Sansa found herself bewildered by how swiftly time had slipped away. Preparing for the looming threat of the Long Night was one matter, but readying herself to depart Queenscrown, perhaps indefinitely, presented an entirely different challenge. And amidst it all, she couldn't ignore the pressing task of organising Theon and Ygritte's upcoming wedding, regardless of her father's stance on the matter.
Those slated to accompany her to Winterfell included Robb, Sam, Gilly, Theon, Ygritte, Edd Tollett, Varys, and Tormund, along with approximately twenty soldiers who would journey alongside them. Tormund, ever adamant, insisted on ten Freefolk to represent their people at the wedding, and to forge lasting bonds with the northerners. Additionally, there were Ramsay and his four guards to consider, not to mention the dragon egg and the four direwolves.
What had initially seemed like a week's worth of preparation had now dwindled to a mere two days. Sansa could have delayed further, but the prospect of reuniting with Jon sooner rather than later spurred her on. Yet, uncertainty gnawed at her—she did not know when Jon would return to Winterfell. It had been over two moons since he and Arya departed Queenscrown, leaving her anxious for news from King's Landing. That was precisely why she had summoned Bran to her solar for assistance.
Ever since learning of Bran's unsettling discovery in Littlefinger's brothel, Sansa couldn't shake a sense of unease around him. His gaze seemed to linger on her in a disconcerting manner, as if he were trying to envision Sansa and Jon re-enacting the scenes he had witnessed in the brothel. Or worse yet, perhaps he had glimpsed their encounters in the cave through his greensight. Whatever knowledge Bran possessed, Sansa had no desire to uncover it.
Bran sat across from her as she arranged for the kitchens to send up some oatcakes, a modest offering from the earliest harvests of oats since Queenscrown's establishment. The process of identifying the best soil and crops had been time-consuming, but oats emerged as the most viable option for the present.
As Bran sampled a bite of the oatcakes, Sansa inquired, hoping for some positive feedback. "What do you think?" she asked.
"They're oatcakes," Bran replied with a furrowed brow, offering the expected response of a typical teenager.
Sansa, anticipating such brevity, steered the conversation toward the true purpose of their meeting. "I need to know what's been unfolding in King's Landing. Have you been keeping abreast of events since our last discussion?"
Bran nodded his head. "Jon rescued Shireen. He arrived at Dragonstone late last night. Joffrey is dead. Prince Oberyn has pledged his support to Jon and is expected to arrive at Dragonstone within the next couple of days. From there, they'll journey to Gulltown, where Jon intends to address Melisandre before making his way north to Winterfell."
"And Shireen?" Sansa inquired.
"She's travelling with Ser Davos. They'll be in White Harbor a few days ahead of Jon, likely reaching Winterfell in about a fortnight," Bran informed her.
Sansa nodded thoughtfully. "I'll need to write to Father and inform him of their impending arrival. Do we have any insight into Jon's intentions regarding Melisandre?"
Bran shook his head. "He hasn't divulged his plans to anyone. Frankly, I'm not certain he's decided himself."
Sansa sighed in frustration. "What does one do with someone as troublesome as they are valuable?"
Bran met her exasperation with a deadpan expression. "I'm twelve, how would I know?"
Their shared laughter broke the tension. "Is there anything else I should be aware of?" Sansa inquired.
"I suspect the Tyrells will maintain their allegiance to the Lannisters. They're scheming to arrange a marriage between Margaery and Tommen," Bran informed her.
"Already?" Sansa was taken aback by the Tyrells' swift manoeuvring. "If they're planning to feign support for Jon only to betray him, then we're better off without them as allies."
"I thought you once considered Margaery a potential match for Robb," Bran pointed out.
"Plans change. Other noble houses in the Reach would align with House Targaryen, especially with the right marriage alliance," Sansa mused, her thoughts drifting to Sam, who had a sister of suitable age.
In a previous conversation, Gilly had mentioned to Sansa that Talla possessed considerable beauty. As long as the alterations they had made to the course of events in Westeros hadn't impacted the Tarlys, Talla wouldn't be betrothed for a few more years. Sansa wasn't inclined to impose a match on Robb, but she understood his expectations, and her understanding of politics and the dynamics of the southern realm surpassed any suggestions her parents might offer. She hoped her father would consider her recommendations for marriage alliances.
Bran's brow furrowed, indicating he was lost in thought. "What's on your mind?" Sansa inquired.
"Oddly, Prince Oberyn has chosen to side with Jon," he remarked. "He had struck a pact with Willem Darry to betroth Princess Arianne, Doran's eldest daughter, to Prince Viserys."
Sansa gave him a puzzled look. "But Viserys is dead. Khal Drogo killed him. How do you know about this? I thought your visions were limited."
