The leaders of the new residents of Queenscrown trickled through the castle gates clad in a motley of grey and brown furs, leathers, and wool. Sansa counted a little over a score, while the rest lingered outside, awaiting instructions on their placement.
Despite Maester Fell and Sam's objections, Sansa had insisted on welcoming Mance. Though her black eye had yet to fade and her lip still bore the marks of Ramsay's cruelty, she refused to succumb to a week's rest as ordered. Enduring discomfort was not new to her, especially when compared to Ser Barristan's grievous injuries.
The Kingsguard had suffered multiple arrow wounds, his condition dire. Summer's intervention had been his salvation, and under the diligent care of Maester Fell and Sam, his wounds had been tended to and a poultice applied. It was a relief when he stirred from his slumber that morning, though his path to recovery remained fraught with pain. A few more days of the milk of the poppy were deemed necessary.
Sansa observed Mance closely. He was a slender man, neither tall nor short, with long brown hair that had faded to grey. Laughter lines crinkled at the corners of his mouth, adding character to his face. Despite the signs of age, Mance still kept a sharpness in his features, particularly in his shrewd brown eyes. Sansa couldn't help but wonder if he had been handsome in his youth, a thought that lingered in her mind as she studied him.
Robb stood by Sansa's side on her right, offering silent support, while Tormund positioned himself to her left. Sansa longed for Jon's presence; his familiarity with Mance, both in this life and the last, would have eased the tension. Yet Jon remained in King's Landing, embroiled in his mission to secure Shireen's freedom. In her previous life's encounters with the Free Folk, Mance had already passed, leaving Sansa reliant on Tormund's introductions.
"This is Jon Snow's wife, Lady Sansa," Tormund announced, gesturing towards Sansa. "Lady Sansa, meet Mance."
Mance regarded Sansa with a discerning gaze before surprising her by taking her hand and giving a genteel kiss on her knuckles. "Lady Sansa, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I must confess, I was sceptical when Jon spoke of your beauty. Yet, he spoke true; you are captivating," he complimented with a genuine smile.
Sansa felt a faint flush grace her cheeks at Mance's sincere words. Unlike the veiled jabs often exchanged by Cersei or Daenerys, Mance's compliment carried no ulterior motive. Though he tactfully refrained from mentioning her recent injuries—a kindness she appreciated—the authenticity of his praise was unmistakable.
"Thank you, Mance," Sansa replied before turning to introduce Mance to Robb. "Allow me to introduce my brother, Robb Stark."
Mance extended his hand, mirroring Robb's gesture. "A pleasure to meet you," he greeted warmly.
"Welcome to Queenscrown, Mance," Robb responded, clasping the offered hand in greeting.
"Come, I'll guide you to your temporary quarters," Sansa instructed, leading the way through the grand keep. "Once settled, you will assume the role of Lord Whitestark and oversee Queenscrown," she added, her tone resolute. "I've arranged for baths to be drawn for you and your companions."
Mance surveyed their surroundings with a furrowed brow. "Where's Ygritte?" he inquired, his concern clear.
"Ygritte is accompanying our Master of Ships, Theon Greyjoy, on an expedition across the lands of the Gift," Sansa explained. "She possesses invaluable knowledge of the terrain required for your people's settlement. Giants and cave dwellers undoubtedly have differing habitat needs. Together, they are meticulously mapping the area to ensure each group is allocated suitable land." She paused, her expression thoughtful. "I expect their return by tomorrow."
Mance nodded, acknowledging Sansa's thorough planning. "You've given this considerable thought," he remarked, impressed.
"Jon and I have gone to great lengths to ensure the well-being of your people, but there's much more to discuss," Sansa continued briskly. "I expect to see you in my solar once you've refreshed yourself and donned more appropriate attire. Hot food and refreshments will be waiting," she concluded before departing, her steps leading her back to her chambers where she could tend to her injuries, the pain more pronounced than she cared to admit.
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Sansa harboured a desire to confer with Mance privately, without the presence of Robb or Tormund. Though neither seemed pleased with her decision, Sansa relented, assuring them they could join a later meeting of a more jovial nature, complete with sour goat's milk for the gentlemen and watered-down cider for herself.
As they gathered by the fire upon Mance's arrival, a comfortable silence enveloped them as they savoured venison stew and white bread. Though the meal lacked extravagance, its warmth and flavour provided ample comfort. With their hunger sated, the time for discussion approached.
