Chapter 120

Sansa rode down the road to the Free Folk encampment, her sister to her side, four of the royal guard, as well as Lord Glover, Lord Umber, Lord Mallister, and some dozen men at arms. Frankly, the direwolves were more intimidating, Ghost and Nymeria had slipped among their horses as they left the gates of Winterfell.

"This would go better if you'd killed one of them," Arya said softly from where she was mounted beside her.

She rather wished she had killed the more objectionable of Arya's suitors, alas no one had been dumb enough to try in the last few days. Truly, unfortunate that. "Opportunities for cold-blooded murder are rare as Queen."

"Only because you're picky," Arya grumbled.

Sansa rolled her eyes but didn't give a reply. There wasn't really a point. They both knew breaking guest rite could not happen. As such, available bodies, even ones who very much deserved to be killed, could not simply be murdered. At least not by her, personally. Instead, she watched as they rode into the main Wildling encampment. Of course, a few hundred had been moved into Winter Town and Winterfell itself, but those were mostly the families with young children and those from clans extinct save for one or two families.

It'd have been too useful if the general Wildling forces could be slid into lives alongside their Northern brethren. Alas, those clans that were still intact to some degree had insisted on staying outside the walls of Sansa's direct influence. It had helped prevent the Northerns and Wildlings from getting into as many fights as they could have. There was that small comfort. Sansa was unsure if their choice to be apart had been helpful or harmful. Likely both.

As they rode further along she began to see people in thick furs slipping away as they spied her, though some stood and simply watched. Sansa knew in her bones they'd been there longer than she'd been aware. Meeting the Wildlings in their place of strength was important. Of course, if they harmed a hair on her head they'd be slaughtered to the last living man, after all, they were on her lands, surrounded by her armies. Certain doom rarely prevented stupidity, however.

Sansa kept her seat on her horse without a change in her posture. As they came around the edge of the hillock on the winding path the sight of tents stretched out. She felt awe at the sight of the mammoths bedded down on the opposing hill, a giant sitting amongst them. She was unsure, but she believed it to be a young giant. She'd sent the grown giants to aid in the preparations for war to the north.

A familiar head of curls in a black-furred form came jogging toward them. Torulas had bright eyes and a grin as he headed straight for Arya. "Ah, our Stark Princess is back."

"Torulas." Arya's tone had a faint hint of exasperation.

The boy or that was unkind, the young man grinned excitedly as he settled into a lope at the pace of their horses beside Arya. "Stab anyone this morning? Saw red in the sunrise."

"Not yet." Arya tossed a knife at him, the hilt nearly clobbered him as he barely caught it in time.

Torulas yelped, but then quickly checked the dragonglass blade. "What'd I do to earn this?"

She just raised a brow at him like he was an absolute moron. A thing that just made his cheery grin grow truly delighted. Arya scoffed. "You're obnoxious, but you did win."

Sansa watched the byplay in fascinated silence. She'd known her sister had been spending time among the Wildlings, even knew she considered the man loping along with them a sort of friend. Still, it was fascinating to see.

"We have a new batch of fermented Mammoth milk if you're up to it." Torulas's expression was challenging.

Arya's mouth twitched in a way that said she absolutely did not want to drink that but was far too stubborn to not do it anyway. "Same terms as last time."

"I'll have bunches of fancy weapons then, Princess." Torulas had a faint hop in his steps, as they moved through the Wildling encampment.

Standing ahead was Tormund, his red hair made him stand out. He was practically glowing as he spotted Brienne. Sansa had to bite back a laugh at that. It was rewarding to watch her sister and loyal knight seen as women of value for who they were. A younger her might have been appalled, but Sansa as she was now found it rather sweet.

"Queen Stark! You came! Some'a these fuckers didn't think you would." Tormund greeted with a grin on his face.

Sansa pulled her steed up, ignoring the discontent on her party's faces. They would live. "And miss your charming personality? Never." She dismounted from her horse, passing the reins to one of the men at arms. "Now, I believe we have the allotting of land to see to,Lord Giantsbane." She ensured her tone held enough humor for it to be clear he was not truly a Lord in any of their eyes. That was important. The Wildlings would never bend the knee, not truly, and she would not humiliate them by requiring it.

There were whispers as they watched her, she could see the darkening of several features, but Tormund still seemed in good cheer as he spoke. "Let's see this land we are to be given."

"Land that has been earned, not given I think." Sansa corrected as she followed the giant red-maned man, her party in her shadow. She felt comfort as Ghost brushed against her, his silent presence meant more than she could say. Not that she didn't trust her guard, or even her sister to see to her safety. But rather that it felt like a piece of her brother/cousin.

