A/N: Hello 2024, our first chapter of the new year. I hope these first few weeks have treated you and yours kindly. Only one POV in this chapter. It wasn't the original plan, but this pov was getting kind of long, and I decided it better to just release it now since I haven't updated in awhile.

Our Blades Are Sharp 2: The Red Reign

By Spectre4hire

24: Sansa V

Sansa:

Winterfell didn't stop because Domeric left with his forces. Just as it hadn't stopped when her father went south to serve as King Robert's Hand or when Robb marched south to rescue their father. And it won't stop when Dom and I leave for the Dreadfort. Her world had shifted, but Winterfell stayed the same.

It had been weeks since Dom's departure when they received some good news from the south. Robb had won a great victory in the Reach. Besides overseeing a celebration within Winterfell, Sansa made sure Wintertown and its inhabitants had the means to celebrate. She knew the people of the north were loyal to her family, but it should never be assumed, her father had taught her, always earned. She still checked the stores and consulted with Luwin before she went forward. It proved a great success.

The next afternoon, Sansa Bolton found herself enjoying a rare reprieve from her duties. She gathered her friends in the solar, where they enjoyed the idle time by playing a dice game that the Freys brought with them from the Twins. She watched them play after having already lost. She found watching just as enjoyable as playing. It was a time to relax, where she didn't have to work or worry over what work that still had to be done.

"You cheated!"

Marissa smirked. "How so?"

Walda's full face reddened. Her expression betrayed that she had no grounds for her accusation, but she clearly didn't like her younger sister winning the last three turns. "You just did."

Marissa stuck her tongue out.

Arwyn smiled. "When Marissa does it, she's cheating, but when you do it, it's skill."

Walda turned from one to the other. "Who cares about this game."

Sansa learned rather quickly when learning this game how competitive the Freys could be. They hated losing, and she couldn't decide if they hated losing more to her, because she was a novice or each other because they enjoyed holding it over one another.

"You did," Marissa was still smiling, "Until you were losing."

"I'm distracted," Walda huffed, "But you wouldn't understand, Marissa. My betrothed is out there fighting while yours," she paused, pretending to be in deep thought, "Oh," she said suddenly, "That's right you're not betrothed."

Marissa's smile instantly wilted.

"Walda," Sansa intervened, "That's enough." Thinking her friend went too far with that barb. She had helped to secure Walda a strong match by betrothing her to Smalljon Umber, the heir to Last Hearth. She was the only one of the three Freys to have a betrothal. Arwyn hadn't seemed concerned by it, but Marissa was, and Walda knew it. Sansa had some ideas for Marissa, but her grandfather's death meant that there was no guarantee that the new Lord of the Crossing would put up her dowry. She set aside that problem to address the current one.

"You may leave us, Walda," Sansa knew enough about her own past with Arya that it was better to leave an argument early instead of late.

"Very well," she sniffed, gathering her skirts she left without another look or word.

"I'm surprised she hasn't sewn I'm betrothed, on all her dresses," Arwyn rolled her eyes, "and read it aloud to those who couldn't."

A touch of mirth slipped into Marissa's otherwise crestfallen expression.

"Perhaps, we should consider stopping you all from playing this game," Jeyne was kin to them now that she married Colmar. She was Arwyn's good sister.

And Marissa and Walda's Good Aunt? Sansa couldn't remember, the Frey relations was a tangled mess that she got lost in whenever she had to find herself wading through it. They had explained it to her several times, but she'd always need to hear it one more time.

"No!" Marissa and Arwyn said at once, scandalized at the mere suggestion.

"It was nothing," Marissa said of Walda's earlier harsh words, forgiving them in an instant. "I've said worse." She confessed.

"As have I," Arwyn added, "As has Walda."

Sansa let out a small laugh at how quickly they changed their tune. "Well, there will be no more games until Walda apologizes." She decided, before adding, "And perhaps a few days after too." She didn't think it was a rule she could uphold, since the Freys slept in quarters near each other and away from her. And even if I took the dice from them, she suspected they had several sets squirreled away, in case theirs were lost or stolen.

