'd overstepped based on his purposely respectful face. Behind him, several men, notably Torrhen Whitehill were in chains as they were led in by eight Forrester men at arms.
Rodrick Forrester came to a halt before her throne and dropped to one knee. "I've returned victorious, with your enemies defeated, your Grace."
"Have you?" Sansa's voice was clear and her face felt like it was carved. "I wasn't aware I had enemies for you to be victorious over in the Ironwood."
There was distinct awkwardness throughout the Forrester party. Rodrick lifted his head. "Lord Whitehill abandoned his post and raised arms against your forces."
"That's a dirty lie!" Torrhen snarled, pulling against his chains. "You brought an army to my lands!"
Sansa held up her hand. "Enough!" Her gums ached as if her teeth wished to be fangs, by the side of her throne Ghost and Shaggydog bared their fangs. A low growl came from deep in Shaggydog's chest, no doubt Rickon was wearing his second skin then. "Get on your feet, Lord Forrester."
The hall was tense as the man rose to his feet.
She turned her gaze on Lord Whitehill. "Lord Whitehill, you left your post on the Wall, raised arms against forces under the royal banner, and spilled Northern blood on the eve of a fight against the Dead. Do you deny it?"
"Forrester threatened my home!" Whitehill's face was red. "I had no choice-"
Sansa's eyes narrowed as she cut him off. "No choice? The soldiers were under Stark colors. Did you think me so feckless as to turn on a House sworn to me with no cause or provocation? Surely a single raven could have been sent. A single moment of thought to think you were being provoked into stupidity?"
Whitehill seemed to deflate. "I only took my men home to defend my keep and my family."
"Against direct orders from your Queen, in violation of the terms laid out to earn the mercy, I showed your House. This is treason. Do you deny it?" Sansa stared at him, daring him to argue.
He swallowed, the anger draining from him as he seemed to realize exactly how serious his position was. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing
"Then the law is clear. I sentence you to death, to be executed at noon this day in the old way as justice demands. Those men who had been assigned to guard The Shadow Tower are to be sent to Castle Black and there to swear to the Night's Watch. Should they refuse this mercy to be hung from the neck until dead." Sansa continued, ignoring the panicked expressions of her Lords. "As you are the last trueborn son of House Whitehill and your sister has married into House Woolfield," there was a surprise, the court hadn't known that, "Highpoint, as well as all lands, titles and wealth, shall be forfeited to the crown until it can be awarded to more loyal and deserving vassal."
Torrhen Whitehill jerked. "You can't do that!"
"Remove him." She turned her gaze on Rodrick Forrester as her guards dragged the screaming and cursing man from the hall. His face was undeniably pleased. It was a mistake. "Lord Forrester."
He bowed. "A just decision, your Grace."
"I do not appreciate having my hand forced, nor my time and the lives of my men wasted." Her tone was cold.
Rodrick barely repressed a flinch. "I meant no disrespect, you Grace."
"What else would you call taking the men I gave you to secure Ironrath and placing them on the border between your lands and that of the Whitehills where they had no business being? To then use me as executioner for your own personal grudges? You walk perilously close to breaking faith with the crown." Sansa didn't have to be Daisy to know the man's heart was beating rapidly.
He had a nobility to him to his credit as he stood tall before her displeasure. "House Forrester's loyalty to House Stark is unfailing. If I have acted rashly, I can only beg understanding. The Whitehills killed my father, my brothers. If my actions provoked them it was out of caution, not malice."
"Let us be clear Lord Forrester, your family was avenged, all but two of the members of House Whitehill were dead. Their military strength was broken and the remnant on the Wall in preparation for the coming war. Your family's loyalty and losses were rewarded in both trust, position, and reparations. There was no threat to be abundantly cautious of. Even as you acted the last of your family was traveling to take shelter in my halls."
The growl in Shaggydog's chest prevented anyone from speaking. Sansa continued, "You did not break my peace, by the barest of margins. And my instructions for the use of my army were unspecific enough you have broken no oath. However, it would seem I have misplaced my faith in you. You will no longer hold the title of Master of Reserve, the title and authority are no longer your concern. Your command of those divisions of my army I had entrusted to you is at an end. You are no longer welcome on my small council. As House Whitehill will no longer exist after today there will be no reparations owed to you from whomever I gift those lands and titles to. You will remain Lord of Ironrath and Lord of the Ironrath alone. Before the month is out I expect you and your men to man the Wall in place of the Whitehills. I suggest you do not waste my time again."
Rodrick was horrified, his face pale, murmurs rushing through the hall. "Your Grace! Surely that's too much! We have ever loyally served House Stark! A single mistake out of grief for murdered family, you must understand!"
"I must nothing." Her voice snapped across the hall like a whip. "My brother is treating with the House that burned my grandfather and uncle alive, who stole and raped my aunt to her death. I sit here preparing to stand against the Dead while the Lannisters still breathe." She rose from her throne. "Do you think our personal grudges and agendas will matter when the Long Night comes? I have suffered the presence of oath breakers, enemies, and traitors to my brother in my halls, on my council." As she spoke she knew Ghost had risen behind her, flanking her. "And I will continue to do so because it is necessary. If you or any Lord wastes my time and the lives and security of this realm again I will mount your or their heads on my walls without hesitation. Is that understood Lord Forrester?"
He lowered his head, his hands shaking ever so slightly. "Yes, your Grace."
"Then my judgment is made and the court is dismissed." Sansa turned and swept from the room. Her anger and fury at the stupidity of men who should know better felt like ice in her veins threatening to crack and swallow her into icy depths below. She was done leaving any doubt in the thick, stubborn, northern heads that she was anything but capable of doing what was required.
It was a cold rage that settled into her bones and stayed there. And it filled her with purpose and carried her through the dozens of tasks she had awaiting her until the execution. And it kept her solid and unwavering as she stepped to the raised platform with a headsman's block set in the middle of it. The crowd of Winterfell watched as Torrhen Whitehill was brought to the platform by two Stark men at arms.
He licked his lips, looking out across the hostile courtyard. Then his eyes turned to her. "Keep my sister safe."
Sansa wondered if he was a good man, it didn't really matter. She simply gave a tip of her head in acknowledgment of his final words. Already she had secured his sister and ensured her life, from there she would be given the tools needed to survive. What she did after that would be her own concern, not Sansa's. She turned to Loras who was holding the sheathed greatsword she'd been learning to swing in the gods' wood.
There was a change in the atmosphere as she took the hilt of the sword and unsheathed it. The sword was large, near as tall as she was, from tip to pommel it came to near her chin when standing up. The weight was both less and greater than she'd have expected before having held it all those days ago. She set the tip of the blade upon the platform, her hands holding the hilt. "I, Sansa Stark of Winterfell, Queen of the North, the Trident and the First Men, Protector of the Realm, sentence you to die."
Torrhen gave a spiteful glare across the people there, and dropped to his knees, laying his own head on the block.
The crowded courtyard was eerily silent, as was customary for executions in the North. For death was not a sick show to them as it was in the south. But even then she could feel the weight of her people's eyes more heavily than the sword weighed in her hand. She did not buckle or hesitate or shudder from her duty. As she had passed the sentence, she swung the sword. And it was done.