SANSA
Sansa paced back and forth.
"How much longer?" she asked.
In the corner sat the Maester, who had patiently answered this question every ten minutes for over an hour. Everytime he answer the same way.
"Not long now."
In between them sat the heavy wooden desk that was littered with scrolls and quills and books and candles and in the very center - the unfurled scroll sealed with the black of the Night's Watch.
She eyed it as she paced in front of it. On her way back she looked out the window, where she could see the gates of Witnerfell and some distance beyond it. She would be able to see them coming and would immediately leave the safety of her office and jump straight into the action.
To say she was nervous about meeting the Dragon Queen was to not tell the full story-she was much more nervous about seeing Jon, and what he would do when he got here. Presumably he'd gotten the same information as her-the wall had fallen.
Her pacing increased.
"You will wear a hole in your pretty shoes, m'lady," said the Maester. Sansa scoffed.
As if she cared half as much about pretty things anymore.
The Maester knew better than to respond.
It was very late afternoon. They should have been here by now.
What would Jon do? Would he take all of their army and leave again? Would he ruin all the hard work she had done to prepare the castle for Winter? And now they would need to prepare for a siege against the dead...if they failed to defeat them in battle...
Sansa didn't know much about warfare or sieges, but she had heard stories. She'd heard about how people would starve to death long before a single arrow was loosed. She'd heard how people would eat the horses and then the dogs and then the rats and then-
She didn't like to think about what people would eat after all of that was gone.
Sansa took a deep breath. Shook the thoughts out of her head. It wouldn't do for her to panic. She had to be strong. People were looking to her to lead.
Her thoughts turned to Arya, who she hadn't seen all day.
She still was somewhat frightened of her. But she knew her sister would never let anyone hurt her, including white walkers and men. Especially men, she thought.
Arya had been sleeping over in her bed for weeks now. It had just happened one night. She had come to speak to Sansa about something, she didn't even remember, but then she stayed, sitting on the bed with Ghost, and the both laid there and they talked, Ghost between them and they would scratch his ears and the words had come pouring out...
Each night they talked for hours. Telling each other their stories. Sansa was horrified at what Arya had been through...especially when she'd thought her dead all these years...and Arya had been equally as horrified at what Sansa had been though. Each ageed, they would never have been able to survive what the other had. Arya had said she would have killed herself, and Sansa had said she would have been killed.
One thing was for sure, Sansa knew that her sister was the only one that would be able to protect her. Who would never let a man put his hands on her without her permission again. She had thought, thought for sure, no one would be able to protect her-but with Arya she was certain, and, as such, her sister hardly left her side anymore. Each night she fell asleep to her sister's silent breathing, and each morning she was gone, but she always felt safe in Arya's presence now. She knew her sister would protect her. Never leave her side.
But today she was nowhere to be seen. Sansa had wondered if she'd donned one of her faces and disappeared. There was no way to know for sure.
That was perhaps what terrified her most about her sister-the faces. The bag of faces, with Walder Frey and gods knew who else. Arya had spirited away Littlefinger's body and Sansa had not seen it since, though she was afraid she would see his smug face roaming the halls any day now. Arya never would be so stupid, she knew, but still the fear lingered. In what way did she have plans to use Littlefinger's face? She shuddered at the ideas that came to mind.
Sansa was shaken from her thoughts at the sound of a horn. Her eyes flicked to the window, her heart began to race. There was a trail of people coming down the Kingsroad and approaching the gates.
"They're here," she said.
She took a deep breath. Steadied herself. She quickly checked her appearence in the mirror on the wall-smoothed her hair and straightened her necklace, drew herself up to her full height.
I am strong. I can handle this. I am powerful. I am a Stark of Winterfell and this is my home. No one can hurt me here, not even a Dragon.
And she left.
The Maester followed quickly behind. So did a few guards. She spotted a shift of white fur-Ghost-before he rushed ahead out of her sight. She knew he sensed Jon and was anxious to rush ahead and meet his human companion. The only direwolf left, she thought. It was sad, so sad. She tried not to think of Lady, but she always did. She wished she had done a better job of protecting her wolf. That witch Cersei. They had all forgotten but her-but that had been one of Cersei's higher crimes to Sansa. Killing an innocent wolf. Her wolf, as if she wouldn't soon take everything else from her.
She reached the main doors, and there was Ghost, scratching and whining at them to get out. Sansa had told the guards to let the Direwolf in and out as he pleased, but they obviously were not doing as she'd asked. She would have to do a better job of making them mind her. She suspected they were afraid of the wolf (as they should be), but they should not be so scared as to not let the poor thing out of the castle.
The doors swung open for her as she approached them, and the giant beast shot out like a bolt, Sansa to follow at a more reasonable pace.
