"Battle? What battle?"
"Battle for Winterfell, Your Grace."
"Has Lord Stannis arrived?"
"No, Your Grace."
"Who is it then?"
"Greywater Watch, White Harbour, Last Hearth, Torrhen's Square, Barrowton and Rills versus Dreadfort and their loyalists, Your Grace."
"Torrhen's Square? Barrowton? Rills? When have Tallharts, Dustins and Ryswells join our alliance?"
"Lord Manderly tells us that soon after we have left the feast Lady Dustin offered her men and the Stout men. Her lord father Rodrik Ryswell is said to have given his men to our cause after finding out that she did the same. They are loyal to you, Your Grace. As for Lady Tallhart, she confided to Lord Manderly that she is willing to fight Boltons before the feast began."
The battle was raging outside. Sansa heard screams she thought were Wyman's and she got scared they might not win this battle. But surely, she convinced herself, Lord Wyman couldn't possibly fight out there, he was much too immobile and old for that. So were Lord Howland and Lord Hother, she remembered. It calmed her down.
I shouldn't think we might lose this battle, she scolded herself. If she wouldn't believe in their victory, nobody would. She rose up and walked to the bowl that was supposed to hold water. When she got to it she found out that all the water has frozen. Without any water, she had to remove the frozen tears from her cheek with her bare hands. It hurt as she scraped them away, but it would hurt even more had she left them on her face. Now I must hold my promise not to cry, she thought. This time I will keep my promise, may the old gods and the new punish me if I don't.
It seemed to her like an eternity has passed. But more likely it was barely an hour's turn, she said to herself. But the screams and fighting seemed to have died down. Was the battle over? Did it just move to another location? Sansa started praying to all the gods she knew existed. Gods, make it so we win in the end, please! I don't want any more fighting inside Winterfell's walls. It has suffered enough.
One of her guards brought her food. She thanked him. "Thank you, my lord. But you didn't have to risk your head to bring me food."
"Your Grace, I took the food from Lord Manderly's own supplies. It wasn't dangerous."
"Nonetheless. I beg you, don't leave the tent until it's necessary."
"Yes, Your Grace. As you say."
He bowed and sat down in the middle of the tent, ready to jump at a moment's notice. Sansa checked out what he had brought her. She saw black bread and some fruit. Nothing too lavish, but it had to do. She wouldn't risk the lives of her guards. While eating, she tried to find out who they are for the first time. They both had family crests painted on their armour, but she didn't really recognize any of them at first glance. Though as soon as she looked closer, she recognized the crossed keys on the armour of the guard that brought her food. He is a Locke, then. She tried to remember anything about them that Maester Luwin had taught her. She remembered that they are lords of Oldcastle, but for the life of her their family words wouldn't cross her mind. After thinking for a while, she realized she would never find the right words, so she started examining the other crest. Three sacks on a purple field with a white border. She had to think hard to remember the name, but finally it dawned on her that it is the crest of House Woolfield of Sheepshead Hills. But all she knew about them was that Lady Leona Woolfield is Wyman's wife.
That she knew at least that about them gave her some happiness, but at the same time there was sadness on her mind. The two noble guards were protecting her for more than a week now and she never cared to learn their names or at least their family names. She would see to it that they are properly rewarded if I win, she thought. When, not if, she corrected herself. I must believe. Her guards believed it. Wyman, Hother, Howland and others all believed in it. She should too.
She was starting to get thirsty, but there wasn't any water that was in a drinking state. They had fire, but she wasn't sure if putting the washing bowl close to the fire was a smart idea. The heat from the fire wasn't really strong and the bowl would have to be set right next to the fire. Then the bowl might catch on fire and the water would spill on it, extinguishing it, which would likely mean their death by freezing as they didn't have the means to start a new fire other than driftwood. She couldn't send out her guards for water because she didn't know if it was safe outside.
Thinking how to solve her thirst problems, Sansa heard a man breathing heavily outside the tent. Guard Locke arose, bared his sword and carefully looked out of the tent. Sansa was scared, thinking about who that person might be and what his intentions were. Would he kill her or would he rape her first? She was afraid that the battle was lost. Oh, gods, make it so it is a friendly person!
Locke bowed and widened the entrance to the tent. Sansa was relieved. This must mean that Lord Wyman is here, she thought happily. And it was.
Wyman entered the tent with an out of breath squire. Wyman's face was widened in a smile that could bear only good news.
"Locke, bring us some wine! Don't forget the water, this squire here and Her Grace are doubtless thirsty."
Locke bowed again and disappeared. Sansa rose from her bed and looked at the squire hopefully. He dutifully knelt when he saw her.
"Your Grace, I bear good news."
Sansa was overjoyed. "Arise. Tell me the news."
The squire obeyed. "Your Grace, the battle is done. Lords Bolton, Frey and some of their higher bannermen as well are held captive. You are free to walk through Winterfell. You are the Queen in the North."
Hearing these words, Sansa jumped on the squire and hugged him with all her strength. The squire, not knowing what to do, just stood there and dutifully waited for her to let her go. When she released him from the hug, she kissed him on both cheeks. "Thank you for the good news," she said. Tears ran down her cheeks again, but she didn't care. They would melt away sooner or later. "Tell me your name and whom you are squiring for."
He got nervous. "I-I'm in the service o-of Lord Harwood Stout. M-My name is Roger."
Sansa then sent him away. She laughed like she had never done before. She was Lady of Winterfell, Queen in the North! She had always dreamed of being a queen, even after her betrothal with Joffrey was annulled. Lord Wyman spoke.
