A/N: Thanks for the support.

Our Blades Are Sharp 2: The Red Reign

By Spectre4hire

Seven

Sansa:

"Are these numbers, right?"

"They are, my lady."

She didn't look up at Luwin's answer. Sansa's attention remained on the parchment and maps spread out before her. She could sense the maester's presence just out of sight, hovering, and waiting. Domeric was on the other side, across from her. She saw the reason for his choice since every time she did look up, there he was. His was a calming presence that she needed during these trying days. An anchor to help keep her steady while the waters around her churned so turbently.

They had been at Winterfell for little more than a week and the Harvest Feast was less than a fortnight away, and Sansa still didn't believe everything was ready. Even after so many days of just her and her husband, she expected father or mother to walk through that door. You've done well, they'd say, smiling and proud, before they'd smoothly take over and effortlessly finish the same problems that she continued to fret over.

This is my task, she took a calming breath, knowing her parents were not coming through the Gates of Winterfell. They had their own responsibilities to tend to, the same as her brothers. Winterfell is mine.

Sansa was in her father's solar. She had requested Maester Luwin to retrieve the records of her bannermen while a map was sprawled out beside it. The past Lords of Winterfell kept records of the northern houses. A way for them to see which houses were growing, which ones were shrinking. To keep track of the lands, the people, the supplies to better prepare for the harsh and long winters.

Alongside those records were the numbers that Luwin had taken when Robb had called the banners. She was looking over them to try to get the measure of the north, the strength of families and houses, and to get an understanding of the ongoing harvest. Autumn was here so it was time for the lords of the north to store part of their grain as well as the preparations that needed to be made by the salting, smoking, and other methods to preserve food for an expected long winter.

Soon visiting lords and ladies would be arriving at Winterfell and she needed to be well rehearsed when speaking to them. She knew they'd give her their own numbers as well as asking requests, seeking favors, and other exchanges to help themselves and their people for the coming winter. Sansa did not want to be caught unaware.

So many numbers, She felt the slight tinge of a headache beginning to build. Sansa never had a head for numbers despite her efforts to improve. Thankfully, she had Maester Luwin who remained patient, supportive, and helpful.

"If I'm reading this correctly," she was quietly hoping she was, "Our harvests should not be impeded too much by the war in the south."

"They should not be, my lady," Luwin said from her side.

Sansa did not turn, but she knew he was smiling. She let out the small breath she had been holding when she was bracing herself to be wrong. She had previously feared they would not have enough, but the numbers in front of her were telling her a different story.

"Your brother was able to call upon twenty thousand men relatively quickly," Luwin stepped closer, "Well, relatively quickly for the north," he amended, "There are still thousands available, but the north is vast and it would take time," his finger pointing to various strongholds within the north. "It will be more challenging if the ironborn or the wildlings do strike."

"House Bolton is prepared to raise more men in defense of Winterfell and House Stark."

Sansa looked up to see her husband was just where she had hoped, right across from her. He offered her a small smile. "It says you can raise an additional five hundred men?" She gestured to the records her father had on the Dreadfort, and House Bolton's holdings.

"We have more than that," Domeric corrected, "I should be able to raise near eight hundred."

"That is good and impressive," Luwin said from where he stood, but his tone was different.

"We are a strong house."

"And my family is grateful for it," Sansa smiled back at him. "House Manderly too should be able to call upon another great number of men if it is needed."

"They should indeed, my lady."

"Maester Luwin?" She thought she caught something.

"Yes, my lady?"

"If this is correct," She slid the parchment over for him to see, "Does this mean that they also have more that can be called upon."

"Who?" That was Domeric.

"The northern mountain clans," she answered, but her attention was on Luwin who was comparing the notes he had written when Robb called the bannermen with the records.

"It is, my lady," he confirmed. "Your brother did not have the time to wait for all of them and other such houses."

"I understand," Sansa did not fault her brother or her bannermen. Robb had needed to move quickly to save their father. "I do not think I remember getting any word from any of the clans about attending the Harvest Feast."

"We did not," Luwin said, "They are not likely to come to such a gathering. They'd prefer to remain in their mountains."

"What are their numbers?" Domeric asked.

"Nearly three thousand men," despite her struggles with numbers, even she could not miss such a large gap. She tried to remember what father had said about them. How they were different than their other bannermen in how they behaved, interacted, and how they saw themselves. They did not all live in castles or keep maesters and ravens. That was in part why it was difficult for them to come as swiftly as some of the other far northern bannermen like Houses Umber, Karstark, and Mormont.

