SANSA
Edmure Tully had never endeared himself to her while he was at Harrenhal, and her welcome at Riverrun had not changed Sansa's opinion of him. "Your mother was always fond of blackberries," he commented, after a long time staring across the table.
"The Northmen at White Harbor will be fonder of them," Sansa said.
They supped in the high-ceilinged room she had taken for her solar. The fare was admittedly meagre, the centrepiece a tall rustic pie with pork and cranberries, set among dishes of greens and neeps. Riverrun's larders were hardly full to bursting, but they were in a better state than most of those in the Seven Kingdoms, owing to Lord Edmure's shrewd rationing of the grain harvests.
"The Northmen at White Harbor are beyond the scope of my help," said her uncle.
"So you say. Have you tested that theory?"
"Sansa—"
"Lady Stark, if you please. Since your refusal of help has left my brother and sister most likely dead, I am now the Lady of Winterfell, and the Warden of the North."
She did not really believe that Arya and Rickon were dead. They had the Blackfish with them, and Sansa knew Ser Brynden could find a way out of any problem. But in the case of Edmure, it was important to assert her authority. "The Lady of Winterfell, the Warden of the North, and the Lady of Harrenhal." She could have mentioned that the Brackens and the Blackwoods and the Mallisters would all sooner follow her than Edmure, but it might be wise to let him keep some of his pride, at least.
Edmure bristled. "Harrenhal is part of my demesne."
"That it may be, but Bronze Yohn Royce offered me the ladyship of Harrenhal after Myrcella's trial. After your flight. If you wanted to have a say in who should receive it, you ought to have stayed."
"I had responsibilities here in Riverrun. Stannis's red witch burned his wife alive, which left us all in chaos. And my wife—"
"Is perfectly capable of looking after herself, I believe. She did not need vast armies to attend to her bedchamber, I am assured. Those armies, my lord, would have much better benefitted the Northern cause."
"Must you continue to hold this against me?"
The tiredness with which he spoke made Sansa absurdly angry. "If your uncle was here—"
"He would tell me to ride into battle on the back of a flaming chariot, I am sure. He would be quite unaware of the fact that said chariot was burning." He made a sour face. "I never thought the day would come when I would share sentiments with Jaime Lannister, but here it is: we Tullys, be it my uncle Blackfish, or your lady mother, or your brother, have a habit of rushing in first in the name of such grand ideals as family, duty, honour, and only learning our lessons much later, when the Riverlands have burned to the ground. It happened with my father in Robert's Rebellion, it happened with King Robb too, during his war. I myself was guilty of it with the battles on the Red Fork and at the Camps. Many good men died for it. I look around Riverrun today and I do not recognise my own stewards, my own guardsmen, my own servants, for so many of them are buried in my fields."
"That is no reason to give up on your vows entirely."
"I never said I would. But we both know that if I had sent my men to Seagard they would have died alongside yours. Sansa, this may be difficult to understand, but—"
"Lady Stark," she returned, with a withering look. "You may be content to sit there, nuncle, pretending that your morals are superior to mine, but you would do well to rid yourself of that delusion. When the Rivermen hear the full story of your refusal to help your own blood, they will turn on you." She let her voice grow cold. "They may even turn away from you and your palace of Riverrun and look to Harrenhal instead for leadership."
Pink spots appeared in Edmure's cheeks. "Are you threatening me, Lady Stark?"
"No, ser. I am giving you the truth. A better question would be 'am I calling you a coward?' Well, I suppose that I am. More than that, I am not far from naming you a traitor, too. You clearly remember the Battle of the Camps, you said it yourself. So you surely could not have forgotten what came after. When you and your men stood round the tables of your own great hall with your swords drawn, and called my brother 'The King in the North', and swore your fealty to him – and to his heirs – and in perpetuity."
"Robb's rebellion—" Edmure cut himself short.
"Finish your thought, my lord."
"It does not matter."
"I will finish it for you. You were going to say 'Robb's rebellion died at the Twins'. But it did not. And if you doubt it, go up Queen Jeyne's rooms tonight, and look upon my brother's son in his crib. Roban Stark. Call in your guardsmen, for they will have heard the story of what happened to the Boltons at Winterfell and the Freys at the Crossing even if you have forgotten it. Walk up to your battlements, and proclaim that the North does not remember, that it has nothing to remember, and listen to the reply. I dare you, my lord."