"Your Grace, everything Roger said is true. And more, to be honest. Ramsay Snow was killed in battle. Aenys and Hosteen Frey are injured, but barely. I plan on trading them for Greatjon Umber. I'm sure Whoresbane would be glad to see his nephew again. Stannis' army is to reach us in two days, so we must prepare a negotiator. I thought you, escorted by Howland and your two guards would be the right choice, is you should so desire, of course."
"I would desire that. Thank you, Lord Wyman."
"Furthermore," he said, waving his hand to someone outside, "you should present yourself to Roose Bolton wearing your proper colours." A man entered the tent, holding in his hands a dress. But this was no ordinary dress. Wyman took it from his arms and showed the front of it to Sansa. It was a beautiful dress with white sleeves and grey body. Where her heart was supposed to be, there was an embroidered crest of House Stark, complete with their family words on a ribbon under it. The dress was made of warm wool and even the skirt was thick enough that Sansa would barely need to wear anything else. It even had a hood that could be worn over her head if the cold got really bad.
The sight of the dress made her speechless. She covered her open mouth with her left hand.
"I had it made before we departed White Harbour. It is the work of my lady wife's personal tailor, one of the finest in the North. Made from sheep wool from pastures in Sheepshead Hills. Consider it a gift from our family, Your Grace."
Wyman handed her the dress. "I will leave you in privacy so you can try this dress on." He bowed and left the tent together with the tailor and Woolfield. She was alone in her tent for the first time since she arrived in Winterfell. It gave her a slight sense of dread, so she changed clothes quickly. She then called them back in. She really thought this dress was the prettiest she had ever seen.
"Your Grace, if I may be as bold as to say it, you look stunning in this dress," Wyman said immediately upon entering. Locke and Woolfield agreed with him.
"Thank you, my lord. For everything."
"Your Grace, thank me for the dress if you must; don't thank me for obeying my duties to House Stark."
"My lord, I have just one question left. If I'm a queen, isn't there something missing?"
Wyman looked at her for a moment and said "You're right. I have thought of that as well. We weren't able to find the crown your brother wore and it is probably rusting somewhere in the Green Fork. But we decided to forge a new one, a crown that somehow better reflects the personality of the Northern kings." Saying that, he showed her a wooden box that was near the tent entrance. "Locke, if you'd be so kind. I can't bow that low."
Locke obeyed him and opened the box. He carefully took out the crown. It was made of iron that was painted silver and ornamented with direwolf heads in different positions. He put it on Sansa's head and she was surprised when she found out that it was lighter than she expected, given it was made of iron.
"Now, Your Grace, you are in a perfect condition to present yourself to your subjects. The proper coronation will be done tonight. If you please," Wyman said, pointing at the tent's exit. Sansa exited the tent out into the winter cold. It was the first winter day she ever saw and it was much colder than she expected, but the dress managed to stop most of the cold from reaching her. Walking towards the Great Hall, a makeshift road was made from the soldiers kneeling on one knee with their weapons on the ground. Sansa saw that most of them had dents in their armour, some of them were missing a piece of it, some were missing more and every armour was red with blood of her enemies.
She stopped for a moment. At first she didn't quite believe her eyes, but it could not be anyone else. Howland Reed was one of the men kneeling along the road, with his armour bloody from helm to sabaton. He was breathing heavily and Sansa noticed that his spear hand was bare and had a long gash from the elbow down.
"Lord Howland, you are hurt. Go see a maester, please."
"Your Grace," he said, not moving an inch, "Don't worry about this wound. The person who struck my arm did so while falling from my spear in his neck."
"My lord, do not act tough, please. You need a maester."
"I will go see one as soon as you go inside, Your Grace. I didn't want to miss out on seeing my Queen take her rightful throne."
She curtsied to him and turned to Wyman. "Why did he fight?"
"Your Grace, I couldn't hold him back. The zeal in his eyes, his spear... He killed more men than any other warrior today, I bet. And at his age. The man is indestructible."
Sansa was thinking about the stories she heard about the Tower of Joy. Seven men of the North, her lord father and Howland between them, against three of the most talented swordfighters ever to serve in the Kingsguard. And only her father and Howland survived. He was brought into this world under a lucky star, Sansa thought. As she was walking on with Wyman by her side, she asked him "Can you tell me the battle numbers?"
"We had close to five thousand men each, so it was quite a fair fight. But our men mostly weren't drinking at the feast, so we were more awake and fresh. In all, we lost close to eight hundred men. Bolton side lost more than four thousand. Those who survived are mostly wounded and I don't expect them to live much longer. We have maybe five hundred wounded. Some are unfortunately beyond help. The more important bannermen and lords are captured. I personally demanded they not be harmed so Your Grace would be able to choose their punishment herself."
"What about the bride?"
"As you commanded, Your Grace, she's alive and well."
Wyman continued to tell her the numbers and slowly they reached the gates of the Great Hall. At the gates she turned around and saw that all the soldiers that formed a road before were standing behind her escort. She felt she had to say something.
"Bannermen of the North! Today you have fought valiantly and succeeded. I can only offer my humble thanks and a promise of being properly rewarded for your courage!"
It was like her short speech pulled a trigger. All the soldiers took their weapons and thrust them in the air. And they were calling for her. "The Queen in the North! Sansa Stark, first of her name! All hail!"
She smiled and gave them a curtsy. She had to be extra careful not to lose her crown. She then turned to Wyman. "I will see the bride now, please."
Sansa is on the throne now, but the intrigue is yet to begin. Thanks for reading!