Sansa wished she was not committed to sitting on her throne this day before the court. Alas, the matter of trade with the Reach required that she bring it before her Lords. Of course, she'd ensured the correct players were already pacified. The rest would follow, or she would force them. It certainly helped that there were but two Riverlords present. She had no doubt given another year her court would hold near as many men of the Riverlands as it held men of the North.
Still, she'd rather still be in Daisy's chambers, with her wife. Alas, while she would have let this commitment be delayed if necessary, it hadn't been. Sansa stood from her throne, her assembled Lords quieting in their places up and down the King's Hall. "My Lords and Ladies, I have called you here this day to present the trade agreement that I am shortly to enter into with House Tyrell for the benefit of the Kingdom."
"Your Grace!" Lord Greatjon Umber burst out. "We don't need those southern fucks."
There was a murmur of agreement that swept the room.
Emboldened, Greatjon straightened. "We already are beggared to the Ironbank for our food stores. Why should we beggar ourselves further to yet another foreign power? Unless the coming winter lasts longer than ten years it'll have been for nothing."
"Nothing!" Lord Patrek Mallister shot to his feet, a half snarl on his lips. "Oh aye, the North is shipping in enough grain and good stocks. But in the Riverlands, we won't survive four years of winter! Do you count our lives so little as that, my Lord?"
Greatjon looked down on Patrek Mallister. "And why should that be of our concern? Beggar your own damn selves if you don't want to starve."
"You sure bray loudly, Lord Umber." Arya drawled, her voice cutting through the rising sounds, as she spun her sword Needle between her fingers, where she was slouched artfully in her own seat just below the throne. Her eyes were sharp.
He turned, and it should have been threatening how huge he was standing there, towering over her. It was decidedly not. Well, threatening to Arya.
"You would see us carry the weight of the debt required for a bunch of bloody Andels, Princess?" His voice was rough, but he certainly was more intimidated by Arya than he was of Patrek Mallister. Or rather, he feared what Arya would do if he pressed her too hard.
Sansa took her seat on her ironwood throne, tacit permission for her Lords to continue to voice their thoughts. They did not hold the power to overrule her, and this trade deal would happen. But they did hold the right to voice their thoughts. If she'd ensured her sister had greased certain wheels so that the least substantively based arguments were those that would be spoken the loudest against her decision, well, that was her prerogative as Queen. And Greatjon was wonderfully useful for the purpose.
Her hand fell into Ghost's thick fur. She knew it was Jon's fault somehow that Ghost was always at her heels in formal court settings. A thing she was grateful for, but amused her. At least he didn't have blood speckling the white fur around his mouth this time. Her attention remained focused on the debate.
Arya's voice was a drawl as she replied to Greatjon. "I wasn't aware any of you were taking on the debt or had taken any debt to Essos? It is my sister who has taken that burden. Or am I mistaken?"
"Not entirely." Lady Barbrey cut in from her seat towards the front of the Hall. Afforded to her on the basis of her position on the small council and noble birth. "Our various Houses have taken a great deal of debt to House Stark rather than the Ironbank itself."
"Debts to be forgiven in reduced taxes, the loss of which my sister intends to bear herself." Arya raised a brow.
Greatjon scoffed. "Taxes that no doubt will have to be raised to pay for the great generosity of her Grace."
Patrek Mallister spoke again. "What are higher taxes when spring finally comes in the face of half the Kingdom starving before then? Have we not bled just as much or more than any of the rest of you? House Braken's heir is the Lord's second cousin because every male ahead of him in line died fighting for King Robb. Our lands were raised to the ground, our crops unharvested for years, our smallfolk slaughtered and abused, their very blood as mortar at Harrenhall. All in the name and in the service of Robb Stark. And where was the North when the vultures came for us? We have served as loyally as any of you. But for the pitiable cost of potentially raised taxes, you would let us starve? Even at this moment, we guard the southern border. You're nothing but spendthrift cowards."
"We all lost family in the War." Lyanna snarled, surging to her feet. "Mine own mother, sisters, and two-thirds of our levies perished fighting in the Riverlands. If you think us cowards, draw your sword and we'll see which of us is the coward."
Lord Overton banged his fist on the table. "If you all hadn't been caught with your pants down and lost near half your lands before we could even march ta' ya mayhap the war wouldn't have been bloody well lost!"
"ENOUGH!" Lord Glover roared, narrowly preventing Mallister from taking a swing for Overton's head with his fists. "We're not here to argue who fucked up what in the thrice-cursed War of Five fucking Kings." He waited till the other Lords reluctantly sat down. "As I see it it's a fair deal. The food is purchased at a rate one and an eighth the value of it to be repaid in installments beginning two years after the citadel announces the arrival of the next spring."