That won her his silence. But it did not last as long as she would have liked, for the door of the solar abruptly opened and Maester Vyman walked in. "My lord," he said, bending a little, "my lady. There has been an arrival at the castle gate. A noble party." (Was it her imagination, or did he incline his head a little towards her rather than to his lord?)
"I told you we are letting no one in, Vyman," said Lord Edmure.
"Who is it, Maester?" asked Lady Sansa.
Vyman chewed his lip, caught between two forces. Finally, he chose the latter. "They flew the banners of Houses Lannister and Tyrell, my lady. My lord. And—"
Edmure rose behind the table. "That is enough, Vyman, thank you. Give my orders to the gate guards. Niece—"
"You do not command me." Sansa stepped around him, crossing to the maester. "Lead the way, Vyman." When he did not she led the way herself, and the maester ran to catch up. Out on the battlements he turned to her. "I do not think Lord Edmure was best pleased by that, my lady."
"I do not think he was either. But that makes us even."
At the gatehouse the men were a little surprised to see her among them, but they adapted well enough. "What is your name?" Sansa asked the captain. She found it was useful to learn the names of her men; a man's name was his pride.
"Silas, my lady."
"Well, Master Silas, would you do me a favour and lower the drawbridge? If you please."
He looked a little uncertain, but in the face of her smile his quandary over accepting orders from someone other than Lord Edmure dissipated. "Lower the drawbridge," he told his men.
It took a long time creaking down; the portcullis, rusty from ill use, took even longer to rise up. Sansa peered out over the moat; she could make out the banners bobbing; though she could not see their devices clearly, Tyrell green and Lannister red were firm fixtures of her memory.
The party was all ahorse, about twenty of them. The bridge now lowered to them, they trickled across. She tried to see if she recognised any of them – was Brienne among them, perhaps, returning with Ser Jaime Lannister? That was a thought. Or even Princess Myrcella – or, god forbid, Queen Cersei? But that did not explain the Tyrells.
Patience, she told herself, you will see soon enough.
As she headed for the stairwell, she caught a glimpse of Edmure, striding down the wallwalk towards her. She could not see his expression, but she didn't need to. Well. Let him fester. His anger might lead to action, if she and the people of the Riverlands were so lucky.
In the courtyard below the figures were all dismounting. And as they peeled back their hoods to gaze up at the safety of the castle keep, Sansa recognised one of them. She recalled shades of an earlier meeting, this time in the courtyard of Highgarden: only that time it had been she dismounting, and Margaery Tyrell watching from the gallery.
Ignoring the puddles beneath the hem of her gown, Sansa descended the steps to meet them. When Margaery looked up and saw her, her expression wavered somewhere between disbelief and relief. "Lady Sansa," she said in a little voice. "We did not know you were here."
"Then you have received a fortunate surprise, Lady Margaery. I do not think my uncle Edmure was so keen on receiving you here."
"You will be wondering what has brought us to Riverrun," said Margaery. Her voice was much more uncertain than Sansa had ever heard it before; soft and careful, as if it feared waking the dead.
"You may tell me in your own time. You must be famished and tired after your long ride, and—" She considered a moment. Yes, that will do nicely. "—and you will need rest, for tomorrow we will likely be on the road again."
"My lady?"
"I will explain in due course. For now, you may follow me to the hall. And your companion also. Lady Eleyna, is it?"
The Westerling girl's eyes widened. "It is, my lady. I… we have not met before, have we?"
"No. But I know your sister. Jeyne."
Eleyna swallowed. "Is she… well?"
"You can see for yourself. She is here. I will take you to her chambers in the Blue Tower, if that is your wish."
The girl seemed oddly afraid. "I… had heard that she was with child."
"She birthed a boy. By the name of Roban. He is… healthy." That was mostly the truth.
Eleyna nodded. "I… I too am with child. Perhaps, in the light of that, we might hope for a reconciliation of sorts…" She trailed off unclearly.
Westerling queens in the North and the West, Sansa thought. "I was much distressed to hear of the death of your lord husband." She addressed that to Margaery Tyrell, too. "Husbands." We all have danced to the tune of the Lannisters.
"Of course you were," said Margaery flatly. "Forgive my sceptical tone, Lady Sansa. I fear I have finally grown tired of empty platitudes. So be it. I think we all have."
The words surprised her but she did agree with them. "So be it. If we are dispensing with the pleasantries, then let us move straight to the part where I ask you why you are here, and why I should not have you imprisoned or sent back to Cersei."