Bran was already in the courtyard in his chair, covered with furs to keep the cold out. Ghost sat beside him, though he had the aura of about to dart as soon as the gates were open. He absently scratched behind the wolf's ear.
"Bran," she said, standing beside her younger brother.
His eyes were white. He couldn't hear her. She sighed. She heard crows caw overhead and knew he was watching from a long way away.
She stood there, and she was suddenly reminded of the day she'd stood in this very spot, years ago, fussing over her clothes, her family surrounding her, awaiting King Robert and Queen Cersei. She suddenly wanted to cry at how strong the memory was. She closed her eyes and heard the horn blow once again.
"They're coming," said Bran suddenly. His eyes were back to normal.
Where was Arya?
Just as she had been on that day years ago, she was late.
Sansa sighed heavily and figeted.
"Have you seen Arya?" she asked Bran.
He was silent. Cryptic.
"I thought you could see everything, where then is our sister?"
Bran looked up at her. Still did not say anything.
Someone moved up next to her. It was Sam.
"Sam," she said. "Have you seen Arya?"
"No, m'lady, I haven't," he said. Gilly stood next to him, little Sam asleep in her arms.
Gilly had fared well at Winterfell so far. Sansa had ensured she had clean, fine clothes and a warm bath everyday. She was aware the girl had been a wildling, and so had designed her clothes to be a little looser and freer than Sansa's own wardrobe, but still made of fine material. She had sensed the mark of abuse on the woman, and knew she deserved all the fine things in the world that Sansa could give her. Maybe that was Sansa's way to also give herself permission to enjoy things more as well. After she'd asked, Sam had told her the girl's story, and her heart had wept for the poor woman.
Sam was just as fidgety as Sansa was, though she suspected for a different reason. She supposed he was excited to see his best friend again.
Sansa scanned the battlements.
Where was her sister?
The gate began to rise, and the horn blew again. Still, her sister was nowhere to be seen. She turned to a guard.
"I know it'll be hard to find her, but please go find my sister and tell her she is expected here."
"Yes, my lady," he said, and ran off. Sansa expected nothing to come of that, but she had to do something.
She turned back to the gate and her heart stopped.
No less than twenty Unsullied soldiers marched in, in perfect formation, through the gate. Armed to the teeth, with long spears and solid iron armor. They parted, and in rode the royal party.
Sansa was blinded as soon as she saw her.
There she rode, on a silver mare that was almost as beautiful as she was-her hair was bright white in a long braid that fell well past her waist, and she wore white furs, and her skin was milky, flushed with cold. The only bit of color that touched her were her red lips and cheeks, and her violet eyes which met Sansa's with a cold fire.
Sansa fell in love immedietely. She should have known she would-she'd always fallen instantly for every beautiful lady as soon as she laid eyes on them. Cersei. Margarey-
Her throat tightened at the thought of Margarey and she broke eye contact with the Dragon Queen. How she missed her Queen of Roses. Everyday her heart broke a little bit more knowing she'd never lay eyes on her beautiful face ever again.
Beside her rode the King in the North, straddling a stallion black as night. He looked the same as he'd looked when he left-all gloomy face and black hair tied back and long black cloak lined with thick brown fur-but there was something different about him now that Sansa couldn't quite put her finger on.
Behind them rode Davos, and the Spider, who seemed untouched by the cold, and...
Tyrion.
She had known he would be with them but with everything else going on she had failed to prepare herself mentally to see him.
And so my watch begins, he'd said, and drunkenly passed out on the couch. Sansa shut the memory away in her mind tightly.
She wished she'd realized then how kind he'd been to her, really. In comparison to Ramsey, he'd been an absolute hero, forgoing his husbandly duty only so she'd feel more comfortable. He'd refused to rape her, unlike Ramsey.
Sansa met the dwarf's eyes, and his brows furrowed as he looked at her with his sharp, intellegent eyes.
Beside the dwarf rode a woman who was very beautiful. She had wrapped herself in a navy cloak and black furs. Her skin was darker, and her hair seemed to defy gravity. Sansa fell in love with her, too. She was just as beautiful as the Dragon Queen.
On the other side, closer to the Queen, rode a hard-looking man. His face was wrinkled and sad, and his hair was dirty blonde and grisled. She could spot ugly scars run up his neck under his furs. He wore steel and looked like he knew how to use it well.
The hornblower let out three blows-one long, one short, and another long, and he was silent. Jon dismounted first, and held out his hand to the Queen.
Sansa knew she didn't need the help-she knew she rode Dragons and doubted she'd ever need help mounting and dismounting them. Nonetheless, she took Jon's hand, and dismounted. The two shared a look, and suddenly it all clicked for Sansa.
