Sansa makes plans to protect the North, and deals with new arrivals.
Next chapter on Saturday. Enjoy.
33. A New Sister - Sansa
Perusing the large map of the North and the neighboring lands beyond the Wall laid out over the table, Sansa was waiting for Bran to return. Her brother's body was still sitting right by her side, but his mind was gone. The Three-eyed Raven loves to fly, she mused, watching his white eyes.
"This is so creepy." Robin Arryn said, his gaze fixed on Bran. "What happened to his eyes?"
"Indeed, this is passing strange, Your Grace." Lord Royce offered, looking unsettled. "Are you sure your brother is well?"
Tormund Giantsbane answered for her, "You southerners never saw a warg before, eh?" His voice was filled with contempt. "It's a wonder you don't get ambushed all the time, then. Beyond the Wall, we need eyes in the air at all times, or it could mean our lives."
"What's a warg?" Arya asked. No, when she's wearing that face, I must call her Lord Baelish.
Sansa still didn't know how Faceless Men magic worked, but it was certainly useful. Arya had hidden Littlefinger's corpse, taking his clothes and everything in his pockets. And his face.
"Jon told me something about that before he left." She said, trying to remember the words her brother had used. "It means he can send his mind into an animal, and see the world through their eyes. Jon can do it with Ghost."
Baelish's eyes lit up, and the genuine look of wonder on his face was stranger than anything else she had seen today. "Really?" He asked, his voice a little higher than usual. "I wonder if-"
"Yes, Lord Baelish." She interrupted, afraid her sister might say something that Littlefinger would never say. This is a dangerous game we're playing.
Blinking a few times, he wiped his hands on his clothes, his expression returning to normal. "I only meant to say that the Prince of Winterfell is a very interesting young man. His talents could be useful."
Sansa breathed a sigh of relief that nobody in the room had noticed the slip. We need to find a way to remove Littlefinger without raising suspicions, but she couldn't deny it was nice to have someone else on her side. Arya had promised to follow her orders, so it was almost as if she could tell Littlefinger what to do.
"Excuse me." Lady Alys Karstark said, running away from the room with a hand over her mouth, her face a pale shade of green. The woman had been sick quite often these past few days. She should see maester Wolkan about that, Sansa considered, it could be a serious illness.
Tormund barked a laugh, ignoring the young woman leaving the room. "I always knew there was something more to the little crow. It's probably why Orell hated him, too. They say one warg can recognise another."
"Unnatural, if you ask me." Lord Glover muttered, loud enough to be heard over the silence.
Nobody asked you, she thought, narrowing her eyes. Sansa was simply waiting for an opportunity to remove him too.
"Definitely useful, though." Lady Mormont was frowning in a thoughtful way.
Bran opened his eyes. "I found a small group of six wights, being led by a single White Walker." He said, in that monotone voice she had come to expect when he opened his mouth. "Five of them were raised by that same White Walker, but one was raised by the Night King. He always keeps one with every patrol, to act as his eyes and ears. Make sure you destroy the Walker first, so that only one wight remains standing."
"Where are they?" She asked, leaning over the map.
Bran's chair was already placed near the northern edge of the map, so all he had to do was point. "They're scouting the Haunted Forest, near Eastwatch-by-the-Sea." He said, moving a finger to a point a bit north of the easternmost castle along the Wall. "By the time you arrive there, they might have moved, so I shall guide you once you reach the castle. Look for a raven with white eyes."
Tormund nodded. "I'll be leaving then."
"Alone?" Sansa asked, an idea forming on her mind. "Shouldn't you take more people with you? It could be dangerous to face so many."
"I reckon the crows will help once I reach Eastwatch." The wildling replied, unconcerned.
"Still… I'd feel safer if you weren't going alone." She said, turning to Littlefinger with a pointed look.