"As you say," Arwyn understood it wasn't an argument worth pursuing, shooting a look at Marissa that quieted her in an instant.

"Yes, of course," She dipped her head.

"Mayhaps, a walk?" Arwyn suggested to her. "We can get Shirei too."

Marissa nodded and smiled, before they turned back to her.

"You may go," Sansa permitted them.

"If you think that was bad," Jeyne said after they left, "Just imagine a whole castle full of them, all just as competitive."

"I'd rather not."

Jeyne giggled, but the mirth ebbed away as she spoke. "Colmar told me stories about the different games they played against each other, gambling for privileges, better quarters, more food, picking mounts for hunting, or servants for," She trailed off, not needing to say more.

Sansa remembered her brief and only visit to the Twins where she was hosted by the Lord Walder Frey. And leered over, in front of his own wife and family. It seemed a dreary place. It was confirmed to be such and worse by the Frey handmaidens who came with her. She dropped her unwanted recollection of the late Walder Frey and turned back to her friend. "Jeyne," she saw it plainly on her face, "if you wish to go to the Sept to pray, then you may. I'll send for you if I need anything."

Jeyne perked up. "Thank you."

She watched her friend go, knowing she went to the sept to pray for her husband. Colmar is good for her. Sansa had led him to Jeyne, because she didn't want him for Arya. She schemed to undo her sister's possible betrothal, the best way she thought how. By putting another on Colmar's path, her intentions weren't pure, but she was still pleased by the fruit it bore for her friend. If he had proved to be a poor match for her friend too, Sansa and Domeric had another way of handling him.

Thinking of Colmar and Jeyne led her back to Arya, she had received a rider a few days ago, with a message from Jon, speaking of Arya being taken by ironborn raiders. And his plans of retrieving her. She asked after the ravens every morning and every evening, expecting either a ransom demand from the Iron Islands or of Jon's success. Arya is strong. She told herself, but the words formed a hollow lump inside her.

The knock on the door was the solace she needed. "Yes?" Thinking it was one of the Freys returning.

"Lady Sansa," it was Maester Luwin. "Lord Howland Reed has arrived."

"Send him to the solar," she ordered, referring to her father's, but it would be hers when she met with her father's friend. He was finally here. And I'll get my answers from him, determined to find out what had happened to her brother.

Howland Reed was a short, unassuming man.

He wore old dark trousers, with a gray-green tunic that she thought was leather at first glance before realizing it looked too different. It was lizard-lion skin. He had muddy brown hair that was messy and tangled, with shrewd green eyes. She would have mistaken him as some sort of tradesman had she seen him in Wintertown.

"Lord Reed," Sansa addressed him from her seat behind her father's desk. She was taller than him by some feet. And even sitting, she towered over his smaller form. She liked that; she could use that.

"Lady Sansa," he spoke with an odd drawl in his voice. "And please," he gestured to himself, "you may call me Howland."

"And you may call me, Sansa," she returned the gesture, ignoring the small, angry part inside herself that didn't want to extend the same courtesy. She couldn't let it get to her. Kindness were the manners that could bring rewards in both present circumstances and future ones. Anger would only satisfy her for a few selfish moments, but kindness stayed and wasn't forgotten.

"I apologize for my delay. The Ironborn invasion of the Neck had to be seen to before I could leave."

"I understand, and my family is grateful for that service."

He smiled once more and nodded, but let the silence linger between them.

For weeks she had been waiting for him, but his sudden appearance had caught her off guard. Sansa had been expecting some announcement of his travels, a letter from one of the castles between here and the Neck. A raven from Castle Cerwyn informing her that Lord Reed had just been sighted, but she received nothing. Looking over his attire, she doubted he stayed inside the walls of a single castle or inn during his trek to Winterfell. She had been told he arrived with no baggage save for a pair of satchels. In the end, desperate for information about Bran, Sansa chose bluntness.