"They are," Bran confirmed. "I can't fully explain it. But I wanted to understand Oberyn's motivations, so I saw him signing the agreement in the past. Then I saw something more recent. Prince Doran's eldest son, Quentyn, is en route to Meereen to meet with Daenerys. However, he departed before Oberyn learned of Jon's identity, and Oberyn is unaware of Quentyn's mission. The Martells simply want to oust the Lannisters, regardless of the means."
"So Oberyn has resolved to ensure a Targaryen claims the Iron Throne. By supporting both Daenerys and Jon, they cover their bases," Sansa mused, picking up an oatcake and nibbling on it as she contemplated the ramifications. Recalling their previous life, she realised she had never encountered Quentyn Martell. Had he lived, he would have returned to Westeros alongside the Dragon Queen. "Quentyn is inconsequential," she informed Bran. "He never made it back to Westeros. Presumably, he met his end in Essos."
"You believe they're backing both contenders, waiting to see who emerges stronger?" Bran inquired.
Sansa affirmed with a nod. "They're weighing up their options. Jon has the stronger claim, but no dragons. Daenerys has a far weaker claim, but she has three dragons," Sansa wasn't going to say anything about Jon's dragon egg. There was no point until it hatched. "But regardless, they'll aim to secure a Martell on the Iron Throne."
"Do you think they'll try to pressure Jon into marrying Arianne?" Bran pressed.
"They might," Sansa sighed.
"But he's already married to you," Bran pointed out.
"Jon's father set aside Elia Martell to marry Aunt Lyanna, likely because Elia couldn't have any more children," Sansa explained.
"But you can," Bran remarked, offering a hopeful smile.
"We can't be certain until we try," Sansa replied, shaking her head. "We've held off until after the war."
"What will you do?" Bran asked.
"I'll discuss it with Jon," Sansa said. "But Bran, whatever you do, keep quiet about the situation in Dorne. It seems Prince Oberyn is unaware of Prince Doran's schemes, which means Jon and I must act swiftly," she murmured, more to herself than to Bran. She couldn't fully confide in him. "Is there anything else I should be aware of for now?" she inquired.
"Arya is sending a whore north," Bran told her, his face suddenly turning red, and Sansa knew he had seen the woman in the brothel with clients.
"What's her name?" Sansa inquired.
"Ros," Bran replied.
A smile touched Sansa's lips. Arya was safeguarding the northern girl from the snake pit of King's Landing, and considering what happened to her in their last life, if it was the same Ros, Sansa was happy that she survived this long. "Does she have red hair?" she asked.
Bran nodded. "She's slated to establish a brothel in Queenscrown. Arya promised her good pay and lodging. She wouldn't have to engage in the work herself; she could oversee the establishment," he looked puzzled by this, but Sansa understood.
"Arya instructed her to report any information she gathers to you, Jon, Father, and Mother," Bran added.
"If it boosts morale among the soldiers and some of the Freefolk, then who am I to object?" Sansa shrugged. She recognized that brothels were a sordid affair, but they served a purpose in society. And spies who operated brothels were invaluable. "Is there anything else?"
Bran shook his head. "That's all."
"Very well, you can return to the practice yard. I need to find Sam," Sansa said.
"Can I take the rest of these?" Bran gestured to the oatcakes.
"Of course," Sansa replied with a smile and a nod. "They were meant for you."
"Thanks," Bran said, stuffing one into his mouth and pocketing the others before departing, leaving Sansa to her thoughts.
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After concluding her meeting with Bran, Sansa headed to the kitchens to inspect the supplies earmarked for the journey to Winterfell. Anticipated to span up to three weeks, the trek promised a relatively smooth passage, with everyone either mounted on horseback or nestled in carriages drawn by two steeds. Among the slowest carts were those laden with essential provisions, like food, wine, and tents, and the one carrying Ramsay.
The cook, Lory, caught Sansa's attention. With long blond hair, brown almond-shaped eyes, and fair skin, Lory seemed to attract the admiration of many soldiers, and Sansa suspected even Bran harboured a fondness for her, given his frequent visits to the kitchens. Though rumours swirled about Robb's liaison with Lory, Sansa kept her silence, focusing today on securing details for the journey.
Seated across from Lory, Sansa sipped on apple tea, a newfound favourite among the smallfolk in Queenscrown, one which Sansa had never tried herself. It was sweet, tangy, with a hint of cinnamon and something else. It was quite lovely. She wondered if some of this could be made up in time for the journey.
"Do you have the inventory of food supplies for the southern journey?" Sansa inquired.