Sansa broke the silence. "Jon mentioned your musical talents," she ventured.
"Aye, Lady Sansa, that I possess," Mance affirmed with a broad smile, his eyes crinkling with warmth. "But I hope that's not the sole reason for my summons south of the Wall. Surely there are plenty of musicians to choose from."
"As much as I wish that were the case, I'm afraid it's not," Sansa replied. "Jon also mentioned your proficiency in reading and writing."
Mance nodded in confirmation. "Aye, I am skilled in both," he acknowledged. "But if I may pose a question first?" he interjected, his curiosity piqued. "How did you come to bear those marks upon your pretty face?"
Sansa sighed heavily, recounting the harrowing tale of how she had used herself as bait, her words tinged with both resolve and sorrow. As she spoke, Ghost emerged from her chambers, padding silently into the solar and positioning himself beside Sansa, resting his head on her knee and gazing up at her with affectionate eyes. In that moment, Sansa felt Jon's presence, his comforting aura enveloping her like a protective cloak.
"He's quite fond of you," Mance observed with a smile, his tone light.
"The wolves are our guardians. Jon has entrusted Ghost to watch over me while he journeys south," Sansa explained. "He arrived just in time to aid Lady in rescuing me from Ramsay Bolton."
"Lady?" Mance queried, his brow furrowing in confusion.
As if summoned by the mention of her name, Lady materialised and settled on Sansa's other side, causing Mance's demeanour to shift uncomfortably.
"Fear not, Lady is the gentlest of the direwolves, and she is mine," Sansa reassured, sensing Mance's unease. "My younger brother Bran's wolf is in my chambers, likely asleep and awaiting his master's return. Robb's wolf, Greywind, remains by Robb's side and will join us later. As for Arya's wolf, Nymeria, she currently lives with Bran, watching over him."
Mance raised an eyebrow, his curiosity clear. "Why is Bran's wolf here, rather than with his master?" he inquired.
"I'm certain you're aware of our unique abilities," Sansa began, prompting a nod of agreement from Mance. "Jon and Arya couldn't bring their wolves to the capital, so arrangements were made to facilitate our communication."
"Is Jon within Ghost right now?" Mance inquired.
Ghost responded by playfully sticking out his tongue, eliciting chuckles from both Mance and Sansa.
"I believe that's a yes," Sansa remarked with a smile. "Now, onto business. What do you know of the trade and politics of the Seven Kingdoms at present?" she asked.
"Robert Baratheon occupies the Iron Throne," Mance began, but Sansa shook her head.
"Robert once sat on the Iron Throne. Cersei had him killed, and her son Joffrey ascended to power. However, within the next few days, his brother will be crowned king," Sansa clarified.
"Are you the one orchestrating these assassinations?" Mance inquired.
Sansa shook her head, a smile playing on her lips. "No, that honour belongs to Olenna Tyrell."
"Is she from the Reach?" Mance queried, to which Sansa nodded.
"You possess knowledge of politics. How?" she asked, intrigued.
"I have a fondness for reading," Mance admitted with a shrug. "During my journeys south, I often gain books from libraries. A book holds more value to me than gold."
"You're a resourceful man. I have confidence you'll thrive here. Now, what do you know about farming?" Sansa pressed.
"Very little," Mance confessed. "But if provided with books to study, I'm certain I can learn quickly."
"Don't fret, Maester Fell will assist you. He has the books on farming," Sansa reassured, her tone comforting. "But farming is just one aspect of what's needed here. We require individuals skilled in various trades—blacksmiths, hunters, seamstresses, healers, loggers. And there's something we take great pride in here at Queenscrown," she continued, rising from her seat to pour Mance a tankard of cider, and a smaller one for herself. "We have an abundance of apples," she explained, offering him a taste of the sweet drink.
Mance savoured the cider, nodding in approval. "Excellent cider," he complimented with a smile.
"We're using it for trade as well as our provisions. With our fertile farmlands, the yields should be ample. However, much of it will need to be preserved for the impending long night. We must stockpile enough food to sustain the people of the North," Sansa elaborated.
"Will you be living comfortably in King's Landing?" Mance inquired.
"Likely not. Jon will probably lead in battle, as he always has. He's a formidable swordsman and warrior," Sansa replied with conviction.
"But you suffered defeat last time," Mance pointed out sceptically.