She could see that her sternness caught Margaery unawares. Had she been so naïve as to expect a flower? Yet it only left Margaery off-balance for a moment; she recovered impressively. "If that was ever your intention, Lady Sansa, you would not have received us."
"That is true. But it does not explain why you thought Riverrun might offer you sanctuary."
"It was not our plan. We had planned to turn south, for Highgarden, but… on the road we heard a tale that Daenerys Targaryen has occupied the castle, so that plan was averted. We had hoped that House Tully might offer us sanctuary for a time, in mutuality against our common enemy."
"Cersei?"
"Aye, and Daenerys too, possibly. If she comes this way and Lord Edmure were to resist—"
"Lord Edmure will not resist anything, or risk anything, so long as his own security is assured. House Tully will not offer either of you the hand of friendship, my ladies…" She let them wallow in brief despair. "…but House Stark will. As you say, we have a common enemy. Though it is not Cersei, or Daenerys, but—"
"The army of the dead." Eleyna Westerling did not so much as blink. "We know that they are coming."
"You have seen them?"
"No, but we have been made aware of them. At the Rock, we had…" She stopped abruptly, and gave Sansa a strange smile. "I hope there is no distrust between us, Lady Sansa. We are… sisters-by-law, I suppose. Through your brother King Robb. And speaking of him, I should like very much to see my sister."
It was a deflection, she had no doubt of it. But she could hardly refuse the request, and so she called Podrick over. "Escort Lady Eleyna to her sister's chambers, if you would be so kind."
"Her sister, my lady?"
"Jeyne Westerling."
"Oh." Podrick flushed red again, incredibly self-conscious under the eyes of the ladies. Then he made a nervous little bow to Lady Eleyna, and the pair walked off.
Sansa turned back to Margaery. "Do you speak for Lady Eleyna, then?"
"She is hardier than she might seem. But the long journey has been hard on her, on account of her condition." Margaery glanced down at her feet. Sansa could not say why, but she felt a swell of pity for her, and quite unconsciously she laid a hand upon hers. "I do not know how genuine your affection for me was in King's Landing, or in Highgarden, my lady. For all I know it might all have been an act. But it is true that you and Ser Loras and your lady grandmother were never anything less than courteous and kind towards me, which is more than I can say for the Lannisters. The same for your father, he was always kind." This was not entirely true; she reckoned Lord Mace would gladly have sold her into whoredom for a few hides of arable land. "And with Ser Willas… there was a time, at our wedding, when I thought I might be happy as lady of Highgarden, even… but my brother called more desperately to me…" She felt a tremor; did not know why. "How… how is Ser Willas?"
"Father sent men after you when you ran," Margaery said vaguely. "I do not think Willas really cared. I think he expected that you would not stay by him. It hurt him, for a time, but… he will recover, I hope – Or I hope he did – I do not know now. He and Garlan went east to King's Landing with Aegon Targaryen and the Dornish. They may be dead now for all I know. I may be the last of my father's children."
"As might I. My brother Bran and my half-brother are dead. And my sister and younger brother…" She halted. Why am I telling this to Margaery Tyrell? "If our siblings are gone, then we must rely on our friends all the more. I would be glad, as lady of Harrenhal and perhaps Winterfell too, to extend the hand of friendship to you and your House. To you and Lady Eleyna both." And if it puts the Houses Tyrell and Lannister in my debt, why, then the tables have surely turned. She became faintly aware that she was playing the same game Littlefinger had played all his life. Only she was winning, now.
"I mean to make for Harrenhal on the morrow," Sansa said. It sounded much more assured now. "You will come with me, as honoured guests. Once we reach the castle, we will consider how to better ally ourselves against our foes. Against Cersei and the forces of darkness both."
Margaery considered this for a long time. Then, finally, she nodded. "And what of Lord Edmure?"
"Let me deal with Lord Edmure," said Sansa.
They departed Riverrun the following morning, after a dawn breakfast. As Podrick was leading her horse out of the stables she heard her uncle's boots coming fast down the steps. "What is this?"
"We are leaving," Sansa told him.
"Leaving? To go where?"
"Harrenhal. I am its lady."
"You cannot."
"By what authority is that?"
Edmure coloured with embarrassment. "The lord of… the… I am your uncle!"
"Yes," said Sansa. "Past time you remembered that." Podrick held the reins while she climbed up onto her horse.
"You may go, but you cannot take the others with you."
"Lady Margaery and Lady Eleyna? But I thought you wanted nothing to do with other people's affairs, nuncle? Well, if you have changed your mind, then by all means—"
"It is not a matter of that." His teeth were gritted hard. "They are under my protection. The protection of Riverrun."