He had the full attention of the Hall. "That as well as a lifting of tariffs on goods from until such a time as the debt is repaid." Lord Glover cleared his throat. "It's a steep price, and as Lord Mallister says, a necessary one. A price made lower if we pay it quickly. A thing we cannot do while the crown is also beholden to the Ironbank."
Lord Glover turned his attention to Sansa. "How do you mean to pay this debt as well as the debts to the Ironbank at the same time, your Grace?"
Sansa could have smiled at the man, she hadn't even ensured he spoke in her favor. That was down to Patrek and Greatjon she'd seen prepared to make the appropriate arguments to swing in the direction she wished. She didn't flinch at the sudden return of the weighted attention of the room. "As of this moment, I directly hold more land than any Lord, Lady, Queen or King has ever held in the history of Westeros. A situation that will not persist for long, it is more land than any could directly manage well. However, as it is to me to give it as I see fit, certain conditions with such a gift would be expected."
The Hall was quiet as everyone parsed that out. It was rather simple in the end.
"For a time of five years from the start of spring, half of all wealth generated on those lands will be forfeit to the crown, save those lands allotted to Tormund Giantsbane. Those in the Riverlands who benefit from this shall repay to the crown the cost of what they have acquired in full, over a period of up to eight years. As such no taxes need be raised for the whole of the realm." Sansa finished. Honestly, she would take the initial debt, as she had done with the loan from the Ironbank. Or rather take the responsibility for the debt. Her Lords would be given fair time to repay her, and with the addition of dramatically increased tax from those lands she now held but could not manage personally long term, House Stark would be returned to being one of the richest Houses, if not the richest in eight years come spring.
All truths clearly every Lord there was realizing rather suddenly. Incidentally, the constant harping about who wanted to be awarded land would decrease. No personal fortunes could be built in those lands till after that sharp tribute or taxation demanded in the first five years. It made it a less appealing prospect in the short term. However, she could see several Lords realizing exactly how precarious her position financially would be for however long winter lasted.
Lord Tallhart stood. "Your Grace, surely there is something else to be offered?"
"There is." Sansa laid her hands on the arms of her throne. Her crown's weight barely a thought as she spoke. "We pay for it in lumber, of course, the cutting, transport, and loss of at least twenty thousand trees would be near impossible and would leave many to freeze without logs to burn through the Long Night."
Grim expressions darkened the faces of the court. "Fuck selling our damned trees to the fuckers." Lord Flint grunted.
"Of course, if we were capable of mining for valuable ores that might suffice, however, the ground is already frozen. We have neither the amount of furs or leathers to trade them, and we need them too desperately ourselves." Sansa explained.
Lord Overton spoke again. "Surely we have something else of value than mere gold, furs or lumber to trade?"
Edmund Blackwood stood. "We will pay her Grace back for this generosity. It is a debt none would shirk." He tipped his chin up, clearly unease at talking in this great Hall of Lords. "If what is offered us is a trade of gold, then it is a trade of gold we shall take, at our Grace's pleasure."
"Her Grace shouldn't bloody well be paying any of it." Greatjon snarled. Which…fuck, he wasn't just saying as agreed, he was genuinely defending her. "You Riverlords can take your own debts to those Tyrell cunts and pay it your own damn selves."
Lady Dustin scoffed. "And let half our kingdom starve or be gouged at far less forgiving rates? You'd cripple us all."
"Just give the Tyrells some of the lands by the Stony Sept and be done with the whole matter." Lord Knott cut in.
It was such a colossally short-sighted suggestion the entire room stared at the man in disbelief. Arya let out a high-pitched laugh that seemed to return the men to their senses.
"You would give the ancestral lands of House Tully, that directly pay homage to our Queen, to the Tyrells, for what? To avoid a few years of financial difficulty? You would ask her to give lands that her mother's House has held for generations for carts of grain?!" Lyanna Mormont's words were biting in their incredulity. As she stared at the man like she'd like to cut him at the knees so he'd be at her level and she could murder him properly.
Lord Knott apparently lacked survival instincts…hopefully, if casualties occurred on his lands in the war to come he would be among them. Surely his heir couldn't be this obtuse. "If her Grace wants to save the Riverlands, let her. But I'm not cutting a fucking tree, or paying a single coin to do it."
"You will if my sister commands it." Arya's voice was soft in a way far more threatening than it had any right to be. Her cold gaze upon the man who'd suddenly frozen. She held his eye. "Or are you threatening to break faith with House Stark, my Lord?" She wasn't spinning her sword between her fingers any longer, instead, she was holding it loosely.