Lord Baelish nodded, clearing his throat. "Yes, I'm sure whoever helps Tormund here will have the eternal gratitude of the Queen in the North. And once the rest of the realm learns of the threat, all the other lords and ladies of the South should be eternally grateful as well." Turning to face Lord Arryn, he asked, "Wouldn't you agree, Sweetrobin?"
The young man's eyes brightened. "I'll help him!" He practically shouted, startling the other lords. "I've always wanted to see if these tales of deadmen are true, and I've never visited the Wall before." He sounded excited for the opportunity.
"An excellent idea, my lord." Littlefinger said, looking at her with a hint of a smile.
Sansa smiled back. "Thank you, Lord Arryn. Your bravery won't be forgotten." She said, in her most regal tone. Turning to face the others, she asked, "How about you, Lord Glover?"
"Me?" The foolish man seemed to shrink when everyone turned to stare at him.
"Yes. You, my lord." Sansa's smile widened. "I'm sure you'll accompany Lord Arryn and Tormund on this expedition, won't you? It's just that you've always doubted Jon, so I should think you'd relish the chance to prove him wrong and see for yourself that White Walkers and wights aren't real after all. And if they are real, you'll be remembered as one of the few who risked their lives to help the realm. This seems the perfect opportunity for you." I've got you now.
Lord Glover stood there with his mouth half-open for a good while, before he finally said, "Your Grace makes a fair point. I'll join them too."
"Good." Sansa laid her hands on the map. "I expect you all to leave today. If you need supplies, or men, or horses, they will be provided for you. I'm sure I don't need to impress upon you the importance of this venture. We must convince the southern lords to help us, or the North will fall before they even know why. That cannot be allowed to happen." I would be forever known as the Queen of the Dead North, she thought, the image of a skeleton with crown atop her red hair troubling her mind. She took a deep breath. We still have time. Jon will convince the dragon queen, she told herself. "Now that we all know that to do, this meeting is concluded."
Walking along the courtyard towards the South Gate, Sansa turned to look at Brienne helping a group of young women with their weapons. Her sworn shield had taken it upon herself to become the temporary master-at-arms of Winterfell, training everyone who needed it.
"Is it true, my Queen? Lord Arryn is leaving for the Wall?" A handsome young knight asked, trying to keep up with her long strides. Ser Harrold Hardyng. He had sandy hair and deep blue eyes, with an aquiline nose and an easy smile, which brought dimples on his cheeks. He was dressed in fine clothes which seemed to never have seen even a speck of dirt, a velvet blue doublet streaked by white stripes, under a red fur cloak.
She sighed. The man had been trying to charm her ever since he arrived with Robin and the other Vale lords, finding any excuse to seek her out and have a private conversation, always singing praises of her beauty. The younger Sansa would have loved the attention of a comely man such as himself, the perfect prince of a song about lonely maidens locked in a tower by some evil beast. However, she had learned her lessons well. Sometimes, the princes are the real beasts.
She continued walking, as she replied, "Yes, Ser Harrold. My cousin has bravely shouldered the responsibility to help the North in our greatest time of need. He should leave for Eastwatch in a few hours."
The man raised his eyebrows. "Impressive that he would volunteer for such a dangerous expedition… Or impressive that someone could convince him to do as such." Then he smiled, making the dimples on his cheeks stand out. "And I've told you many times that you can call me Harry. There's no need for formalities between us, my Queen."
Harry the Heir, as some other lords were fond of calling him. Due to a strange number of coincidences, the young ward of Lady Anya Waynwood was the sole inheritor of the Vale, should anything happen to Robin. He's probably hoping Lord Arryn suffers some great tragedy. Sansa had only wanted her cousin gone to give her more time to work on this Littlefinger situation, before everything blew up in her face.
"Very well." She said, allowing a smile to grace her own lips. "Harry. Why don't you join Lord Arryn? I've heard many tales of your bravery and skill with a blade. It seems only natural you'd be drawn to such dangers." Unless they were blatant lies.