"And when did you give them that?" Sansa started past him, heading towards the two women of whom he spoke. "Give my love to Roslin," she said. "I think you can be relied upon to do that, at least."
There was nothing he could have done to stop her, even if he had wanted to. When Edmure realised that Jeyne Westerling and Roban both were to ride with them he grew incensed again, this time hiding his anger as concern for his great-nephew's safety. But Lady Jeyne let her silence speak for her disatisfaction. Edmure looked ripe to explode by the time they finally set out, but with her surrounded by not only the Hound and other defenders but a whole Riverman contingent of her own, there was nothing he could do to stop her.
At the inn of the kneeling man on the Red Fork they met Patrek Mallister and his escort. Old Lord Jason had stayed behind at Seagard as the wights swarmed up the rocks, and she learned now from his son that he had sacrificed himself so that his people might better escape. As for Ser Patrek, he had spent some days riding across his lands to rally a force before coming down to meet her. His appearance was unexpected, but far from a surprise. What was surprising was the speed with which he committed himself to her cause. There were no bendings of the knee, only polite inclinations of the head as they greeted one another as "Lady Stark" and "Lord Mallister." She offered up some vague platitudes about Lord Jason's sacrifice which seemed painfully insufficient, but there was no time for prolonged sentiment. It did not matter, though, for he accepted her – as an ally? As a leader? – almost immediately; and more importantly, his two hundred men accepted her as well.
He told her, too, about his ride south: to the Charltons, the Shawneys, the Vances of Atranta. They all had joined Ser Patrek, and by extension they had joined her. He had seen Lady Melissa too, at Raventree Hall; she said, according to Ser Patrek, "well, she has something, which is more than we can say for Lord Edmure." So she had Raventree's support as well, few though their numbers were.
She wondered if Lord Patrek still had half a mind to marry her as Ser Patrek had. He never said anything outright, of course, but sometimes she would look at the right time and see him redder than he had been. And afterwards the Hound said, "You be careful around that one."
"Why?"
"There's something in the way he looks at you."
"There's something in the way everyone looks at everybody," she said. "Even you and me."
They reached Stone Hedge where she saw Lady Bracken, who, eager not to be outmatched by the Blackwoods, gave her a small contingent of soldiers – not more than fifty – and a great feast to make up for the shortfall against their rivals. After Margaery and Jeyne Westerling went up to bed early, she found herself alone with Lady Eleyna over the gooseberry tarts.
"We would have come in the end, you know." Her words had that air of sudden clarity, long-considered, emerging from a haze of meaningless platitudes. They meant something.
"What do you mean?"
"Your brother Brandon wrote to us for help. And by the end, we were getting reports from Kayce and Fair Isle of dead men with blue eyes on our shores. We had it all planned. After Cersei was dealt with, we were going to march."
"We? King Tommen, you mean?"
"I mean we. I wouldn't have stayed behind. I would have… well, the truth is, he didn't have the plan himself. But I told him we should, and he would have done it once I made it clear. Maybe we wouldn't have been enough to stop them, but…"
This was the world now. Would haves and could haves and should haves. The kingdom of what might have been.
"You don't see it," said Eleyna. "I don't blame you. When I first met him, he seemed like the last person you would expect to lead an army."
"He danced with me at my wedding. My first wedding, to Tyrion," said Sansa. "He wanted to be a knight, he said."
"I don't think he ever really did," said Lady Eleyna. "Not by the end. But it's strange, isn't it? How much we all change. If you'd ask me two years ago what sort of husband I would have wanted…" She subconsciously put a hand on her belly.
"Do you know if it will be a boy or a girl?"
"A girl, I hope."
She did not ask why. She reckoned she knew.
"I sent Lady Brienne of Tarth to Casterly Rock to treat with Cersei and Myrcella," said Sansa. "Do you think she will be able to convince them?"
"She might convince one of them," Eleyna replied. "It is no longer Cersei and Myrcella but rather Cersei or Myrcella. Let them choke the life from one another, I say. If the gods are good, Ser Jaime will somehow blindly grope his way to the lordship. Then Casterly Rock might not be entirely doomed."