Sansa remembered her father spoke fondly of his visits to the mountain clans, but she had been so surprised and scandalized by the stories when she was younger. How they'd address her father, their lord as merely The Ned or the Stark in Winterfell. Their lands bordered the Gift which meant they had their fair share of dealings with the wildings so she was certain they'd come to Winterfell's call and to the north's defense. She was more worried about having to make the call than fearing who and how many would respond.

The call would mean the wildlings were near. It would mean war. It would mean, her eyes finding her husband's, watching Domeric march off into battle. The chill seeped into her chest. It will come, she knew, but that doesn't mean I'm ready.

Another day of duties was done and she was glad for it.

Sansa was making her way to the chambers she shared with her husband. It was a short stroll through familiar corridors with no interruptions or questions. There was no one reporting problems while others sought answers and opinions to other matters. She hoped it would get easier to handle the more she eased into it all. They all said she was doing well, the household, Maester Luwin, the guards, servants, everyone, but pressing at the back of her mind was her worry, a small voice asking: what else were they to say to her?

You are terrible, my lady.

Your mother would be ashamed.

They let the wrong Stark hold Winterfell.

She hoped they were honest even though she worried they weren't. The Harvest Feast drew near which meant her role would be even more scrutinized when the northern nobility gathered at Winterfell.

The door was in sight and her mood lifted even more because of it. It was only a few more steps till she was inside. Her husband was the first thing she saw. His desk faced the door on the far side of their chambers while its back was against the wall. Hers was adjacent, but facing one of their windows. He was reading something, but he looked up, having heard her arrival. He lowered the parchment, smiling.

My husband, she was smiling too, It still made her giddy to think she was married to him. It had happened mere weeks ago at Riverrun, but here they were now at Winterfell, together. She couldn't be happier. "What are you reading, husband?" She did not miss the slight quirk of his lip that he made whenever she called him, husband.

"A letter from my father."

Ah, she had gone over to her desk to see if Luwin had delivered any new letters or other notes when she had been busy with her other duties. Thankfully, there hadn't been any new ones. Plenty of old ones, she thumbed through some of them, knowing she'd need to read them all as well as act and answer them.

"What does he say?" She already had a strong suspicion of the contents of Lord Bolton's letter. The inquiries he would make, the blunt manner he went about in persisting on knowing if any fruit had bloomed from their marriage. We've only been married a few weeks, she wanted to remind him, it was as if Lord Bolton was expecting Sansa to have had a baby born and blessed by the time they reached Winterfell.

It's been a month, she wanted to write to him. A small voice nagged at her that it was more than a month and creeping closer to two months, but she pushed it aside. That wasn't important.

"He asks after your health," Domeric had a way of making his father's inquiries sound rather genuine. As if Lord Bolton was truly only curious and concerned about her well being.

"I am well," She answered, "I am blessed, I am happy," she listed them off, knowing Lord Bolton cared little for such things. Sansa smiled at her husband at seeing the concern expression settling over him that always came when his father was discussed.

She then turned towards their bed, unsurprised that Lady was not there. She was out hunting.

It was in the back of her mind, a door she could easily open. It was ajar now so she could see glimpses while being more attuned to Lady's senses if her attention lingered and focused on her direwolf. Remembering Jon's advice she didn't focus on her direwolf or try to slip into Lady, but tried to root herself to their chambers with her husband.

"I fear father will be worried after you for some time," Domeric's voice made it even easier for her. His tone was apologetic.

"I'm fortunate to have such a caring good father," Sansa replied just as carefully as her husband had been. "Does he speak of anything else?"

"He does."

"Oh?" She looked over her shoulder towards him to see her husband's face was solemn. "What is it on?"

Domeric didn't answer her right away. He looked down at the letter and then to her. "Do you wish to know?" His tone surprised her.

"Yes." Sansa felt the slightest quiver within her chest at seeing and hearing her husband's somberness.

"Very well, my father speaks of a wily scheme he wishes for me to partake in. It will be no easy task," He sighed, "I must seduce my wife so I can steal Winterfell."

It took a heartbeat or more for her to realize she had been duped. She wasn't happy.

"Dom!" She protested at her husband's dry tone while watching that easy smile come to his mouth. "That wasn't funny," her scolding proved ineffective between the bouts of her own giggling.

She had heard those outrageous whispers before. Those rumors of flayed fingers trying to wrap around the heart of the north. To strangle the wolf and claim Winterfell for themselves. It was silly nonsense. The rumblings came from the suspicious and the sullen. The ones who had not liked the idea of the union between the Dreadfort and Winterfell.

It's Domeric I trust, it was thought without hesitation. She paid the envious no mind, dismissing their gossip for what it was.