"Only because we learned of Jon's lineage too late, and our entire family was decimated. We know what needs to be done now. We cannot allow the Seven Kingdoms to descend into chaos as before. We've already averted much bloodshed, but Jon must claim the Iron Throne. We have no faith that the Lannisters will aid us. The unity of all Seven Kingdoms hinges on Jon taking the throne," Sansa asserted with unwavering certainty.
Mance nodded thoughtfully. "I understand. So, we aid you in securing the throne, and in return, you assist us in surviving," he acknowledged, receiving a confirming nod from Sansa. "But what if some of us choose not to return?"
"While the Free Folk live south of the Wall, they're free to stay, provided they abide by the laws of the land. The same principle applies when this ordeal concludes. These lands will always need tending, and a successful harvest could bring wealth," Sansa explained.
"How long until Jon returns to Queenscrown?" Mance inquired.
Sansa's expression faltered, discomfort creeping in. She suspected Jon's return to Queenscrown would be delayed. "I'm uncertain," she admitted. "He's on a mission to rescue a princess."
Mance arched an eyebrow, a hint of jest in his tone. "A hero's quest, is it?"
Sansa chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Not quite. Stannis Baratheon's daughter is imprisoned in the black cells. She's just a child, and Jon couldn't bear to see her perish."
"And he believes this will garner his support from the Stormlands if I'm not mistaken," Mance remarked, eyeing Sansa sceptically
"That's not the primary reason, nor is it a certainty," Sansa clarified. "Jon knew Shireen from his previous life. She was sacrificed to the red god by Stannis, granting a fire priestess the power to resurrect Jon after he was murdered. Jon feels somewhat indebted to her."
"He's attempting to atone for wrongs that haven't yet befallen her?" Mance sought clarification.
"If she remains in King's Landing, she'll face execution as a traitor," Sansa sighed, just as a knock sounded at the door. "Come in," she called out.
Tormund and Robb entered, followed by Greywind. Tormund carried a large skin of sour goat's milk. "I think it's time for me to retire. I'll leave you three gentlemen to entertain each other tonight. Please keep the noise down," Sansa requested.
Robb planted a kiss on her cheek. "I promise," he assured her.
With that, Sansa withdrew to her chambers for the night, Lady and Ghost at her side. Closing the door behind her, she recalled leaving it open during her meeting on purpose. Summer had been assigned to guard Jon's egg, but she hoped Bran had been eavesdropping on her conversation with Mance. Bran may not be the Three-Eyed Raven, but his greenseeing abilities were invaluable. The world had shifted; the knowledge Sansa, Arya, and Jon held from their past lives was almost obsolete, save for insights on the army of the dead and Daenerys.
"Bran, I trust you're listening," Sansa whispered, kissing the direwolf's forehead. He settled in front of the fire, soon drifting off to sleep. Sansa readied herself for bed, climbing in and giving Lady a kiss before the gentle wolf joined Summer by the fire. Ghost hopped onto the bed, curling up next to Sansa. She kissed him on the nose before settling down to sleep.
"Goodnight, Jon," she murmured, extinguishing the candle and drifting off into slumber.
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The next morning Sansa was seated in her chambers, awaiting Maester Fell's arrival to apply the poultice to her injuries. It had been a week since Ramsay's brutality, yet the extent of the damage wasn't as severe as feared. The bruises were fading, and with each passing day, her discomfort lessened. Sansa felt a sense of relief, knowing that soon she would depart for Winterfell. With Joffrey's demise and Jon's readiness to return, the call to arms would be issued—war loomed on the horizon.
As she sat, Sansa's gaze drifted to the dragon egg nestled in the flames. The egg's red and white hues exerted a mesmerising pull, inducing a sense of tranquillity and drowsiness. Though the dragon within would never be hers, Sansa felt reassured by its presence—a guardian, albeit dormant, that would always watch over her. She couldn't help but lament its failure to hatch thus far; a fully grown dragon would have been an invaluable asset in their impending conflict. However, Sansa understood Jon's reluctance to unleash its might. The red and white creature posed a formidable threat, to be employed only in the direst of circumstances.
A knock echoed through the room. "Come in," Sansa called out, prompting Maester Fell to appear in the doorway, his hands occupied with a black leather bag and a scroll.
"Your Grace," the Maester greeted with a bow of his head. "Apologies for the delay. I was providing Lord Mance with his farming books," he explained.
"No need to worry," Sansa reassured him with a smile. "I instructed him to seek you out first thing."
"A raven arrived from Winterfell, Your Grace," Maester Fell continued, extending the scroll to Sansa.