"Where's my brother?" She severed the knots that tried to turn this matter more complicated than it needed to be. "And why did your children take him?"

"Because the Others are coming, my lady."

"What?" Sansa couldn't mask her surprise at the unexpected answer. "The Others?" She repeated incredulously, at his somber nod, she nearly laughed. "Those are stories," she remembered the tales Old Nan used to tell of them when they were children. "They're not real," the anger that was forming in her chest only grew and it was burning hotter inside her. "Your family abducted my brother over some tale?" She was rising out of her seat, considering ordering a guardsman to remove Howland from her sight. Take him back to his quarters, she would say, and watch him. While she tried to sort this out before she let that anger muddle her thinking.

"Has your husband arrived at the Wall yet, my lady?" At her confused silence he continued, "I imagine your direwolf is with him, since I haven't seen her. Amazing creatures, those direwolves."

"Domeric is close to the Wall," She was unsettled by his stare. "I received a raven from him recently." She lied. Sansa used Lady not birds to keep informed of her husband's progress.

"A raven?" Howland's lips twitched. He saw through the lie, but it only amused him. "Then I must be staying until you receive his raven from the Wall."

"You have the hospitality of Winterfell," she said automatically, knowing her duties as Lady of Winterfell and Lord Reed's reputation as her father's bannermen and friend. Though she felt little warmth for him and found his vagueness frustrating. How could this man be Father's good friend? She didn't understand, his friend's son was missing, his own children were missing, and Howland was unbothered by it all. Is this what the crannogman call friendship? She then thought of something, something she could use, something to remind him, since it seemed clear he forgot. "With you here, I hope you'll tell me about my father when he was a younger man." She ended her hopeful request with a sweet smile that seemed to move him. Good. Let him think she forgot, let him think she had moved on.

He smiled. "Of course, my lady."

"Allow me to show you to your chambers, my lord," she rose from her seat. She saw that he was to protest, but she'd not have it. "I insist, my lord. My father considers you his truest friend." She saw the words had struck true.

"You are too kind," he walked beside her, nearly lost in her shadow. "My family is true to your family." he insisted despite evidence to the contrary, despite his children taking her brother, despite him giving her nothing. "I would gladly sacrifice my life for your father," he sounded to have meant it, "my family serves your family. My children-" the last words he said were lost in his mumble.

"Then where is my brother?" She thought his words were pretty and pointless if he wouldn't deliver on them.

"You won't believe me," he pointed out, reminding her of his earlier answer and her reaction to it.

Did he lose his senses when he was in the Neck all these years?

"But you will," he took her disbelief with a soft hum. "The truth is out there, my lady."

"And this truth involves the Others?" She asked without a hint of sarcasm despite the temptation.

"Yes," he confirmed, serious and true, "An inconvenient truth to the southern lords who play their games, my lady, but it will come all the same. It will affect those who believe and those who don't with equal malice and cruelty. Ignorance is a poor defense for when they march and they do march, my lady," he swore, "And all will tremble if we don't stop them."

"What does Bran have to do with any of this?" She put aside her doubts of the Others even existing to focus on her brother and what part he was supposed to play in this threat. He wasn't a great warrior like Jon or a great leader like Robb, and both were men who were loved by their men and feared by their enemies. She could see her older brothers fighting and beating such an army if it even existed. Their prowess was beyond dispute, but Bran, she didn't understand what he could do that they couldn't.

"He has everything to do with it, my lady." The respect in his tone for her brother he never met was puzzling. "My son saw it, and more," he said softly, he turned from her, but she thought he saw his green eyes shimmer in the torchlight. He didn't speak again until they came to a stop. "Are these my chambers?"

"They are," she wanted to say more, but she decided against it. "If there's anything you need, my lord, please do not hesitate."

"I'm where I need to be," he opened the door, "But you have my thanks." He slipped inside and turned, looking up to face her. "Again, I beg that you let me know when you hear your husband has reached the Wall."

"I will," she meant it.

He knew it too and gave her a small smile before he bowed his head and closed the door.

