Sansa found herself faced with a daunting checklist before she departed from Queenscrown. At the top of it lay her most challenging endeavour: persuading Ygritte to embrace the art of reading and writing. There was no doubt the woman was clever and would pick it up, her obstinate nature presented a formidable obstacle. It was contradictory to witness her staunch belief in being a 'free woman' juxtaposed with her newfound role as Lady Greyjoy, a position that demanded literacy. Yet, Sansa harboured a glimmer of hope, fuelled by an idea that required the support of others.
Seated in her solar were both Tormund and Mance, each indulging in their preferred libation. Tormund, with sour goat milk coursing through his veins, might be more amenable to Sansa's proposal, or so she hoped. Mance had assumed responsibility for the basic role of governing Queenscrown, a role he embraced. Therefore, he preferred not to indulge in anything too strong. Their weakest cider would do for today, likewise for Sansa.
However, Sansa had not yet relinquished control, intending to pass the baton the following morning before her departure. But for now, her focus remained steadfast on Ygritte's education.
Taking the initiative, Sansa broached the subject. "I think Ygritte ought to learn to read and write," she said her tone was firm.
Mance nodded. "Aye, she'll need those skills."
"And why should Ygritte bother with such things, eh?" Tormund asked. "She's got better things to do than scribble on parchment," he added, with a hint of scepticism.
Sansa leaned forward. "Because it's essential for her role as a Lady. Her marriage to Theon means she will have to take on some duties to help him, running their household," she explained.
"What household?" Tormund asked.
"The one Jon gives them. Theon will have a powerful position and be granted a castle and lands to go with it. When he isn't there, it will be left to her to run it. Of course, she can leave it to her Maester, but if something goes wrong, it will be her responsibility to deal with it. And besides, it could be... enjoyable."
Tormund raised an eyebrow. "Enjoyable?" he asked.
Sansa smiled. "Yes, Tormund. Imagine being able to read all sorts of stories. Everything from children's tales to something for adults. Stories of love and adventure, forbidden knowledge hidden away in books."
"Har. Freefolk have got plenty of those already. Don't need no words on parchment for those," Tormund replied.
Sansa sighed, she was getting desperate, what would Tormund enjoy reading? "Alcoholic recipes?" she suggested, but Tormund shook his head. Sansa knew there were certain types of books, the ones the boys would read as children, especially Theon and Robb. From what Sansa understood, they were stories of an intimate nature. Gods, she wished Jon was here to explain this to him. "There are other types of books," she flushed pink.
Tormund looked intrigued and then grinned. "Well, now you've got my attention."
"Books that ladies shouldn't read, although I suspect some would," she blushed.
"Books about fucking?" Tormund, as ever straight to the point. Sansa nodded furiously.
Mance chuckled. "Lady Sansa has a point, Tormund. Knowledge is power. It wouldn't hurt to have some of the Freefolk learning their letters," his voice turned serious. "If more of the Freefolk could read, then it wouldn't have taken twenty years to band the Freefolk together. Probably closer to two."
Tormund stroked his bushy ginger beard thoughtfully. "Aye, maybe you're right. But why should I care about Ygritte's education? I'm not running the fucking castle with her."
Sansa leaned back in her chair, glad she had piqued his interest. "I thought if you did it, she would be easier to persuade, because it could be a competition, Tormund. A challenge to you and Ygritte. Whoever learns to read and write the fastest... wins."
Tormund eyes lit up. "A competition, you say? Well, now that's a different story. What do we win?" he asked.
In truth, Sansa hadn't considered a prize, she just assumed the idea of a competition would be enough for Tormund. Fortunately for Sansa, Mance saved her.
"Pride," Mance said. "And the first to write me a letter gets the strongest cider named after you. Your names will go down in the histories forever."
Sansa smirked. "In a hundred years, if we beat the army of the dead, Tormund Giantsbane's Cider could be famous as far as Essos," she nodded at Tormund's eyes grew bigger. "I'll even let you write your... colourful stories. Like the one about Sheila the bear," she offered, hoping he'd forget that she ever mentioned it, although knowing Tormund, he wouldn't.
Tormund grinned broadly. "Ah, Sheila! Aye, she was a feisty one."
Mance looked amused. "So, it seems Sansa knows how to motivate you, Tormund."
Sansa nodded in agreement. "Consider it an incentive, Tormund. And who knows? You might even enjoy it."
Tormund shrugged. "I like the idea of my name being known everywhere when I'm gone. Give something to my daughters to remind them of me. And if it means besting Ygritte, I suppose I could try it."
Sansa gave a satisfied smile. "Thank you, both of you. All we have to do now is convince Ygritte to join in."
"How are you planning on doing it?" Mance asked.
"Lessons in the evenings on the trip south as a start. If Tormund and Ygritte can learn the alphabet by then, it will be a good start," Sansa replied. She'd already discussed the idea with Sam. As he was already teaching Gilly, it wasn't exactly an imposition. "When we get to Winterfell, Maester Luwin might help. He was the one who taught my family. It will look good to the northern Lords."