He was unrepentant. "It was amusing."

Sansa ignored that. "Your father was right," she agreed, "It will be no easy task to seduce your wife," she teased.

"Oh?" Domeric's eyes were dark and warm. "It will be a challenge I admit, but I'm not without charm."

Sansa snorted at that, then covered her mouth when she was afraid more laughter would follow. "Of course you are."

He had gotten out from behind his desk. The letter from his father was still in one hand when he wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Your encouragement is appreciated, wife," He kissed that spot on her neck that made her blood go as hot as the hot springs under Winterfell.

She let out a happy hum at her husband's affectionate attention.

"Are my chances improving?" He murmured against her.

"They are." It would've been so easy to get lost in this, but sadly, now was not the time to pursue it despite the strong temptation. She wiggled out from his grip, his protest was an indignant grunt. She turned to see the disappointment in his expression. "We will be expecting company soon." Someone was bound to be coming shortly to inform them that supper was ready.

"I shall practice my charms until then."

Sansa's suspicion proved right when someone knocked on their door. "Come in," She expected it to be Jeyne or Beth to inform her that supper was ready. It was neither. Standing in the doorway, looking grim was Ser Rodrick. He did not wait to give his news.

"A wildling raiding party has been scouted to the north of Winterfell, my lady."

"How many?" Domeric's expression darkened.

"I do not know the exact number, but there have been reports of several homesteads having been attacked."

"That is all they know," Domeric muttered. "I will see justice done," He then turned to her, "with your permission, my lady?"

"You have it," She didn't hesitate, "You may leave in the morning."

He nodded, "I will inform my men." He left.

"Thank you, Ser Rodrik," She dismissed him.

Tomorrow I watch my husband leave Winterfell with a small party to deal with these wildlings, she was preparing herself for supper even though she found herself losing her appetite, but soon it will be me saying farewell to him at the front of an army off for battle.

Garlan:

I am sorry, my love.

I was wrong, I was wrong. There is nothing inside me now but despair. Forgive me. My heart aches and I pray for your return to me. Please, I cannot be parted from you. I would not even have the bittersweet consolation of our babe in my belly that would have your kind heart and warm laugh. I could not bear it.

Please, I love you, Please, come back to me. I love you.

The tear drops on the letter were not all from his wife.

He let loose a breath. The ink sank into him like ice. He cleared his throat, but that stubborn swell remained. He blinked away any remaining tears that did not fall, while cursing himself that he had to be so far away while his Leonette was suffering alone from all this pain and heartache.

I should be at her side, The sorrow cut deeper than any dagger. Here they were no more than two days' ride from the capital. It'll be weeks before I can see her again.

She had been so happy, so confident that she was carrying their first child. As was he. It had made him even more reluctant to leave her side when she was so certain of the life they had made that was growing inside her. There was no babe, and she was alone when she'd need him most.

I am her husband, but what comfort can I give her from here? He was so frustrated, he had already crumpled up two pieces of parchment in his attempt to try to draft a letter to return to her.

I need to hold her, to soothe her, rub her back the way she likes, to keep her close in my arms under our blankets, her nestled against me.

He tried to wonder what test they were being given and by whom. Was it the Mother? The Maiden? The Warrior? He always lit the candles, sang the psalms, made his tithes, and meant his prayers. He had done his vigil, he had honored his vows as a husband and as a knight. And still there was no blessing for him and his wife.

What more do you ask? He glanced up at the canvas ceiling of his tent, but there was no answer.

Garlan had never grown comfortable to the tent he had been given. It was modestly sized and furnished, all the trappings and colors of his family. The two roses of his personal standard on display, but it was what was missing in his tent, his darling Leonette. This tent could not be his home, because she was.

Every day I go further and further from her, He clenched his fist. My wife needs me more than Renly needs my sword.

"Garlan?"

He turned around sharply at the sound of his name to see Loras. His brother was smiling, but it dipped at Garlan's reaction to him. "Are you well?" His face shifting from carefree to concern in an instant.

"No," Garlan answered honestly. "I received a letter from Leonette."

"Has something happened?" Loras cut across the tent quickly, "Is she well?"

"She is." How can she be?

"And the baby?" Loras asked hesitantly.

"There wasn't one."

"I'm sorry, brother," Loras hugged him. "You will be parents soon," He clapped his back, "I know it!" His brother could be so charming and convincing it wasn't hard for Garlan to believe him. To feel that frustration melt away under Loras' bright eyes and smile.

"Leonette can have her baby in the capital." It wasn't just charm his brother had in abundance; it was a certain carefreeness that came with being a third son. The victory was already theirs. The fighting didn't even bother him. There was no fretting or doubt, he already saw them all in the capital.