Instead of answering her questions, Lord Howland Reed only gave her more.

The next few days passed relatively quickly and smoothly.

They would break their fast together and while Sansa would preside over the castle as its Lady, Howland Reed would either wander off to the godswood or into the Wolfswood. Where he would spend the rest of his day until it was time for supper. He'd promptly return every evening, eat in the hall with them and then spend the next hour retelling Sansa stories about her father and her family from before the war. And then he'd retire for the rest of the night.

He spoke respectfully of her grandfather, and her Uncle Brandon. He spoke with warmth of her Uncle Benjen and kindness about her Aunt Lyanna, who he had considered a friend. It was after his last story about her father and returning from the war, when Sansa was struck with a sudden realization. "Jon's mother," she had murmured aloud, blurting out her thoughts as they came to her. "You must know who she is."

"That I cannot say," and he had left.

It had stayed with her, a splinter in her mind. Howland had been with her father during the war, had traveled south with him after the Sack and had returned north with him when he brought Jon back. He had to know. And Sansa had to know. She had to figure it out. Jon deserved to know who his mother was, especially when he was on the cusp of starting his own family. I have to do this for him.

She picked at it, obsessing over it, distracting her throughout the next day. Sansa recalled everything she knew about the war, while weighing Howland's story and what little her father had said, which had never been much. Who was this woman that Father was determined to protect? That Lord Reed was willing to lie about knowing? She had retired to her chambers before supper. Sansa had decided Jon's mother had to be a noblewoman. She didn't think such secrecy or stubbornness would be required if she was some random camp follower. Besides, she thought, Father putting such a woman's honor over our Lady Mother? It was ridiculous.

Though, her making that distinction proved unhelpful when she applied it to what she already knew. She couldn't think of any noblewomen father would've been around. Father probably didn't see another noblewoman after his wedding with Mother until the Sack. And those were where the remaining ladies at court dwelled. Sansa didn't know any of their names, but she didn't worry about them for long, because Father brought Jon back from the south. He had no such babe when he arrived at the capital. Even if he met a noblewoman in the city, how would he have the babe with him before his return to the capital. It didn't make sense. It was only after she knew that much.

Sansa paced in front of the fireplace, part of her wanting to quit, to put this aside, but she refused. I'm close. This was important to Jon. I have to do this for him. She was starting to think she had been too hasty in dismissing a camp follower being Jon's mother. Mayhaps, I was wrong, but she couldn't believe her father would put some smallfolk woman's honor over Mother's. It was so unseemly to think he'd defend this woman's reputation with his silence. Mother was of high birth. This woman was no one. But then, who else could it be? Who else could be Jon's mother because after he left the capital, the next noblewomen he would've seen was…

The name slotted perfectly in place. Impossible, but it worked. It all strangely came together. And then she thought about this Dragon Prince, and all she saw was a man with Joffrey's arrogance and cruelty with silvery hair and purple eyes. Sansa had heard stories of Rhaegar being well loved, but she remembered the capital when she went with Father and Domeric. At how everyone spoke of Joffrey, the Crown Prince, singing his virtues, praising his valor and kindness, but there was a monster underneath that gold veneer. Who's to say this Rhaegar was any different? She thought bitterly.

If she put aside Father's words, pieces that didn't seem possibly aligned suddenly were. It came together so easily it seemed plain to see, but then she understood the cleverness of her father's deception. Why would anyone have considered dismissing Father's claim as Jon's father? She, like so many others, would never believe he would lie. Father's honor was known throughout the Kingdoms. The perfect veil to hide the obvious.

Despite the harshness of the truth, and its absurdity, she felt almost giddy at figuring it out. She knew who Jon's mother was. I can tell him -and then the pain seized her. Her sharp gasp came out a strangled scream. Her head was pounding. Her vision fractured before her like a pane of glass. Some of the pieces she saw were of her room, but other pieces were somewhere else. Lady, she murmured, before tumbling into the darkness…

Dragged, she thinks there was no other word for it. Settling behind Lady's eyes, but all she can see are strangers. Where's Dom? She smells him, his scent is bare to her, like a path only she can see, and he's close.