Lory handed over a parchment, and Sansa scanned the list as she savoured her tea. While the expected duration was not over three weeks, Sansa had requested an additional week's worth of provisions, mindful of potential delays such as early autumn snowfalls or inclement weather that could impede their progress.
The recent oat harvest proved fruitful, prompting Sansa to allocate ten bushels for the journey. While more than necessary, she aimed to showcase the quality of the gift's produce to the northern Lords, emphasising the mutual benefits they would reap from allowing the Freefolk to harvest the fields of the Gift. After collecting the notes from Lory, finishing the delicious tea, and expressing her gratitude, and ordering a gallon be made for the trip, as well as the recipe. Then Sansa set off in search of Sam.
Her first stop was the maester's tower, but Maester Fell informed her that Sam had ventured to the smithy regarding dragonglass. Hastening her pace, Sansa made her way toward the smithy. Just as she neared the workshop, Sam emerged, clutching a box and a pair of large anvil tongs, clad in suede gloves like those worn in the forge.
"Is it ready, Sam?" Sansa inquired, her meaning implicit.
Sam grinned. "It is, Lady Whitestark," he confirmed, presenting her with the box lined in a black coating.
"What's our next step?" Sansa queried.
"Let's return to your chambers, and I'll explain," Sam suggested in a hushed tone as they retreated to Sansa's quarters.
Ensuring privacy behind closed doors, Sansa spoke up again. "So, what's our plan now?" she asked.
"The obsidian is molten and ready," Sam informed her. "We need to get the egg inside the box now and fill it quickly." He displayed the anvil tongs. "These are for handling the egg. It'll remain hot enough for about an hour after we remove it from the fire."
"Just be careful not to drop it," Sansa fretted.
"I won't," Sam reassured her with a chuckle. "Even if I did, the egg would be fine. I can't guarantee the same for the rug," he added, eliciting a smile from Sansa. "Prepare the box," he instructed, and Sansa promptly removed the lid.
"Where should I place it?" she inquired.
"As close to the hearth as possible. The shorter the distance I have to move it, the quicker it'll be inside the box," Sam replied.
Sansa positioned the box near the hearth, ensuring it had enough space to avoid stray cinders. With utmost care, Sam extended the tongs into the fire, aiming to grasp the egg. Sansa observed the intense concentration on his face, even noticing his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth.
It took Sam four attempts to lift the egg. Each time he grasped it, but it slipped from the tongs due to its slippery surface. Despite the protective scales covering the egg, it remained difficult to hold. On the fourth try, Sam adjusted his grip, seizing it closer to the wider part of the egg. Slowly, he manoeuvred it through the fire, positioned it over the box, and carefully dropped it inside. Sansa moved to close the lid, but Sam halted her.
"Don't," he cautioned. "Let me do it. I've got gloves on. Even touching the box while it's open will be hot. Heat will radiate from the egg. It might be tolerable once the lid is on."
Sam lifted the lid and placed it over the box, enclosing the egg within. It fit far more snugly than they had anticipated. Sansa had estimated the egg's size and had the box made to be two and a half times what it was when they retrieved it from the cave, resulting in a box measuring three feet tall by two feet wide and deep.
"It's a beautiful colour," Sam remarked, smiling. "Will it hatch white with red bits, like the colours of the egg?" he inquired. Sansa nodded, though her brow furrowed in concern. The egg had clearly undergone a transformation. Sam followed Sansa's gaze to the box.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"It's grown," Sansa revealed. "It's nearly twice the size it was when Jon and I found it."
Sam looked surprised. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" he queried.
Sansa shook her head. "I don't know," she admitted. "Have you ever come across anything about dragon eggs growing?"
"No, I haven't," Sam confessed, frowning. "But as long as there's enough room in the box to fill it with obsidian, it shouldn't matter," he reasoned. "However, we must hurry and take it to the smithy to fill it with dragonglass."
Sansa observed there was only one pair of gloves. "Who will carry what?" she inquired, mindful that the tongs would still be too hot to handle without protection.
Sam removed a glove and touched the box, despite Sansa's attempt to intervene. "It's not hot," he reassured her. "The coating keeps it cool to the touch and prevents it from scorching the wood. We'll need the gloves when we return it to your chambers. It won't burn, but it will feel warm, and it'll be quite heavy, so let me handle it," he insisted, displaying an uncharacteristic assertiveness that elicited a smile from Sansa.
"I agree," she conceded. "You carry the tongs, and I'll carry the egg."
With their roles decided, they proceeded to the forge, where the blacksmith remained at a distance, unaware of the box's contents. All Sam needed to do was instruct him when to cease filling it.
Sansa waited outside the smithy, observing the warmth emanating from within. Clad in layers of leather and wool, she contrasted with the smith, who wore only a vest and a leather apron, his muscular arms stained black with soot. Her thoughts wandered to Gendry as she observed the smith's rippling muscles, contemplating whether Arya found such qualities appealing in him.