"King's Landing?" Garlan made a face. "Once the war is over I'm returning to Highgarden, to my wife,"

"It will be over soon," Loras looked so assured. "Renly will be crowned in a matter of days if not a week." His face betrayed his clear affection towards their sister's husband. "He will be a great king."

"He is your friend not mine."

"What?" Loras was frowning.

Garlan sighed. He hadn't wanted to talk about this, especially not now with Leonette's gloom clouding his own heart. "Your friend needs to attend our sister."

"He will," Loras didn't try to deny that Renly had made no attempt to be with their sister since their wedding.

"Loras, I know you love him," Garlan began.

"But what?" Loras' anger could come quickly.

Garlan had weathered many of his brother's outbursts. They would strike quickly like lightning. "That you need to remember that the more he is in your bed the less chance our sister has in having his babe." He pushed down the awkwardness that affected his tone and stance. He thought it difficult enough to have this talk with Margaery, but it proved just as challenging when speaking to Loras, but just like with his sister, it needed to be said so he pressed on. "If she is not pregnant, who will the court and people blame, Renly or Margaery?"

Loras deflated. His face softening, smoothing over the anger that had clouded his expression only seconds ago. "I know that," He wasn't defensive in tone, it was a bitter acceptance at what could befall his sister and his own part in it.

"I know you do," Garlan assured him. "Just your family needs you too, Loras."

"After the capital is taken," Loras vowed, "I'll," he paused, looking troubled, it was no easy thing to share someone you loved especially when he was forced to with his own sister. "I'll stay away until she's pregnant if I have to." His eyes softening at the idea of a long separation between them.

It was a pain Garlan was all too familiar with. His wife's absence was felt keenly and constantly. How he'd turn to ask her how he looked when he dressed, or ask her something, roll over in his bed expecting her right beside him, so many little things that built into something he cherished with all his heart.

"Let us hope it doesn't come to that," Garlan was proud of his younger brother. "I do not know about you, but I could use a good spar."

Loras' smile was slow in coming when he nodded. "I would like that."

The supper that night had been quiet and intimate.

Renly had surprised Garlan when the king requested for a small gathering for a simple supper. It had been attended only by Renly, Loras, Margaery, and himself. He wondered if this had been his brother's idea or had Renly grown tired or bored of the constant and lavish banquets that he was throwing during their march to King's Landing.

Their meal was nearly over when they were alerted they had a visitor requesting to see Renly.

"Who's the guest?" Renly had still been smiling from a funny story Loras had finished telling. The two were sitting across from each other, Garlan sat to his other side while Margaery sat beside her husband and across from him.

"Lord Petyr Baelish."

"I shall see him," Renly looked intrigued, "Send him here, but do so discreetly."

"The rats are always first to abandon ship," Garlan muttered, he thought little of the flesh peddler that was Littlefinger.

Renly smiled. "A rat he may be, Garlan, but even rats have their uses."

Their wait for the Master of Coin didn't take long. Lord Peter Baelish was dressed in a dark cloak with a hood to conceal his face. Garlan wondered how long it would be before the capital noticed his absence or how he had been able to slip away into the night from a city without being seen.

"King Renly," He removed the hood before bowing, "and Queen Margaery," his head was still dipped, "You look radiant."

Margaery replied first. "Thank you, Lord Baelish."

"I must say you are an unexpected guest," Renly raised his hand and a servant moved to present him with bread and drink.

He only took a small bite before washing it down with the wine. "I hope I am not an unwelcomed one."

"It depends on the purpose of your presence."

"How did you get here?" Garlan asked, getting the man's attention for the first time since his arrival, "The city should be well guarded and alerted with a siege so soon at hand."

Baelish spread his hands out. "You'll find that coin has a way of distracting men."

Bribes, Garlan should've known.

"What gold can't buy a woman can," He continued, "My brothels are very busy."

"I'm glad to hear you're able to profit from our soon to be siege," Renly said lightly, "But I'm not surprised by it, you always have a way of making coins appear."

"You honor me, Your Grace," Baelish had finished his wine, "I've come to offer you, my fealty."

Garlan bit down a snort. He was not alone in his dismay. Loras was watching the Master of Coin closely, and with a frown. Margaery hid her interest behind a demure look.

"Tell me, Baelish," Renly leaned forward in his seat, "How did Queen Cersei and my nephew take your decision to leave the city to join me?"

"They are unaware of my defection."

That confession surprised no one in the room.

"What can you offer me, Baelish?"