Tormund's teeth flashed as he opened the flap of the tent for her. "You and your words."

"They are my weapon of choice." She acknowledged as she entered the tent, her eyes clocking the Wildlings there, certainly clan leaders. Sansa kept her chin raised and walked to what was clearly the head of the room. Not that there was a table, but from the placement of fur-covered chairs, some chests, and the general arrangement of the tent it was clear where authority was expected. Ghost curled around her as she came to a halt. "Shall we get this settled then?"

Tormund crossed his arms. "Alright, we were promised land, let's see the land."

Sansa flicked her wrist to Mallister.

He stepped forward and unrolled the map. It was a detailed image of the former Bolton lands. As she had yet to meet a Wildling who could read the common tongue, she had had the region to be given to them colored with the dye from a red berry. "This is the land of the Red Kings. The land is well-suited for livestock, hunting, and farming. There are also several mountains that produce iron ore. As agreed half those lands are now yours, I have marked out the natural borders as they are."

"And we're to trust your word on that?" A dark-haired man asked, his voice thick with suspicion.

Sansa raised a brow. "I should think if I made a habit of lies I would have few men willing to bend the knee. You are also welcome to send what scouts or initial settlers there as you will to confirm I speak the truth. And for this exchange of land, there is a weirwood tree twenty feet outside this tent."

"What rules ya expecting us to follow for this land?" Tormund asked, and he was serious as he looked at her.

Sansa stood steady. "You will follow the old ways on your land. Beyond that should you leave this territory you will be expected to follow the laws of the North. My laws. You will pay a tribute of one-tenth of your yields. Any man, woman, or child of you, who chooses to live in other territories under my authority will follow the laws of that land. But, any one of you will be free to live where they will within my kingdom. If I call upon my banners you and yours will be obliged the same as any other region is."

"As your people will follow only the leader that you would choose, I will not interfere in this. In whatever method or manner you decide you will choose a representative who will speak on your people's behalves. That representative will be due all the rights and privileges of any of my Lords. A voice in my halls, the ability to make trade and business as they will, and so forth."

It was clear they looked near mutinous at her terms, which was exhausting. Frankly getting her Lords to agree to these terms had been a miracle. "In exchange, these lands will be yours and your children's. You will be under my protection, be it from the Dead or the other Lords of the North. Of course, there is also the trade, lands, and resources this will make available for you. You will be permitted the food stores to survive this winter at the same rate and debt as all the North is. On your lands so long as the old ways are followed you may follow your own laws and customs as you see fit. You will not be required to bend the knee to the King or Queen of the Winter Kingdom. However, your leader will be required to swear to uphold this agreement before the old gods upon being named."

"You'd make us bend in all but name." A scarred woman stated, her eyes narrowed.

Sansa knew her face was cold as she looked at the men and women before her. "If I meant for that we would be discussing bread laws, the creation of a noble ruling house for your people, and more detailed taxation."

One of the Wildlings in black furs spoke up. "It's a good deal." He looked at her. "And when this war with the Others is done, will we be prevented from returning to our ancestral lands?"

"You will not." Sansa was grateful one of them had a head on his shoulders. "You would also be free to travel east, south, or west as you so wished. However, I would be inclined to trade agreements and relations with any clans who return to the far north. The Wall was not meant to separate men, and leaving our two people so removed has clearly done more harm than good in these long centuries."

The scarred woman's thin mouth pressed together. "You call this a good deal? These are chains disguised as payment. We are not whores."

"Don't be a fool." A woman with wrinkled and weathered skin, though clearly wiry and muscled beneath her furs spoke. She wore a mask of white bark. "If you chaff under these rules the true north is ours to return to."

It was clear the woman's words held weight.

"Without these terms, we die," Tormund spoke, his voice rough but serious.

A man with stringy black hair looked to the older man. "What say you Oldfather?"

The man known as Oldfather spoke. "I say how are we to find wives?"

"On your land as is your custom. On the land outside of that as is our custom." Sansa knew her eyes were sharp as she stared the man down. "I will not tolerate the raiding of your neighbors."

"Our children will be weak with no new blood." Oldfather crossed his arms. "It is our way. You would change even this?"

Sansa laid one hand on Ghost's ruff. "I believe you misunderstand your position here, Oldfather. You are here because my brother brought you south of the Wall. You still draw breath because I permit it. You are on my lands, eating my food, surrounded by my vasals and armies. I could have every man, woman, and child of you put to the torch with a word. So you may steal and rape on the land and in the territory I give you. But you will not do so outside of that land. Any man who does not abide by this I will have rendered not men at all. Any raiders caught on land, not their own engaging in that practice I will have their heads mounted on pikes and their bodies fed to the animals."