"That's enough," Sam's voice interrupted Sansa's reverie as he placed the lid atop the box. He thanked the smith and attempted to lift the box. "Oh my," he muttered, struggling to gain a secure grip.
"Shall I fetch Tormund or someone else to assist with carrying it?" Sansa offered.
Sam's cheeks flushed pink. "I can manage," he insisted, hoisting the box with all his strength and labouring out of the smithy. "It's not the weight, Lady Whitestark. These gloves make it a bit awkward."
Sansa surveyed their surroundings and spotted a small wheelbarrow nearby. "Wait here," she instructed Sam, retrieving the wheelbarrow to transport the egg to her chambers. "Between the two of us, we should manage to manoeuvre it up the steps," she suggested with a smile.
"Good idea," Sam agreed with a smile as they carefully transported the egg back to her chambers.
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After completing their task with the egg, Sansa gestured for Sam to take a seat across from her. Positioned between them was the box containing the egg, with Lady on one side of Sansa and Ghost on the other, both regarding the box with clear confusion.
Before delving into their conversation, Sansa requested some apple tea and oatcakes, aiming to ensure Sam's comfort as she broached a topic she had been postponing, not deeming it urgent. However, recent revelations about Theon and Ygritte's marriage had changed her perspective.
Once the tea and oatcakes arrived, Sansa started the discussion. "As you're aware, Theon and Ygritte are married," she began, watching as Sam sipped his tea and nodded in acknowledgement. "Ygritte will need to help manage whatever castle Jon grants to Theon." Sam choked on his oatcake, his face flushing red as he coughed and spluttered.
Sansa patted him on the back. "Are you all right?" she inquired.
After composing himself and taking a sip of tea to calm down, Sam nodded. "I believe so. Thank you, Your Grace," he replied.
"You're welcome," Sansa said, still concerned about Sam's well-being as he appeared flushed.
"This tea is delightful," Sam remarked, offering one of his genuine smiles.
"I've arranged to have some made for the journey," Sansa informed him. "Along with the recipe."
"Good. I think Gilly will appreciate this," Sam nodded.
Realising that introducing the idea of teaching reading to Sam through Gilly might be smoother, Sansa broached the topic. "I've asked the cook to write out the recipe. How are things with you and Gilly?" she inquired, deciding to mention written text out of context would be a good start.
Sam nodded, his cheeks tinted pink. "Good. We're very happy, Lady Whitestark."
"Gilly is indeed invaluable and supportive, a true treasure. However, I wanted to inquire, without causing any embarrassment, if she can read and write," Sansa asked. "I thought it would be helpful, like now, with the recipe for the tea."
Sam shook his head. "No, I don't believe any of the Freefolk can read."
"I was wondering if you wouldn't mind teaching Gilly, Ygritte, and even Tormund during our journey south," Sansa proposed.
Sam considered her suggestion. "Gilly has asked about learning from me. However, I'm unsure if Ygritte and Tormund would be receptive. While Gilly may be a wildling, she's unlike the others. She grew up in a proper household, similar to those south of the Wall, except with the obvious difference," he said, looking uncomfortable.
Sansa acknowledged the challenge ahead, realising she would need to have a conversation with Theon and Ygritte. If Ygritte was to assist Theon, she would need to gain at least basic literacy skills. Sansa recognized Ygritte's intelligence and aptitude for learning, but she also understood the contradiction between Ygritte's identity as a free woman and residing in a castle and learning to read.
"I'll begin with Tormund," Sansa declared. "Perhaps I can persuade Robb to assist me. Surely there must be a book that could pique his interest."
"There might be some books that would appeal to Tormund," Sam conceded. "However, you're unlikely to find them in a castle library. They'd likely be found in less savoury places," he added, his tone hesitant, hinting at the potentially explicit nature of the content. Sensing Sansa's reluctance to delve further, he left the topic untouched.
"If we can encourage Tormund to learn, then Ygritte may follow suit," Sansa mused. "I plan to meet with her later to discuss the wedding cloak."
"Will it be a traditional northern wedding?" Sam inquired.
"It will symbolise the unity of the Freefolk and Westeros, adhering to northern customs. We won't spare any expense," Sansa affirmed with a smile. "We simply need the northern Lords to perceive Ygritte as any other northern Lady."
"Good luck with that, Lady Whitestark," Sam remarked. "You're going to need it. But if I were you, I'd let Theon talk her into learning how to read."
"You're probably right. And if she agrees?" Sansa asked.
"If she says yes, then I'll teach her along with Gilly." Sam smiled, much to Sansa's relief.