He spluttered uselessly, the whites of his eyes clearly visible.
Sansa let out a long breath before she spoke. "Lord Knott, you wish for the crown not to be financially beholden to a foreign House. You also wish to not lose the wealth and resources of your land, yes?"
"Aye, your Grace." His eyes nervously flicked between Ghost, whose fangs were showing, and Arya.
She raised a brow. "Well if you wish to speak of the idiotic options you've missed the easiest one for providing food at a rate of half its cost in gold without losing any land." Sansa could feel the ripples of confusion through her court. "It's quite simple really, I marry Loras."
The Hall exploded with outrage as men yelled and shouted over each other. Poor Loras paled and was staring at her in shock and sheer terror as he stumbled back so Brienne and Conin could keep an opportunistic Lord from making a grab for him. It was pure chaos. Not a man or woman was still seated.
Sansa watched rather dispassionately. Honestly, as if she was stupid enough to genuinely suggest this randomly at court. When the day came, and it would, when marrying Loras was required, she'd handle it better than this. For fucks sake. It would require the North and Riverlands to be secure. Her court would have to be anxious for her to wed. And she'd certainly have to quietly ensure support from her small council, as well as from her most powerful and loudest Lords alike. However, this would at least put the idea into their heads as a possibility.
She flicked her attention to Arya. They shared a moment of understanding. And then Arya turned her attention back to the room, placing two fingers in her mouth, and blew out a piercing whistle that made several people flinch.
Sansa rose to her feet as the eyes of the whole court stared at her, barely biting their tongues. "Lord Umber, you will not break the peace under my roof, release Lord Knott at once."
Greatjon Umber's jaw clenched, but he dropped the man he'd been half shaking and likely about to start strangling. Lyanna Mormont, who'd clearly been encouraging the potential murder of Lord Knott, kicked the man as he hit the ground. A thing Sansa decided to ignore.
Instead, Sansa glared at her Lords. "I said it was an idiotic option. You've made your concerns heard." She waited till they'd all sat their stubborn hides down. Her eye caught Patrek Mallister who had a sluggishly bleeding nose, but a very smug look on his face.
She spoke crisply. "Does anyone wish to disagree that not allowing the Riverlands to starve is necessary?" Sansa paused long enough for it to be clear no one was going to argue. At least not without time to gather their thoughts. "Does anyone disagree that stripping our lands bare of lumber, furs, and leather is untenable?"
No one stood up. Good.
"And no one wishes to argue the very borders of the Winter Kingdom should be redrawn nor that I should set aside my lover so that I may marry a Tyrell?" A lot of poisonous looks were shot at Lord Knott and poor Loras. Unhappy sounds were made. But no one spoke. Sansa gave a faint nod. "Then I shall take your advisement under consideration when I accept this trade agreement as it is currently written. Unless there is something else?"
Lord Tallhart spoke. "No, your Grace."
"Then court is adjourned for the day." Her eyes snapped to Lord Knott. "However, Lord Knott. I trust you misspoke earlier. If you ever threaten treason again I will have your tongue ripped from your head before I remove it." Sansa noticed from the corner of her eye the Free Folk leaders looked positively delighted. Well, in their own vicious way.
Sansa smiled at the sight of Daisy leaning against a wall. She stepped to her wife's side, a hand automatically reaching out to rest on Daisy's waist. "How long have they been at it?"
"About an hour." Daisy leaned into the touch automatically, her warm gaze turning away from where Rickon and Lyarra were trying to teach Joramun to follow some basic commands. Shaggydog a large lump by the fire. "I take it your trade deal was approved?"
"It didn't devolve into a brawl and a single threat of lopping a man's head off at the very end." It was about what she'd expected. "They're scared."
Daisy made a sound of understanding in the back of her throat. "I puked from…well terror this morning." She grimaced.
"Father used to say the only time a man can be brave is when he's afraid." Sansa squeezed her hand that was still on Daisy's hip. It was only them, a few guards, and the two children with the wolves. And frankly, she did not give a fuck at the moment. The court already knew they were intimate.
And Daisy smiled, her posture remaining soft. "Smart guy." She paused. "Pretty sure he'd have tried to stab me for the whole thing between us though."
Sansa let out a soft laugh. "I doubt that."
"Really?" Daisy leaned in close, her lips nearly brushing her ear, and that had just changed their position from skirting propriety to nearly scandalous, as Daisy's arm curled up behind Sansa, her fingers gently pressing against her shoulder blade. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "It's my understanding fathers don't like scoundrels who seduce their daughters?"
She refused to flush at the teasing tone in Daisy's voice. The rush of relief at Daisy behaving secure again was sharply good. "I thought we'd gone over that it was the other way around?"