The woman with the white mask laughed a high and weedy sound. "And would you do that yourself, girl?"

"I am Stark of Winterfell, blood of the first men, and chosen Queen of the North and the Trident. I am not a warrior, but I will take any head I need with my own hands if need be." Sansa knew her guards and sisters were on alert. The next threat was predictable.

The man with stringy black hair spoke. "And what if we kill you and take what land we want?"

"You and yours won't draw breath by nightfall if you harm a hair on my head." Sansa knew her teeth were showing slightly. "And you'd be stupider than a rock to think you can survive the coming Dead without my protection and aid. Or did you come all this way just to die by our swords instead of the Dead's?"

The woman with the white mask pulled out a sheathed knife and tossed it to Tormund. "You were right." Her eyes so pale blue they were nearly white turned to her. "Red Wolf indeed, your teeth will be bloody by the end of this."

"They already are." Sansa could feel the dissatisfaction of her men. But her orders had been clear. They were to keep their mouths shut.

The woman chuckled. "I'm Morna, me and mine will take your deal, bloody wolf."

"Bah, fine. I'm not bending my fucking knee or calling anyone Queen." Oldfather grunted.

Tormund gave her a faint nod. "Let's get this blood oath done with then."

"'Fore that, what happens when you die?" An admittedly handsome, though unkempt, man in hunting leathers and furs spoke.

Sansa wondered if letting Greatjon smack some skulls into each other would be useful? Likely not, but it was a nice thought. "Your appointed leader and my heir will renew these oaths within two turns of the moon. And so forth for every following generation."

"And if one of your heirs is a cunt?" The man challenged.

Sansa knew her own Lords weren't aware of this, and it was going to be a massive headache, but it needed to be done. "Then I am working with my small council to establish a method of removing unfit rulers and installing a different member of Stark blood on the throne. I've suffered fool Kings and mad ones more than any of you. A process your appointed leader will have a voice in the creation of."

"Fine." He tipped his head.

And the last holdouts began to give their assent.

Sansa felt the thrum of victory. Not that they'd had any choice but to agree. But they had still done it. These strange clans and tribes were more valuable than they knew. She fully intended to encourage their integration. A thing that would take years, likely generations. But she would see all her people living in peace. One step at a time.

/

Dany sipped at her cup of wine. "Why are we still arguing this? I've made my decision."

"Your Grace, legitimizing this Gendry is a risk. And he is hardly capable of being more than a puppet to whoever gets their claws into him first. Ser Davos is hardly politically minded enough to protect the boy."

She gestured to the golden rose decor around them. "And who do you believe will get their claws into him before the Tyrells?"

"The Tyrells are gaining a great deal of power, further empowering them is a risk, your Grace." Tyrion cautioned. "There are other ways of securing the Stormlands. There are many powerful Houses that could be given Lordship of the kingdom in exchange for bending the knee. Even Houses that supported your father in the Rebellion. Rewarding their loyalty could gain you a more secure realm than propping up a Baratheon bastard."

Dany wondered at that, oh she certainly was doing what he was saying, but the Tyrells were going to hemorrhage gold, food, and lives for it. "And which one of these Houses of enough power to hold those lands has even sent a representative to me since my arrival in Westeros?"

"None of the great ones yet." Tyrion gave a tip of his head. "It's not a bad idea your Grace, I merely worry you give the Tyrells too much influence and not enough to the heartland of what was always Targaryen support. The Crownlands and the Stormlands have long been some of your House's closest allies and you will have fewer positions and titles to award those who bend the knee to you. Lord Paramount of the Stormlands is a very valuable gift, it could buy you support from a House that gives you swords and aid now, not later."

"I have been given support, and I will honor that support I have been given. Dorne, The Reach, the Iron Islands, my Dothraki and Unsullied, You, those who have sworn to me will reap those rewards. But I will not wait and dither to see which Lord first pledges himself or must be bribed into it. Besides, Gendry holds Targaryen blood, I will honor those ancient ties." She stared at her hand. "Should the witch have spoken true, and I am barren, someone with royal lineage must be my heir."

"Your Grace, you are young, it is far too soon to lose hope on that count." He stepped forward and hesitated but then laid his hand over hers.

Dany allowed the gesture from her Hand. "I am the last true Targaryen, but I have two men with the blood of the dragon in their veins."

"I suppose in that regard Jon's parentage is quite fortunate." Tyrion sighed, stepping back and climbing into the chair facing her. "We should be ready to formalize an alliance and see the two of you married to solidify it by the end of the month, two if negotiations turn…difficult."

She looked out the window to one side. "This has taken too long already."

