XXVI
Dear Queen Sansa,
I hope this letter finds you well. It has only been a few days since we left Winterfell. We stopped at a small inn town somewhere between there and Moat Cailin. It is somewhat what I am used to after the days of riding with Ser Brienne. Your brother's items are well guarded and the horses are being well cared for.
Of course, we were looked at when we arrived a bit warily. We may not be boasting Targaryen or Lannister flags anymore, but it is natural for the people of the North to distrust the Crown King, especially now that you are not part of King Bran's territory anymore. However, once we mentioned that we'd been staying with you, the inn-mates brightened considerably. Queen Sansa, you are a bright shining sun to the usual dreariness of the people, it's very obvious to anyone with eyes. They just adore you. The little girls, giggling as they played with their dolls, asked what sort of dresses you wore and the young men inquired if you were hiring guards. Our host for the night extolled your graciousness and intelligence and discussed how he had taken his wife to see Winterfell not long after your crowning.
You once mentioned to me that you fear you are not doing much of anything in Winterfell, but Sansa, you are touching people's lives in incredible ways.
I would hate for you to ever forget that.
Yours truly,
Ser Podrick
Dear Queen Sansa,
After a week of travels, we have reached the Twins. Your uncle Edmond has given us a place to stay and is a tad bit happier to welcome us than most of the towns in the North.
It has hardly been a handful of days, but it feels like eons. Traveling is tiresome business, as you well know. The package that you entrusted with me stays as safe as the moment you pressed it into my hands. It stays beside me always; I have never let anyone else dare go near it.
He would appreciate it, perhaps.
I long for our daily talks in your solar. I long for conversation with you about anything; it can be dull conversing with the same people day in and day out or navigating tedious wordplay with the royals or peasants. I feel as though with nearly everyone, sans Ser Brienne and Tyrion, I am forced to think quite hard about what I have to say and what I should not. You are the third exception, and frankly the person I find the most enjoyable to talk to.
I would do anything to be able to return to the halls to talk with you face-to-face again. After having the luxury of that, perhaps I am too forward, but letters seem flat and uninspired in comparison.
Yours,
Ser Podrick
Dear Queen Sansa,
We took a detour on the request of King Bran to see how Lord Gendry is settling in. As someone who has risen through the ranks, I know that it can be overwhelming at the least in the start. Plus, Gendry has always seemed like a fine fellow and I was glad to have an excuse to visit him again. I think we may have even become friends during our overlapping stay in Winterfell before the battle.
I suppose I knew from talking with you that Lady Arya would be there, yet a part of me was still taken off-guard. Maybe I just miss you. She is quite different than you are; but I see that you both have the same quick wit. Hers is just a bit more...loud. I sparred with her (and lost, but you two are the only ones who are ever allowed to know that). She's quite the swordswoman! Ser Brienne will be thrilled to hear that. You know how she has a soft spot for the two of you.
Gendry has been the best host so far, and every night has been great feasts and warm memories. He seems to be settling in fine, no doubt with help from your sister. There are minor things; such as forgetting which fork to begin with, but no one would dethrone him for such frivolous reasons. Or, so I hope.
It will still be a long while before the Red Keep is in our sights.
On the nights in which the journey home seems too long, I remember I would gladly do it to you without a complaint. And, I just think of your eyes as I look at the stars and it makes it a bit more manageable.
I suppose that's enough poetic waxings for one night.
Always,
Ser Podrick
Sansa,
Bran's new Kingsguard just stopped off here, Ser Podrick. The skinny one who used to puppy-dog shadow Brienne and Tyrion? I'm sure you know what I'm talking about…
I totally kicked his ass in a sparr. I mean, and this never leaves you and me, he gave me quite the fight. Gendry's usually the only one who can give me any of a challenge, and it's just because he's tall and strong (the big meanie). Podrick, I thought I was going to throw to the ground in two seconds flat. Instead, he kept me on my toes! I guess that all that following Ser Brienne around and...what, filling her water glass? Polishing her armor? Whatever it was that he was doing, he picked something up. Some good things. He's an actual competent fighter and maybe he's not so skinny? Thank gods I spar without an audience because I'm sure some of those stupid simpering servant girls would have fainted at his chest. It's not as impressive as Gendry's. I guess I'm just biased.
I guess I can see why Bran wanted him to be part of his guard now. It's stupid, but of course, I worry about Bran. He may be king, but he's still our brother. A part of me will rest easier knowing that he has Brienne and Podrick to watch over him. Sure, he's sorta weird now and I'm never sure how to talk to him, but well...ah, you've always been better at this sappy emotional shit than I am. I'm sure you know what I'm getting at.