"Aye, I suppose it will," Mance agreed.
"I don't need them being able to read the Seven-Pointed-Star, just enough to read and write letters and understand stocks. Maester Luwin could also discuss the battle strengths of the Freefolk and how to employ them to suit our need for the long night."
Mance raised his eyebrows. "I would be surprised if a Maester would go that far."
"He knows the situation," Sansa explained.
Mance nodded and rose from his seat. "I'll speak to Ygritte tonight. And I'll make sure she understands the importance of what you're proposing, Sansa."
Tormund grinned. "And I'll start sharpening my quill."
Sansa couldn't help but laugh at Tormund's enthusiasm. "Thank you, both. I couldn't do this without you," she said. "Oh, and Mance, tell Ygritte I'd like to see her after you've spoken to her. There are other things I need to discuss with her."
"Aye, will do," Mance nodded his head. "Lady Sansa," he said as he and Tormund left Sansa glad that conversation was over. However, her next task was the one she was dreading even more.
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Sansa's final morning at Queenscrown had dawned. She surveyed her now-bare chambers, soon to be occupied by Mance as his own. Exiting her quarters, she settled in the solar for a breakfast of porridge and honey, a prelude to their imminent departure. Her mind lingered on the meaningful conversation she'd shared with Ygritte the previous night.
During their discussion, Sansa had broached the topic of designing a maiden cloak for Ygritte, seeking to incorporate symbols representative of the Free Folk. She had also inquired about Ygritte's measurements for a wedding dress—an idea that had caught the wildling off guard.
Together, they settled on a silver hue for both the dress and cloak, adorned with a bow and arrow motif in white. Sansa would add embellishments when they arrived at Winterfell, as well as ensure Ygritte wore clothes suitable for a Lady.
Although Ygritte's preference for furs clashed with the expectations of a lady, Sansa had proposed a compromise, presenting her with a style akin to Daenerys' attire: breeches and a long-riding coat. While it wasn't Ygritte's usual dress, she seemed willing to accept it. Sansa expected many evenings spent sewing to complete the intricate needlework.
Their conversation had also touched upon the matter of literacy. Learning that Theon hadn't considered how their marriage would impact Ygritte didn't surprise Sansa.
Despite the romantic allure of their love affair, Sansa couldn't ignore the practical realities. As she outlined some of the expectations, the North would impose on Ygritte, it became clear that the wildling might find herself unprepared and discontented. However, Ygritte had agreed to learn to read and writing, recognizing the value of such skills. She was even delighted to hear about the friendly competition between her and Tormund.
A knock interrupted Sansa's solitude, though she had requested to be left alone.
"Come in," she called out.
Maester Fell entered, presenting her with a scroll. "Your grace, one final letter," he announced with a smile.
"Can Mance handle it?" Sansa inquired.
"This is unlikely addressed to Mance. It bears the seal of House Tyrell," Maester Fell explained as Sansa accepted the scroll.
"Thank you, Maester Fell. I'll meet you in the yard shortly," Sansa replied.
With a bow, Maester Fell departed, leaving Sansa to peruse the letter.
Lady Whitestark,
Though we have not met, I had the pleasure of encountering your charming and handsome husband, Lord Whitestark, in King's Landing.
As you're aware, I am soon to be wed to King Joffrey. By the time you read this, our union will be sealed. Lord Whitestark spoke highly of your renowned cider, sparking my curiosity. I would be very grateful if you could send a barrel to King's Landing for the royal family to sample. If it proves as delightful as rumoured, we could discuss trade agreements, which would benefit the North.
I eagerly await your response.
Lady Margaery Tyrell
Sansa couldn't deny her surprise as she read Margaery Tyrell's letter. Bran's warning of Margaery's potential betrayal lingered in her mind, yet Margaery's outreach suggested a strategic move. Margaery was not only preparing for her impending marriage to Tommen, but she was ensuring she had an alternative plan.
Uncertain of the extent to which Jon had divulged information to Margaery, Sansa refrained from concluding her intentions. Instead, she resolved to capitalise on this opportunity to forge a bond with Margaery. If she played the Game of Thrones right, perhaps a marriage alliance with Robb could still be on the table. But for now, responding to the letter and arranging for a barrel of cider were immediate priorities.
With her breakfast finished, Sansa penned her response, entrusting it to Maester Fell to despatch the raven. She also instructed him to procure an additional barrel of their finest cider for transport to King's Landing, via White Harbor.
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Since her return from the future world and witnessing its horrors, Sansa gained many new skills. Among them, her proficiency in archery and competence with a dirk for self-defence had improved. However, it was her mastery of horse riding that had undergone the most remarkable transformation.