"Hmm…didn't say I did the seducing intentionally." Daisy joked, her voice still soft, ensuring it didn't carry to where Lyarra was near copying Rickon and just snarling as Joramun had started trying to eat her glove.
Sansa shot Daisy a look while pressing her free hand to the center of Daisy's chest, gently placing a bit more space between them for decency's sake…or well not traumatizing Lyarra too badly. Her case of hero worship was sweet. "As delightful as this conversation is, the evening meal is to be served in the Great Hall soon."
/
Daenerys stared at the sprawling map of Westeros, tokens representing armies laid out across its surface. "You've placed a great deal of the forces below the New Gift?"
"We don't have the force or resources to rebuild the Wall." Jon pointed out the various castles along the Wall. "But we have manned the castles. We don't know where the Dead will attack, by holding our main forces back we can swing our forces to bare where the attack happens."
Garlan Tyrell's eyes narrowed. "And if the Wall falls the army will stand a chance at a defensive retreat."
"Aye, you'll lose every living man, woman, and child for a hundred miles at the least." Jorah rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "That's a terrible risk."
Jon's shoulders were set with determination. "We'll fight longer." He swallowed. "And should we fall it will buy time."
Daenerys did not have the knowledge or training for war. Not truly. What she did have, was a mind for people. "You've already evacuated the region closest to the Wall then?"
"Aye, or we're trying." He grimaced, part frustration, part humor. "We're a stubborn bunch, us Northerns."
Jorah spoke in that steady voice that had been at her side since the day of her wedding to Drogo. His dogged and dependable presence at her side was evidence enough that Northerners were stubborn mules, the lot. "Asking men to leave their homes and the land of their forebears is a hard thing, your Highness."
"We've asked the men to stay." Jon looked up. "Any man or woman old enough to bare arms we'll put a dagger in their hand. The children and some of the mothers we've been moving south."
Daenerys looked up at him sharply. "And the old?"
"Will not go." Jon's face set. "They'll do as the aged have done in the North at the beginning of winter or war since the First Men first lived in the North."
Jorah grimaced. "That's not been formally done since the Winter Wolves in the Dance."
She barely bit back a sound of horror. Because she knew what that meant. They would arm their elderly, and send them to die to reduce the number of mouths to feed. Her fingers tightened at her side.
"Your Grace, it is a gift given to one's family and people to do this." Jorah shared a look with Jon before continuing. "House Stark is not ordering them to do this. And they could not stop them even if they tried."
Willas cut in from where he'd been quietly listening. He was the only one of them seated, a concession he'd grimaced but asked for. "An admirable if terrible sacrifice. I am more concerned about how your strategy will work with so many different armies? The larger the force, the more complicated coordinating it will become."
The door opened, and Tyrion rushed in, Leonette Tyrell on his heels. "Your Grace."
"You're presence was requested an hour ago, Lord Hand." Daenerys' eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Though she noted Leonette making her way quickly to her husband and good brother.
He strode the last few steps. "My apologies, but news reached me that I thought best to ensure was truth before I brought it to you."
"And is it the truth?" She asked.
Tyrion smiled. "Yara Greyjoy has returned to us."
And sure enough, sweeping in behind them, was Yara Greyjoy. Every inch of cocky, self-assured confidence radiated from her as it had in Meereen. However, she certainly looked a wreck. Her hair was greasy and rather plastered to her head. She was coated in dirt, flecks of blood on her dirty trousers, shirt, and torn overcoat which was quite ripped. She was also only wearing one boot. "Some people seemed to think I wasn't appropriately dressed to see you, your Grace." Her eyes narrowed toward where Leonette was standing. "But as you'd be a poor conqueror if a spot of blood bothered you." She paused. "And if I have to spend one more hour with that fucking rescue party I'm gutting them. Figured you wouldn't want that."
"Davos?" Jon asked, nearly taking a step forward.
Yara gave Jon a look that was one part critical and one part dismissive before waving a hand. "Fine, banged up but was mother henning the blacksmith. Didn't want to come in smelling like horse shit, your Highness."
Daenerys raised a brow as Jon let out a breath of relief. "It gladdens me to see you returned to us. We had feared you lost, your Highness."
"Well, that brother of mine isn't completely useless, your Grace." Yara's eyes spotted the sideboard. She was across to it in three steps, picked up the pitcher of wine, and didn't bother with a cup, just started drinking straight from the pitcher.
Daenerys fought against the smile that wanted to form. Well, whatever news Theon Greyjoy's rescue mission brought, it would certainly be entertaining to hear of. And she was…relieved the pirate Queen hadn't perished. Daenerys rather liked her after all.