Daenerys is young, and unmarried. Jon Snow is young, and unmarried.
You think he wants to marry her?
They would make a powerful alliance-together, they'd be difficult to defeat.
They were in love.
Sansa stood in shock as she watched Jon greet Ghost, who had rushed to him the second he'd dismounted.
The first she felt was betrayal.
How could he-? The Northern Lords-? And with the Great War-? And the North-? His duty was to the North not to some foreign Queen who'd never stepped foot North until-? How could he-?
She could not form a coherent thought.
The second she felt was anger.
If she's done something to him I swear-
But Sansa was smarter than that.
She better not hurt him, or I'll skin her pretty white face off myself and hand it to Arya.
Sansa was surprised at her own sudden viciousness.
Suddenly, she was wrapped up in a hug. She'd been so absorbed in shock she hadn't noticed Jon approach her.
"Jon," she squeaked out, and felt a smile break her face for the first time in months. He lifted her up and spun her around.
"Hello, sister. Beautiful as ever."
She blinked at him. His smile came easy, and his eyes were bright. Sansa was shocked at the change in him. He seemed genuinely happy to see her.
He turned to Bran, and his eyes seemed rather watery.
"Bran," he said. Bran stared at his brother with that empty look in his eyes, but there was more to his face than when Sansa had embraced him, or Arya had thrown herself at their younger brother...slowly, she felt, he would come back to them. Maybe. She thought. Just maybe.
Jon knelt to embrace his little brother in the chair, who blinked and closed his eyes at the embrace.
"I can't believe you're alive," said Jon as they broke apart. "You've grown up so much, look at you, you're a man now."
Bran stared at him, brows furrowed.
"Jon, I need to speak with you alone."
Sansa threw Bran a sharp look. Their eyes met. He looked churled.
"My apologies. I am happy to see you, brother. You look well."
Jon looked at Sansa.
"Later," she mouthed at him.
Then Jon's eyes fell on Sam. The two men shared a long look that was deep with a history of shared hardships and battles. Sansa had known they were close, but hadn't realized just how close the two men were until that moment.
"Brother," said Jon, and the two men embraced. Their hug was awkwardly long. Jon was the first to pull away and grabbed Sam's head.
"I thought you were at the citadel."
"A long story," said Sam. "I'm with you, now. You're our best hope, not dusty old books. I was sick of reading of the achievements of better men."
Jon laughed. he clapped the bigger man on the head.
"There's no better man than you, Sam." said Jon seriously. Sam swallowed hard. Looked at his feet.
"And Gilly, too, and the baby," said Jon, turning to Sam's companion.
"Aye," said Gilly. "I've named him Sam."
"He's sure sprouted," he said, and tickled the little man. The baby giggled and reached for Jon's gloved hand. Sansa spotted a strange look on Jon's face, soft and gentle, and when he broke away from the toddler she spotted him look at Daenerys and then quickly away. Then he looked confused, and looked around.
"Where's Arya?" he said.
"That's the question of the day," said Sansa testily.
Jon looked hurt.
"I've missed her," he said, face falling. "I can't believe she wouldn't be here to..."
He trailed off, a jaw working in his muscle. He face was hard, masking an amount of hurt Sansa hadn't seen there since they were children and she'd called him a bastard and turned him away from her table...she couldn't have been more than three and Jon hadn't been much older but his face had been filled with such pain...
There was silence in the courtyard.
Daenerys took a step towards Jon, a look of concern on her face.
Sansa felt a rush from behind her where she'd thought a guard had been and suddenly there she was-Arya, stiff as a board and yet fluid as a water dancer, one hand behind her back and the other gripped Needle tightly-it was pointed straight under Jon's chin. Jon's eyes widened in shock and the Unsullied snapped to, spear drawn. There was a cry of outrage amoung her guards and they drew their swords. Suddenly Sansa was very frightened.
Jon was staring at Arya down the blade.
"Arya," he said, and a myriad of emotions crossed his face. "Arya," he said. His hands went up in a gesture of peace.
Her face was hard, unfeeling.
She did not look like the Arya Sansa had known all her life.
"Jon Snow," said Arya, voice calm. Sansa's heart beat hard against her ribcage.
"Arya!" she scolded, suddenly very angry. "What are you doing?!"
"I remember when I gave you that sword," said Jon gently. "Do you?"
Arya's jaw clenched.
"Do you remember what I told you?" he said.
Arya's face flickered.
"Stick 'em with the pointy end," they both whispered at the same time. Jon nodded and smiled. Arya did not.
"You think I'd forget that lesson?" she said, and pressed harder. Jon backed up a hair, but there was a smile on his face. He didn't seem nearly as worried as Sansa was. But then, Sansa knew what Arya was capable of.