That night, for some reason, she dreamed she was back in the Red Keep, on her knees before Joffrey. "You are a stupid girl," he said. He turned to Ser Meryn Trant, who gave him her father's head. Joffrey waved it about, holding it by the hair, laughing. Suddenly she felt a rage rise in her, and the next she knew she was halfway up the steps, and then her fingers had pushed themselves through Joffrey's throat and he was lying on the floor and choking, scratching at his own neck, trying to get her hands out, turning purple. When his whining fell silent at last, she stood up, looking at the horrified faces of the court all around. Staring at her, but none of them moving. She picked up Joffrey's head – somehow it had become detached from his body – and on her way out of the hall she tossed it to Cersei. "He would have wanted you to have this," she said.
How far she had come. How far they had all come. Sometimes she looked back, and she thought, who am I? But then she remembered Father's face, and Mother's voice, and she knew she was the same person she always had been, and neither Littlefinger nor the Lannisters nor time could change that.
The night before they were due to arrive at Harrenhal, a great mist descended, and by morning it was difficult to see more than a few hundred feet ahead. She could still see the towers of Harrenhal, huge as they were, darkly imposing through the haze. But she did not know whose banners flew there. She sent some men ahead to scout; shortly before noon they returned, bearing frowns. "The castle is occupied, my lady. I am afraid we did not see their banners."
"We should wait here until the mist clears," said Patrek Mallister.
Sansa was not for such waiting. Before Ser Patrek could reply she urged her horse away from camp, up to the eastwards facing rise that might give her a better view of the castle. She sent Podrick to bring her the Myrish far-eye.
She turned to Ser Patrek. "When we arrive—"
"Quiet," said a voice, with sudden urgency. Sansa was surprised to see it was Sandor Clegane who had spoken.
Ser Patrek frowned. "I beg your pardon—"
"I said quiet," Clegane repeated.
Then Sansa heard it too. From far off, a sound like a banner flapping in the wind, getting louder and louder. The source was invisible through the mist, and yet in her mind, an idea was blooming. "Clegane," she said, "that is—"
Her words were drowned out beneath the sound of a colossal roar. And then the sky parted like the sea and something huge fell out of the sky and crashed to earth so loudly it nearly knocked her off her feet. It was only with the Hound's help that she remained standing. When she blinked away her confusion, it was unmistakeable: the wings, the great snarling head, the scales. Dragon. Daenerys Targaryen had come for them. Sansa forced herself to stand up straight and stare unblinkingly into the cloud of dust the dragon had blown up on land. She is trying to intimidate us, that is all.
Several figures appeared through the dust cloud. Sansa could only make out their silhouettes, but she saw, among them the figure of a woman, dressed in what seemed to be warlike dress. Her apprehension grew and grew as they approached – and then the cloud thinned out and she saw that it was not Daenerys Targaryen at all. Instead, it was some sort of wildling women, dressed all in filthy furs, wearing a necklace of… dear gods, were those ears? Several thoughts went through Sansa's mind in quick succession: These must be her retainers. But what use could Daenerys Targaryen possibly have for a woman with a necklace of ears? And whose children are those?
"Imp?" she heard Sandor Clegane growl. "Seven fucking hells."
Sansa blinked at the children in the middle of the procession, and saw with horror that they were not children at all. And with even more horror, she saw that one of them was Tyrion Lannister, making his way ahead of the column now. "Always a pleasure to see you again, Dog," the dwarf lord pronounced, waddling his way down the broad steps. "The same for you, Podrick, though I mean it more sincerely. But of course, the greatest pleasure is to be reserved for my beloved lady wife." He gave her a hideous crooked smile.
Sansa could barely form words. "I… my… my lord Tyrion. I… how are you here?"
"I would have thought that was obvious," said Tyrion. "We flew. On dragonback."
"The queen… she is not with you?"
"Queen Daenerys? No. It was my dragon that brought us here."
She must be imagining things. "Y-your dragon?"
"Aye. Viserion. Well, he was hers to begin with, I suppose, but he chose me to be his rider. Probably because he was least loved, you can tell by the names. And yet he lives. A survivor. Like me."
"You flew here?" Sansa said again, more slowly. "On your dragon?"
"I am infamous for my surprises," said Tyrion. "But enough of me. I think I should introduce you to my companions: fine friends all. This similarly tall companion of mine is named Penny, she is under my personal protection. This is Shagga son of Dolf, of the Stone Crows; you may have heard his name; his most famous act was shearing off Grand Maester Pycelle's beard. This is Timett son of Timett, of the Burned Men; Clegane may find in him a kindred spirit of sorts. And this fair maid in the middle is Chella daughter of Cheyk, of the Black Ears."