Anyway, they just left. Probably will be another fortnight to King's Landing. He wanted me to inform you of that. I mean, I guess you did send him home with important stuff, so it's only fair that you're well informed.
As you know, I'm nearly complete with building my boat. I'm so excited I can hardly breathe, but I'll be sad to leave Gendry. He's sad too, but he knows he can't tie me down.
But still, sometimes, maybe I wonder…
Nope, nope, nope. I'm not even going to think that. Sigh.
Anyway! Enough of that, I'm thrilled for this opportunity and my ship is totally magnificent looking!
I'll try to send off a couple more letters before I leave.
Your favorite fighting sister,
Arya
XXVII
Sansa hugged the letters to her chest. She'd just stopped off at the raven's post where the birds coalesced and found a great many letters attached to their legs.
This was hardly a surprise. On average, there were thirty letters sent in and twenty letters sent out via the ravens, so the landing post had to be increased of late. What had Sansa so twitterpated, however, was the gleaming seal from King's Landing with the Kingsguard crest.
It could have been from Ser Brienne, sure, but she performed a standard and simple cream paper to write her letters on. Plus, they were always rather succinct- as was her personality.
This paper was a ruddy light brown, the color of parchment that Podrick always wrote to her on. She had a growing excitement that this meant he was finally home.
When she thought about it, this wasn't something she was thrilled about. She'd rather him here, obviously. Still, to have him home meant one of two things. The first was that he was one day closer to returning, something she counted down (even if she was unaware of the exact days). Second, it meant she could finally return his many letters.
It seemed to her, and she doubted it was incorrect, that he'd written her once a day at the very least. His letters were always warm and heartfelt and longing. She was sure no one had intercepted them, but if the did, she also realized that Podrick never implicated Sansa in his clear affection. It was obvious that he fancied her from the way he wrote about her hair or her smile or her freckles in the letters, but he never included anything to indicate that she felt similar. If this all went sideways, Sansa could just say that he was besotted and it was unrequited.
They'd have to be delicate about this going forward. All Sansa wanted to do was reassure him that she was having similar silly fantasises about the flecks of gold in his eyes or his warm hands or his tousled black hair.
She felt like a little girl again with how such a simple missive reduced her to smiles and flushed cheeks. She hoarded the letters protectively, locking them deep in a chest of drawers for her to return to when she had a bad day or was missing him something terrible.
As he'd mentioned in his letters, it was the little things he missed. The very simple things. The laughing in her solar, the book recommendations back and forth, the japing about inconsequential items. It was like having a best friend, like talking to Jeyne, except for the simple fact that Sansa also missed sharing soft, chaste kisses with him in the shadowy halls. She surely did not wish to do those things with her Stewardess!
She heard footsteps coming from her direction. Sansa stashed the letter she'd specifically gone to collect in her sleeve, straightening her back as she drew away from the smitten look on her face.
"Sirs," She said, nodding to Randin and Wylis as she passed.
"Actually, my Queen, we were looking for you," Randin said, wringing his hands and biting his lip. Sansa crossed her arms.
"You both look like you're about to tell me that the Night King has risen again," Sansa commented blithely, taking in their pale and nervous faces.
"Oh, no! Not that," Wylis rushed to assure, and Randin nodded next to him.
"Then, I can hardly imagine what would have you two looking so fearful?" Sansa said.
"If we could go to your solar, Queen Sansa?" Randin suggested. After a moment's deliberation, Sansa nodded once.
She seated herself at her comfortable chair, placing her clasped hands in front of her as the two men settled themselves a couple of chairs away. She was internally pleased to see that neither of them sat where Podrick always sat when they were together, the seat directly to her right.
"Well, as you do not have a Hand of the Queen yet," Randin began, coughing slightly.
"It is something I do not intend to do lightly," Sansa said sharply. But, with a little bit of honesty, she hadn't been putting a whole lot of consideration towards it. She had Jeyne most of the time, which served her fine.
"As is right!" Randin quickly agreed, "But we do feel it is our...duty to discuss some things with you, as you have no one else to. It is a delicate matter."
Sansa resisted the urge to groan out loud or to rub her temples. If she were to make a list of all the things she wanted to do all the way down to the things she did not want to do, listening to whatever Randin and Wylis were about to say would be pretty close to the bottom. Perhaps only beaten out by something awful like cleaning out the horse muck in the stalls. What she was itching to do was tear into Podrick's letter, devour the words. It was rolled many times, meaning he'd written her the equivalent of a whole tome. She couldn't wait to see what he had to say and to reply back to him. Then, she wanted to go and eat some biscuits with Jeyne while they sewed some dresses with some new fabric she'd just received.
She had no clue what they were going to say but Sansa already knew she would hate it.