Jon stifled a snicker.
"You're still just as skinny as your sword," he said.
Arya pursed her lips. Jon tried not to laugh, but he couldn't hold it in for long, and soon his rings of laughter filled the courtyard. Arya looked pissed, but Sansa saw her eyes dance.
Sansa heard the clink of steel as Needle fell to the ground, and suddenly Arya was on him, punching him.
Jon laughed and ducked the blows. Daenerys looked concerned but Sansa was relieved. She'd seen what Arya could really do and this was all play.
Jon grabbed Arya's tiny form around the waist and lifted her off the ground. She squealed like a little girl and Jon spun her around, Holding her tightly.
When they broke apart Jon put her down, and there were tears in his eyes as he kissed her on the brow.
"I've missed you," said Arya, voice breaking.
Jon hugged her again tightly.
"I've missed you too."
Sansa's eyes flicked to Daenerys. She would see her real intentions. She would catch her being jealous. Looking angry. Possesive. Surely she would.
But she saw nothing but a gentle softness and sadness, and the Queen looked a long way away. She wondered what she was thinking of. Her long lost brothers, perhaps?
Jon turned away from Arya and brought the Queen forward.
She stood with her head held high. The darker woman stepped forward, as well, along with the rest of her party. Davos came to stand next to Jon.
Jon cleared his throat, and looked at the darker woman.
"Might I introduce her Grace, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Queen of Meeren, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons."
Jon looked worriedly at the woman again. she nodded. Jon looked relieved.
"My Queen, might I introduce my sisters, Sansa and Arya, and my brother Bran," he gestured to each in turn. "As well as my brother of the Night's Watch, Sam Tarly."
Daenerys smiled warmly at each of them.
"It is very nice to finally meet you all. Jon's told me so much about you."
Sansa curtsied, Arya bowed like a Knight. Bran nodded his head. Sam bowed clumsily and Gilly curtsied in the same fashion.
Jon and Daenerys shared a look. She seemed worried, but he appeared to reassure her. She shook her head, a fraction of an inch, but he ignored her and stood in front of his sisters, facing the Queen. Then, he fell to his knees. Sansa felt her jaw drop.
Grumbling and gasps went up among the Lords gathered in the courtyard. Daenerys closed her eyes at Jon's stupidity. Sansa didn't know much about the Dragon Queen, but she knew that in that moment they were feeling the exact same thing.
Sansa took a deep breath.
Gods, I'm an idiot too.
And she fell beside her brother, knowing she couldn't let him be alone, and others would follow her if not him. There were more gasps and the grumbling grew louder. Her guards and all of the guards that stood for House Stark also bent to one knee. Arya knelt beside her. The two girls exchanged a look-Jon is stupid as all seven hells.
However, some of the Lords refused to kneel.
"Please," said Daenerys teresly. "King Snow, stand."
"You call him King but make him bend the knee?!" some man called out. Sansa looked around quickly to see who it was, but there was no indicators.
Jon rose. The rest followed suit.
"I bend the knee of my own free will-" he said loudly. "Because Daenerys Targareyn is our only hope for a better world. I bent the knee because I know who she is truly-she is not what they say. She is not the Mad Queen-that's Cersei, not Daenerys. She's not terrible. She's kind. She's wise, and listens to council. She's loving, and loyal, and brave. It was she who pledged to help us long before I ever bent the knee to her. She rescued me from beyond the wall. I saw her spare a peasant man who tried to assassinate her in White Harbor because his family would die without him when Winter came. She deserves to be Queen-more than any who's sat on the Throne of Swords before her. And this is the choice I have made-because my pride is not more important than the safety of the realm."
Daenerys' eyes softened, and exchanged a long look with Jon. Then she looked around.
"I did not come here to conquer. I did not come here to claim the North as my own-it has always belonged to Northerners, and so it shall remain. I come here, not with Fire and Blood, but with the hopes that you will stand besides me and face the Winter together. The Long Night is upon us, and if we don't bond together we will all die."
There was a moment of silence. Sansa's postion was precarious. She felt...on some level she felt she could believe the Queen. She stepped forward.
"In Winter, we must protect ourselves," she looked at Arya as she spoke. "Look after one another."
Arya joined in, soon followed by Bran, and then Jon.
"For when the snows falls, and the white winds blow...the lone wolf dies. But the pack survives."
There was a ringing silence that followed their shared words.
"Winter is coming, my Lords," said Jon Snow. "And we must band together, or the White Walkers will kill us all."
And with that, Jon entered the castle, Ghost at his heels, and Daenerys and his siblings following close beside him, leaving the Lords and the guards and different occupants of Winterfell behind in the courtyard.