Sansa recovered her voice enough to say, "I am pleased to meet you." It only mostly sounded like the lie it was.
One of the men – Shagga, she thought – spoke to her. "You are the Halfman's lady?"
Mercifully Tyrion answered that question for her. "She was, once. Whether or not she still is remains to be answered." And then she realised it was not mercy at all, for he turned his eyes on her, and that was even worse.
She had no weapon but the truth. "I remarried, my lord. To… to Willas Tyrell. And the marriage was – nay, is – consummated."
"Ah," said Tyrion. "And is Lord Willas here, perchance?"
"No. He is not. I left him in Highgarden."
"I had heard that story," he admitted. He clapped his hands. "I have also heard, from other sources, that you are the lady of Harrenhal now."
That gave her some confidence. This is your place. "I am, my lord."
"In which case I apologise for occupying your castle. But you understand, my companions and I needed some place to stay and weather the storm. I would, of course, be willing to relinquish it to you."
"On what conditions?"
Tyrion laughed. "My dear Lady Sansa, you have grown suspicious. I hope I was not the cause."
"Spending time among Lannisters and Tyrells has made me naturally cautious," said Sansa coolly.
"Naturally," he replied. "I assume you are suspicious of me too, then. You are wondering what I want out of all of this."
"Not particularly, but I think you are going to tell me anyway."
He smiled, in that almost-frightening way he had. "I do not really know, in truth. Casterly Rock still seems an attractive prize, though my desire for it changes day-to-day. I have learned, recently, that my family are spending their time squabbling over the Rock, and I think it would be in my best interests to allow them to continue to do just that. In the meantime, my allies and I will be staying here. You are, of course, welcome to return to Harrenhal and take up residence there, my lady." Bitterness tinged his voice. "If it please you, this time we can sleep in different towers, not just in different beds."
Author's Note / Perpetual Navel-gazing:
This chapter is a lot shorter than I always envisioned it being, which I think speaks positively to the efficiency of pacing in KNIGHTS OF THE NIGHTINGALE. I remember the uber-long Myrcella and Tommen travelogue in THE SUNSET KINGDOMS, which, while it did wonderful character work, still dragged and dragged and dragged. This one is a lot more succinct, but there's more going on - which is possibly unsurprising, given that characters like Sansa have "emerged from the chrysalis" as, uh, butterflies.
There is a lot of stuff to take in here. I'm just going to talk about Edmure and Sansa here, and leave the rest open to discussion.
Edmure makes his first appearance of KOTN in this chapter, and once again he raises the dilemma of whether Sansa's berating of him is actually reasonable. I think we have to question whether or not he'd act in the same way towards Robb, or if he takes advantage of Sansa on account of her gender.
I think it's easy to see Sansa as the outright winner here, on account of her speech: "I will finish it for you. You were going to say 'Robb's rebellion died at the Twins'. But it did not...". But at the same time, I can't deny that on reflection, Edmure's bitterness is certainly well-reasoned: "He would tell me to ride into battle on the back of a flaming chariot, I am sure. He would be quite unaware of the fact that said chariot was burning." He made a sour face.
"I never thought the day would come when I would share sentiments with Jaime Lannister, but here it is: we Tullys, be it my uncle Blackfish, or your lady mother, or your brother, have a habit of rushing in first in the name of such grand ideals as family, duty, honour, and only learning our lessons much later, when the Riverlands have burned to the ground. It happened with my father in Robert's Rebellion, it happened with King Robb too, during his war. I myself was guilty of it with the battles on the Red Fork and at the Camps. Many good men died for it. I look around Riverrun today and I do not recognise my own stewards, my own guardsmen, my own servants, for so many of them are buried in my fields."
Edmure recognises that, even if the fight is more urgent than Robb's war was, it is likely to lead to the same consequences. And I think Sansa's line of thinking, branding Edmure a "coward", et cetera, is actually quite dangerous in the way it appeals - almost calling violence a necessity. Now, you might argue that Sansa's callousness here is a result of the fact that she's lost all her siblings (so she thinks), and that she, here, is mirroring Catelyn from ACOK Catelyn VII, where she releases Jaime. But I think it's also possible to think that her callousness rises from the fact that she's never physically fought in battle. Or you may argue that this isn't callous at all, but a carefully balanced piece of rhetoric to emasculate Edmure and inspire him to action.
I think this is a really great chapter for discussion, so please feel free to leave your thoughts down below.
Thank for you reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. I hope to have the next one up by Friday at the latest.