In her previous life, riding had been a mere necessity, resorted to only when a carriage was unavailable. Yet, Sansa had since dedicated herself to mastering the art, drawing inspiration even from those she held in low regard. When Daenerys Targaryen graced Winterfell with her presence, astride a magnificent horse, Sansa couldn't help but be impressed. The sight of Daenerys' effortless control over the steed ignited a newfound determination in Sansa to refine her equestrian skills.
Thus far, Jon remained unaware of the countless hours Sansa had spent in the saddle since their return, a little over two years ago. It had been a journey marked by hardship, characterised by chafed thighs and aching muscles. One of the driving factors behind Sansa's adoption of a style reminiscent of Daenerys attire was its practicality. Not only did it allow her to maintain a feminine appearance befitting a lady, but it also facilitated ease of movement while riding.
Sansa had gained a new palfrey, whom she named Princess—a horse fit for royalty. The chestnut mare, with a mane and tail as red as Sansa's hair, possessed a gentle disposition. A bond had formed between them, rendering carriage rides a wasteful alternative when such a fine horse awaited her.
Lord Varys, Sam, and Gilly were ushered onto one of the coaches, capable of accommodating eight passengers. Sam assumed responsibility for safeguarding the egg, with four guards stationed around their carriage to ensure its safety. Wagons laden with provisions were prepared to sustain them throughout the journey, including the extra barrel of cider to send south. If all went as planned, the journey would span three weeks.
Meanwhile, Ramsay remained confined to his cage at the rear of the train, under the vigilant watch of Sansa's most trusted guards, all hailing from Winterfell. With his mobility compromised by his missing foot, there was little chance of him attempting an escape.
As Sansa bid farewell to those she had grown close to, she struggled to contain her emotions. Many assumed her departure to be temporary, with Mance serving as a mere caretaker of Queenscrown in her absence. She couldn't bring herself to disclose the truth—that her departure was permanent, barring any brief royal visits.
Parting with Maester Fell, Ser Barristan, her Uncle Benjen, and Bran proved arduous. Robb, having already said his goodbyes, was mounted on his horse, awaiting Sansa's final farewells to those she deemed most important to her.
Maester Fell was the first to extend his goodbyes. "Take care of yourself, Lady Whitestark. I look forward to your return," he said, his attempt to stifle tears clear.
"You too, Maester Fell. I'm certain you'll continue to bring honour to the Citadel. Let's hope Mance can persuade more of the Free Folk to embrace literacy," Sansa said with a smile.
She then proceeded down the line to Ser Barristan. Despite his infirmity, he had made his way to the yard, seated in a chair reminiscent of the one Bran had once used in her previous life.
"Your grace," Ser Barristan murmured, bowing his head. "Take care of yourself. I shall join you in a few weeks."
"I eagerly await your company, Ser Barristan," Sansa replied. "Although I had hoped you might spend a few weeks with Bran. He's been longing to squire for you."
Ser Barristan glanced over at Bran. "A few lessons couldn't hurt the lad. He'll need to learn to defend Queenscrown," he added with a smile.
Bran's face lit up at the suggestion. "Please, Sansa," he begged.
"It all depends on the outcome of the Northern Council, Bran," Sansa replied, turning to Ser Barristan. "If all goes well, an extra moon won't hurt. We need to ensure you're fully recovered. I won't have you risking your life."
"Of course, your grace," Ser Barristan murmured.
Sansa then turned to Bran, who had only just arrived at Queenscrown. They formed a tight embrace.
"Behave for Maester Fell, Uncle Benjen, and Ser Barristan," Sansa instructed. "I don't want to hear any more reports of the trouble Robb and I had to handle," she added, pulling away.
Bran cast his gaze downward. "I won't," he replied sheepishly. Sansa recognised his habit of avoiding eye contact when he lied but chose not to press the matter. "I've only just reunited with you after two years, and now it might be another year before we see each other again," she lamented.
"Will I be staying in Queenscrown for that long?" Bran inquired.
"Father and Jon believe it's essential for you to learn the ins and outs of castle governance and land management," Sansa explained. "It's a valuable opportunity to gain experience in such matters, and you'll have the chance to train with the best," she added, smiling at Ser Barristan.
"I love you, Sansa," Bran confessed, his attempt to hold back tears proving futile.
"I love you too, Bran," Sansa replied, her voice catching as she moved on to Benjen.
"Niece," Benjen greeted her with a nod.
"You'll watch over Bran while I'm away, won't you?" Sansa asked, seeking reassurance.
"Of course, I will," Benjen affirmed, enveloping Sansa in a tight embrace. "Take care, both of you. The next time I see you, you'll be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."
Sansa pulled back, wiping her eyes. "We can only hope," she replied with a smile.
"Sansa, hurry up! We'll be setting up camp down the Kingsroad at this rate," Robb called out impatiently.
With a final wave to the four men, Sansa tore herself away and joined the waiting travellers. With a graceful movement, she mounted her horse. Turning back for one last glance, she waved goodbye, acutely aware that this might be her final farewell to the place she called home for the last two years. And for once in her life, it had been a happy one.