"I know you have no need for my women, your grace," his smirk was small and fleeting, "So how about the city itself?"

"King's Landing?"

"That's right, Ser Garlan, the sooner the city has fallen to King Renly, the sooner you can return to your lovely wife."

Garlan's anger flared. He didn't like him mentioning her.

"Do you plan on buying the city out from under the Lannisters, Lord Baelish?" Margaery's innocence was well feigned.

"Nothing that expensive, your grace. The Lannisters hold the city, but the gold cloaks follow the gold," He smiled, "As Master of Coin, it's still my responsibility to pay them. I can get one of the gates open for you and your army when the time is right."

"What about the Lannister forces?" Loras asked, "Surely they'll be at the gates too."

"Not all of them are so, ah, well defended," Baelish said regretfully and without sincerity, "You've spread them too thin."

"This is a generous offer, Lord Baelish," King Renly betrayed little in his expression, "I suspect you seek a generous reward."

"I would have my title as Master of Coin confirmed under your reign," Baelish began, "There are a few other things, but that could be discussed at later times," he waved his hand as if they were trivial trinkets he cared little for, "It should be spoken of in the chambers of the Red Keep and not some tent on the Rose Road."

"I have the numbers to take the city, Baelish," Renly was calm and confident. "The men of King's Landing may see our forces and decide fighting for a king like Joffrey isn't worth their lives. They're starving and desperate, perhaps they'll even oust the lions for me and they'll do it all for some bread and wine."

"The Lannisters are stubborn, Your Grace," Baelish scratched at his goatee. "Their grip on the Iron Throne is strong. Lord Tywin is prepared to do anything to secure his grandson's claim."

"Such as sending you here to trick us?"

"My wife asks a fair question," Renly smiled in her direction. He even patted the hand that was resting on the table. It was the most genuine affection Garlan had witnessed his sister's husband give her.

"A fair question but I'm wounded all the same." Baelish placed his hand over his heart, "My price may be steep but I have plentiful amounts of information to make it worth it. I still have friends in Riverrun and in the Vale. It was from there that I heard one of many interesting stories. This story was of Lord Stark seeking the Lords of the Vale as an ally for your brother, Stannis."

Renly's smile dipped at the mention of his brother. "That is interesting news, Baelish." He said flatly.

"Your brother has taken Antlers, Your Grace. He will likely soon take Duskendale. He controls the Royal Fleet and two of the seven kingdoms with the Vale possibly joining them. That is no small army."

"Our numbers are still greater," Loras pointed out proudly.

"For now," Littlefinger was undeterred or impressed, "A bloody siege would be costly for you especially with your brother getting closer."

"You make a good argument," Renly admitted, before he stood up. Loras followed suit. "I wish to hear more of this alliance, Lord Baelish."

"I will be glad to say more. I'll even sing if needed," He smiled, but his eyes showed no mirth.

"The Lannisters will not miss you?"

"No, Your Grace, I will not be needed for some time."

"Good," Renly gestured for Baelish to join him which he did with Loras walking behind them. He turned to Garlan and Margaery, his face nearly looking sincere in his silent apology, "My darling wife, I leave you in the care of your brother."

Garlan didn't like the mocking smile on Baelish's face no matter how fleeting it had been.

"Of course, my husband," Margaery returned the fake pleasantness, but her face dimmed as soon as they left the tent. She sighed.

"I hope you do not wish to be in Baelish's company more than my own."

That got a small smile. "Do not be ridiculous, brother."

"Yes, we'll leave that to your husband," Garlan said only half jokingly, "He'll discover your true worth soon enough," He stood and held out his arm for her to take.

"Thank you, brother."

He smiled, and then kissed her cheek. "Anything for you, sister."

A/N:

Domeric can be a troll just like his father.

The north's military strength is a bit iffy with some claiming it can raise 45,000 given enough time, Robb got 20,000 on short notice. So even if the north doesn't quite have 40,000-45,000 thousand, its safe to assume they have at least 8000-10000 men who could be called on if needed.

Leonette didn't have a miscarriage. She thought/believed/felt she was pregnant, but she wasn't. It's known as false pregnancy and/or pseudocyesis.

I always thought Baelish and Renly had a more interesting/ambiguous relationship in the book then they do in the show. Also its Littlefinger so of course he'll be able to find a way to leave the city if he needed to.

Oh, and we're one step closer to the Battle of King's Landing. It's getting close. I imagine I can't cover the battle as:

*Renly fought the Lannisters. The Battle ended. (Redacted) won. End chapter.*

It would make for the easiest and shortest chapter that I've ever written.

Until next time,

-Spectre4hire