Maester Wolkan is a troubled man. He fears the coming siege. He fears for his own neck, once Winterfell has been taken. More than anything, though, he fears whatever secret lies hidden in the crypts beneath the Palace. The Queen had avoided them for years, understandably so. No one would forget the night that the corpses of her ancestors had risen from their tombs and attacked them all. After victory, the piles of bones, had just been dumped back in the tombs. without ceremony, before they were resealed. No one has been down there since that time, apart from him, but now, the Queen is in and out continuously. Perhaps she just goes there to pray, but why is she accompanied by Beria, and other inquisitors? No, there is something going on down there, and he needs to get to the bottom of it.

He knows the passageways and stairwells of the Palace like the back of his hand. He leaves his chambers, and walks towards the servants' quarters. He finds his way to a little-used stairwell, and descends it, very, very, quietly. He makes his way to the bottom of and then treads lightly towards an emergency exit, which leads out of the crypts. Carefully, carefully, he turns the lock, draws open the door, and enters. It is dark in here, although, not quite pitch black, as there lightwells, here and there, and it takes time for his eyes to adjust. He holds a small, covered, lamp, and lights the wick, to provide him with a little more light. He has to be careful where he is going, The crypts are a rabbit warren, filled with the junk of centuries. They have a stale, airless, quality about them. He knows he could be down here for hours, searching for his quarry. He starts suddenly, as something runs across his foot. A rat! The crypts teems with them. No amount of effort can eradicate vermin from the Palace.

He reaches the first of the tombs, of Torrhen Karstark, the King Who Knelt. In a way, it is fitting that Sansa, the Queen who refuses to kneel, should be the last Stark who will ever reign at Winterfell. Will she be buried here, he wonders? He suddenly remembers that Ramsay Bolton met his end down here, and shudders. Does his ghost hover here still, chuckling at Sansa's impending end? Or worse, was the man right? Had he moulded Sansa into a replica of himself? Not quite. Despite all her crimes and sins, at the very least, she has never taken pleasure in torture and murder. Never taken pleasure. But, she has waded through the blood of innocents during her reign. For some years, he had tried to guide her, before giving up, focusing on the young princess. Thank the gods that Sansa sent her away at the last. He had really feared that Sansa would take her daughter's life, rather than risk her falling into the hands of her enemies. Poor Catelyn! How will she remember her mother? It must be very hard to come to terms with learning that the one you loved is a monster! She had found that out, when Glover was burned in the Godswood.

He creeps stealthily forward, past tombs and statues. Here and there, passageways branch away, past doors that have never been opened in centuries. At random, he tries one of the passages. Only to hear footsteps, and a voice, behind, that he recognises as that of Beria. He will be caught! If he runs, they will certainly hear him and track him down. Desperately, he tries a door, which opens. He breaths a silent prayer of thanks to the old gods and the new. He leaves the door slightly ajar, and peers out. Beria walks past, accompanied by a young officer, and a pair of inquisitors. "The Flints, and Wulls, and the other clans will reach us by tomorrow. Not, that they'll find anything to live on. My men were quite thorough with Wintertown" she hears him say. "They'll have to live off their own supplies, and the game in the Wolfswood." They walk off into the distance. After a few minutes, Wolkan plucks up his courage, and emerges from his chamber. He removes his shoes, and walks bearfoot on the stone flags, so as to be sure of making no sound.

At last, he reaches a wide vaulted chamber. He can hear crates being shifted. He creeps forward, and hides behind a barrel, trying to see what is going on. It is very difficult to be sure, in this gloom, until he glances at the barrel itself. He traces the sigil that is etched into the side of the barrel. The old mark of the Alchemists' Guild, rivals to the Order of Maesters through the centuries. And, so it is now very, very clear, just what Sansa is planning for her enemies, when the Palace is taken. Gods above! He will not allow this! All his life, he has hidden behind the rules of his Order, first serving the Boltons, and then Sansa. But no longer, he will not let this enormity take place! He turns, and creeps from his hiding place. He does not know if he can escape from the Palace, but he will send out ravens, even if it costs him his life.

There is a loud whirring noise, and he feels something punch him in the side. Confused, he falls to the ground, peering into the gloom. "What is this?" he asks, or tries to, but already, his mouth is filling with blood. Someone raises a torch above him, and he sees the young officer holding a crossbow, realising now that he has been shot, and the bolt is buried in his lungs. Only, he now sees that the young officer is the Queen, wearing a uniform and breastplate, with her hair tucked beneath a half-helm.

"I bear you no ill-will Wolkan. Forgive me, if you can. You're a good man and a faithful servant". He sees Beria join her. She continues, quite calm, as if she is discussing the weather. "I'm actually very sorry about this. It's just a shame that you weren't made for a royal court. Men like you, with clear, simple goals, just don't have the mental agility to survive at Court." He tries to speak, but all he can do is spew blood. It's becoming hard to breathe, even to concentrate. Indifferently, Sansa keeps talking "You're not really to blame. Sometimes, people just find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. But, you really should have known better than to investigate something that's none of your business. Oh, and by the way, I'm sorry about this, but I'm going to have to have your body thrown into a furnace. It would be bad for my reputation if people knew I'd murdered my own Maester. " If Wolkan hadn't been dying, he would have spluttered indignantly. As it was, he did splutter, but only succeeded in coughing incoherently. "Oh, don't be like that. I just have to dispose of the evidence. I'm sure people will wonder where you've gone, but a few words here and there about how you wanted to escape, and the rumour mill will take care of the rest."

Then, nothing.

Notes:

Sorry Wolkan. Murder comes very easy to Sansa, at this point in her career.