"With my former wife all the way to the North it's working far faster than we could have hoped for, your Grace. And this time benefits you, it gives your armies time to muster, supply lines to be prepared, and for dragonglass to be mined and shipped North. War takes time, unfortunately, as do alliances." Tyrion made a gesture with his hand. You have secured your holdings in the Reach, Dorne, and some feelers from the Crownlands. The Westerlands will not hold once your armies march and your Unsullied already hold their heart."

Dany wished she trusted her Hand as she once had. But she found that she did not. Especially when his advice was to sit and wait. Advice that she clearly had been ill-advised to take before. When she left North, she would be leaving more men in charge than just Tyrion. She was relieved at Jorah stepping into the room with a respectful dip of his head.

"Your Grace." He approached her with the constant steadiness so indicative of his person. "Yara Greyjoy wishes to speak with you?"

She was relieved at the reprieve from justifying her choice with Gendry, or yet another round of discussing Jon, The Vale, and the Dead. "Bring her in then."

/

Joran bowed as he approached where her Holiness was reading a book in her chambers. He ignored the Tyrell servants, in this they did not matter, and he was not so deluded as to think requesting a full private meeting with a god, even a god whom he was sworn to personally and had spent time in private with before, was a wise idea. "Holiness."

"Joran, do you want some tea?" She gestured to the extravagantly gold-coated set on the table beside her.

He smiled and took the offered seat. "I do, thank you."

Daisy set her book aside and poured the second cup of tea. She looked up sharing an amused expression as they both certainly noticed the jolt that'd caused in the servant who'd been folding linen into one of the fine chests. She didn't comment on it as she set the teapot down. "Ready to ask whatever's been bothering you since rescuing our resident Pirate Queen?"

Joran shouldn't be surprised she'd read him that well, but he was nonetheless. "Aye, I do not wish…" He stared at his hands before daring to look up and meet her eyes. "I do not wish to return to the North, exactly. I know the Dead are coming, I would not run from that. But I would help people. There is so much here that is like the Boltons. I can help them."

"You can." Daisy considered his words, a thing he had neither earned nor deserved but filled him with reverence all the same. "Do you know where you want to help?"

Joran picked up the cup of tea she'd poured him just for something to do with his hands. "I don't know." It shamed him not to know but to so desperately want to anyway.

"Have you considered the Riverlands?" Daisy leaned back grabbing a map off one of the shelves before setting it on the table. "Hogg and the Order at Winterfell sent some Order members to the Twins to help with keeping peace there. But the Twins are in the north of the Riverlands, and not where most of the devastation during the war fell."

Joran looked at the map. "You want me to go to Riverrun, Holiness?"

"Yeah, the area there is some of the worst hit. Even with the Riverlords restoring order, there's no noble House controlling the old Tully lands, and Sansa can't send her own forces to do so while they're forced to hold the North." Daisy tapped the castle. "Snow is setting in, already, it won't be long before it's felt here in the Reach, but the first of it is already in the Riverlands."

He licked at his lips as he considered what he knew. "Who is holding Riverrun?"

"A man of House Vance a few heads down the line of succession," Daisy replied easily. "He's married to a Bracken girl."

He frowned, that had to be a concession to the Brakens considering how much favor her Grace had been showing the Blackwoods. Whichever Vance it was wouldn't be given the castle, but he may be named Stewart. A good, important position to reward both Houses Vance and Bracken. But neither of those Houses would be able or willing to fully provide for the Tully lands, not for something as small as the position of Stewart. Not when so many other titles were available. "Lord Vance will not be able to protect the small folk, not properly."

"But a few well-trained men to ensure the most vulnerable are brought within Riverrun's walls? To seek out bandits and whatever else may need doing?" She asked, but it was more leading him to the answer she'd already found for him.

Joran looked up at her. He could do that. It was a small thing really. A dangerous thing all the same. "I would do it, if you would permit it, Holiness."

"It'll be work, a lot of it ugly." Daisy pointed out, though it was clear she didn't think it would make him hesitate at all.

He couldn't help the faint smile. "But it's what you would do if you were mortal, isn't it?" The endless well of admiration, of reverence, warmed his chest.

She shrugged, her eyes fond. "Yeah, yeah it is." Daisy raised a brow. "We probably should talk about ethical recruiting based on need. Because there's people, no matter how much they might want to join you, who really shouldn't be on some missions."

"Of course, Holiness." He straightened at the prospect of a lesson. But he thought he knew the point of this one, he knew what Daisy had weeded out from the Order whenever she ran drills. The people she examined slightly longer than others. Some men should not be given power over others, and others should not be given the task of caring for others even if they would not cause harm deliberately.