She broke the wax seal and unfurled the parchment, scanning its contents intently.
Sansa,
I await your instruction on when to convene the Northern Council. It will require a moon's time to gather the houses at Winterfell, and I desire them prepared for Jon's return. The Blackfish is present in Winterfell, and Edmure assures us of his allegiance.
Delaying further is unwise. The ravens are prepared, awaiting only your command.
Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North.
Sansa glanced up at Maester Fell. "How many days until the royal wedding?" She held up the parchment for his inspection.
"Four days, Your Grace," he responded, his eyes glancing down as he read the contents of the letter.
"Very well. Once you've applied the poultice, we must send a reply to my father. He's inquiring if it's time to convene the Northern Council. How long will it take for the raven to reach Winterfell?" Sansa inquired.
"Two days, Your Grace," Maester Fell confirmed.
"We'll consent. Inform him to despatch the ravens. Jon will depart King's Landing before the wedding; he should arrive in Winterfell within a moon's time," Sansa decided.
"Do you wish to make preparations for departure, Your Grace?" Maester Fell asked.
"I'll make that decision once Bran and Theon arrive," Sansa replied. "For now, let's attend to this matter," she said, turning around and pulling her dress down, revealing her bruised back to the Maester, to allow him to spread the cooling poultice over the fading bruises.
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Sansa sat at her desk in her solar, just finishing sealing her scroll, when Robb entered with a broad grin on his face. She looked up, curious. "What's brought on that smile?" she inquired.
"Theon and Ygritte have returned. Separately, a caravan of about twenty soldiers has been spotted a mile south of here. Among them is a boy and a direwolf," Robb announced, excitement evident in his voice.
"Bran?" Sansa's heart quickened with anticipation at the mention of her little brother.
Robb nodded enthusiastically. "Expected to arrive within the hour or two," he confirmed.
"When did Theon and Ygritte come back?" Sansa queried.
"About fifteen minutes ago. They were greeted by myself, Mance, and Tormund," Robb replied, taking a seat at the desk opposite her.
Sansa couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment at not being asked to greet them herself. However, she reasoned that Maester Fell was currently attending to her, preventing her from being able to join the welcome party even if she had been asked.
"Where are they now?" she inquired eagerly.
"They've been escorted to their quarters and are currently breaking their fast. A bath has been prepared for them. I've informed them that we expect their presence in the solar to discuss plans and study the maps," Robb updated Sansa.
Sansa nodded. "Excellent. Once Bran arrives, I need to speak with him about any insights he may have," she noted.
Robb furrowed his brow. "Who are you corresponding with?" he inquired.
"Father wants to know when to rally the banners. Although officially it's for a Northern Council meeting, I'm instructing him to proceed immediately," Sansa disclosed.
"Will Ser Barristan be fit for travel?" Robb pressed.
"Maester Fell assures me he'll be well enough to journey by cart in a day or two. His wounds are no longer life-threatening; they've healed remarkably well. It's mostly discomfort now. Hence, it's crucial we arrange Mance's induction while we're here. I was contemplating leaving Sam for a month to assist with Mance's adjustment. Theon would be another option, but he's needed to oversee the ships," Sansa explained.
"Do you trust him after what transpired last time?" Robb questioned.
"Theon's dilemma lies in his uncertain identity—he's torn between being a Stark or a Greyjoy," Sansa elaborated. "Although he'd never admit it. That's why we've assigned him a role where he can prove himself in both capacities. Of course, Balon Greyjoy won't be pleased, but it will serve Theon well when it comes to assuming control of the Iron Islands. They value naval prowess, a captain capable of leading a formidable fleet, especially in battle. What better way for him to demonstrate his worth?" she reasoned.
"Agreed," Robb concurred. "I'll leave you to your tasks for now and return within the hour with Theon and Ygritte."
"And hopefully Bran will arrive by then," Sansa added with a smile. "If so, we'll postpone the meeting by half an hour to greet him properly."
Robb rose from his seat and planted a quick kiss on Sansa's forehead, reminiscent of the affectionate gestures Jon used to bestow on her when they believed themselves to be siblings. Reflecting on it now, she couldn't shake the feeling that Jon's kisses held a deeper, more intimate significance, though she couldn't quite articulate it.
"I'll see you in an hour, Robb," Sansa said.
"Until then," Robb replied, before departing, leaving Sansa to prepare for the forthcoming meeting.