He almost tripped, but managed to compose himself in time. "Oh, how I wish I could, my Queen." His sad voice was exaggerated, as he put his left hand on his right shoulder. "Alas, I've hurt my sword arm while rescuing a fair maiden from a drunken lout. I'm afraid I wouldn't be of any use to my lord beyond the Wall."
She was saved the trouble of responding by the sight of the South Gate, and the knights awaiting there. Her uncle Edmure had sent a letter explaining how their forces weren't strong enough to both hold the Riverlands and help the North, but he had managed to send help in another way.
"My lady." A large and tall young man stepped forward to greet her, bowing low. He had light brown hair, neatly trimmed to his face, which sported a faint growing beard. The armor on his broad chest had the sigil of a red striding huntsman on a green field. House Tarly.
Harry coughed loudly. "You address a Queen, boy. Show proper respect." He said, his voice rough and a scowl marring his features.
"F-Forgive me, Your G-Grace." He looked flustered, his hazel eyes darting from her to Harry and back to her.
Sansa smiled, trying to ease his embarrassment. "It's alright. And you must forgive Ser Harrold here, for calling you boy." She turned briefly to give the Vale lord a disapproving glance, before turning back to him. "You are Dickon Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill, are you not?" She asked, remembering her uncle's letter.
Dickon Tarly and a company of two thousand knights had arrived at Riverrun, seeking shelter from a dragon attack at Harrenhal. Her heart had raced at that part of the letter, hoping that Jon was alright and the dragon queen hadn't gone mad, but as she continued reading, the tale became worse. Euron Greyjoy had somehow acquired a dragon, deciding to burn anyone foolish enough to get in his way. And that apparently includes everyone.
"I suppose I am…" He replied, his voice growing weaker. "Now that my father…" His eyes became dull, as he cast his head down in a defeated stance.
"There's no need to explain, my lord." She said, in what she hoped was a kind voice. He watched his own father being burned alive, he doesn't need to relive that. "The North welcomes you. We're a bit crowded at the moment with all the visitors from the Vale, but I made sure the household staff had rooms prepared for you. I'm sure you could use some rest." She made a gesture, and a servant came to lead him away.
Before leaving, he bowed low again. "Thank you, my Queen."
After he was beyond earshot, Harry said, "What an oaf. He could barely put three words together."
"He's still in pain. Watching your own father die isn't something one can easily forget." Ser Ilyn, bring me his head! Sansa would never forget what she saw in front of the Sept of Baelor so many years ago in King's Landing.
"Sansa!" Arya's voice called out to her. Turning to look, she spotted her sister across the courtyard, and this time she's wearing her own face, holding a piece of parchment in her hand, waving it over.
"Excuse me, Harry." She said, leaving the man standing there.
When she came closer, Arya explained, "A raven came from Dragonstone."
Jon finally remembered to send word! She was happy at the thought, but looking at her sister's hard expression made her pause. "Something wrong?"
"Yes. Very much so." Arya said gravely, handing over the letter.
Reading quickly, the crease on her forehead turned into a frown, which then turned into a scowl. "He can't be serious…" She tried to see if the letter was forged, or if maybe Jon didn't write it. No, it's definitely his handwriting. Resisting the urge to crumple the letter in her hands, she took a deep breath to try and calm down.
This is the dumbest thing he's ever done. How could he think this is a good idea?
"Jon was never one for jests, Sansa." Arya seemed just as angry as her, if not more so. "This is serious. We're going to have a new sister soon." She added, her voice bitter.
Sansa felt her stomach lurch at the thought of ever calling that woman sister, or even the notion that they might become part of the same family, but there was no escaping it… If the letter was true...
Jon Snow is going to marry Cersei Lannister.
That last interchange is exactly the reason why I loved the Cersei/Jon idea. It's just so interesting to imagine how this is going to work. I have to write/read that.
In other news, here's Dickon Tarly and Harrold Hardyng. I was tempted to leave Sansa without pairing, but I couldn't resist.
03/07/2019