"Lady," Dom's voice rings clearly, "To me."

He had been calling her. She heeds it. She slips through the wildlings who had only watched her suspiciously, padding through the snow, she knows where he is, without him needing to call her. Voices, she hears others inside the tent. Her ears perk up, recognizing Dom's but also Sam and Colmar could be heard, and their scents she too recognized. Lady's world was vibrant in ways Sansa couldn't describe, bright beyond colors, perceptive beyond the familiar.

Another smell slips through to her. Primal instincts respond instantly. Her hackles rise, sensing a threat. She growled, low and deep, something aggressive brimming through her, an alert that she heeds with every fiber in her. Pushing through the tent flap, she knows Dom and the others, and where they are, but it's the new smell that consumes her. This terrible scent that filled the tent like a thick vapor. It was in the air, foul and false. And then she saw it.

The thing on the sled. Knowing that this was what she smelt. This was the threat. This false thing.

It moved, but it didn't live. It fought against its straps, like an animal caught in a trap. It was a moving, living rot.

Sansa woke with a start.

Disoriented, her heart pounded hard in her chest, a desperate beast trying to crawl out of her ribs. She stumbled across the room just making the chamber pot, gagging into it. The lingering scent of decay in her mouth, she can taste it, she heaved again. She blinked back tears; the burning taste of bile scorched her throat. Wrong, she thought of what she saw, sensed how it polluted Lady's senses, invading them with its foulness. This contradiction. This decaying thing that moved. It was unnatural. And it was terrible.

Sansa had found Howland in the godswood.

"What did I see?" She asked before she was close to him.

"The truth, my lady," he answered calmly, his back to her.

"Tell me everything."

And he did.

That truth sat cold and heavy in her stomach. She was in her chambers writing letters. She knew Domeric would send some from the Wall, but now that she knew, she had seen, she could get started. She had to, needing to send word and warnings to the south, of what was waiting, of what was coming for them. The Others are real.

She had written and rewritten her letters. She crumpled up her latest try and tossed it into the fire with a frustrated huff. How are they to believe me? Believe this? Sansa hadn't until she saw it herself, until she could feel its unnaturalness sullying the air like a foul smoke. It wasn't like they could see what she saw. She had asked if Howland could write letters to after he had told her everything. He had smiled and withdrew a sealed letter from his tunic and handed it to her. Its waxy seal showing the lizard-lion of House Reed.

"What does it say?" She asked, hoping for inspiration.

"The truth."

She didn't share Lord Reed's confidence, but she tried again.

"My lady,"

Sansa called the maester in. She would need his help with the ravens. She wasn't sure she could tell him about the letter's contents. He'll think I've gone mad. She could already see his reaction in her mind's eye, but when she turned to greet him, it vanished by the look on his face.

"The war is over," he said, "Stannis sits upon the Iron Throne."

A/N: I really do like ending scenes with characters delivering news. And I don't see myself stopping.

In case my writing and reasoning in the chapter was poorly done/explained: To me, Sansa solving it boils down to two things. Her ignorance, she has no idea who Ashara Dayne is. That name was mentioned once in Winterfell by her mother and was silenced just as quickly, by her father early in their marriage. Sansa's not privy to the southern rumors in Winterfell and with her father or Howland not talking about it, how could Sansa know about her in this story? And when you remove the Ashara false trail, and her ghost that muddles the investigation, things become a bit clearer. The other is her arrogance. Sansa is a noblewoman so she can't believe father would treat a peasant woman with the same respect and honor that he would her Lady Mother. It just doesn't compute. So she assumes that she has to be a noblewoman. Sansa solving the mystery while Jon already knows the truth also just amuses me.

Howland Reed was mentioned early on in this story and has finally made his debut. He's yet to appear in the books, so this is my take on him for this story.

The war in the south is over, but I'm sure we'll be checking in on the aftermath in the next chapter or so.

Until next time,

-Spectre4hire