"It has been a few months since you have been coronated…" Wyllis began, trailing off, looking at her.
"Yes. I can count, Lord Manderly," She said tiredly, causing the younger Manderly to turn a little purple.
"Of course, yes! Well, point being, erm, we were perhaps wondering if you'd thought about children or a husband?"
"What about them?"
Sansa wasn't stupid. She knew exactly what they were getting at now, but she'd be damned if she didn't make them sweat and work for this. They were foolish and out of place to bring it up anyway.
"Well, you know," Randin said, making a vague hand gesture, "Every Stark has been married by the time they took the seat, most with an heir already born or on the way."
"So you wish to sell me off as a broodmare, then? Have I not been a good Queen?" Sansa trained her expression on the two, hoping to make them squirm, "Shall I be expecting a coup?"
"My Queen, we only say because we wish to keep you seated! You must know the villagers are whispering, wondering."
"Then let them. They should learn to be disappointed sometimes."
Sansa was usually not so curt with these two, as she knew they were doing things in good faith, but she was entirely done with this conversation and it had hardly even begun. The only person she'd entertain the idea of a union with she could not have, not in that way. So.
"You know if it was your brother we'd be telling him the same thing if he were unmarried," Wyllis said. Sansa bit the inside of her cheek. She did think that this was truthful. If anything, they may be badgering one of her brothers more. Still, Sansa relented.
"I am Queen. Don't you think I know well enough to think of such things?" She said, acting like this had crossed her mind. It hadn't, but it surely would now.
"We do not mean to question you…"
"Quite right. That's hardly your job," Sansa reminded, trying to sound firm but gentle, "I would suggest that you both actually return to your jobs before I become unhappy with either of you."
Wyllis got up quickly, clearly wanting to leave this conversation. He knew what was good for his health. Randin, who was a bit braver, stuck around.
"I'd implore you just to consider it," He said with a quiet whisper, "We only just regained a Stark on the throne. We'd be beside ourselves if we lost that." He pointed out.
"I will," Sansa said, completely honest, "I will think about it."
As much as she did not want to consider such things, maybe Randin and Wyllis had done their jobs. They'd put the thought in her head and it would not budge.
XXVIII
"-And I know that if I got a husband, who's to say that he wouldn't completely dismantle everything that I've tried to do here? I'm quite content by myself. I have all of my subjects as my children, that's what it feels like, and-," Sansa pricked her finger on her needle, realizing she'd messed up her sewing for the thrice time. Cussing, she ripped out the seams, re-threading the needle and collecting the delicate beads into her palm, "So, anywa-,"
"Sansa," Jeyne said, setting down the snow lily she was embroidering, "Please, for the love of the Old Gods, shut up."
Sansa was stunned into silence. She stared at her friend, mouth gaping. For the first time, she had no idea how to respond to something directed at her, although a barrage of sputtered anger queued in the back of her mind. All she could slip between her gritted teeth after a long second was a quiet question.
"I beg your pardon?"
Jeyne reached to her, grasping her palms.
"Dear Sansa, as your loyal subject, I have heard you endlessly complain about your meeting with Lord Cerwyn and Lord Manderly for three whole days. And I've endured it with nothing past a smile and the occasional 'oh, yes'," She pointed out, "But as your friend, I am telling you that you've been putting two days more into this than it deserves. So, please."
Sansa reeled back.
"And," Jeyne continued, "You keep working yourself into a flutter. You've nearly destroyed three pieces of your new dress, saved only by your skilled fingers and intelligence. I mean, look at that right there!"
Sansa looked down. Indeed, the small bit of fabric she'd been sewing together was punctured many times over, the seams continually torn out from her mistakes. As it was, she would need to sew this into the back. It was far too frayed at this point to put where someone could see it. It had been one of the fabrics she'd been most thrilled to use, too.
She frowned, hunching her shoulders.
"I just am frustrated." She finally said, though it sounded very stupid coming from her lips. Jeyne snorted.
"Yes, I know."
"I don't like the idea of being told that I need to marry and when," Sansa said and then held up her hand, "And yes, I know that it's traditional for that. I just thought the North was about moving forward, doing better?"
Jeyne chewed on her lip. She had the same expression as Radin and Wyllis. Sansa narrowed her eyes.
"Not you too," She groaned, shaking her head. She got up to pour herself another goblet of wine, knowing that she'd need it for whatever Jeyne was about to say.
"If you were to die, who'd take over the Throne?" Jeyne asked logically, "If we say that it's a Stark, then there are only really three options, isn't there?" She held up three fingers, "One; Arya. But we both know that if she survives her cross-oceanic travels, she'll come to her senses and marry that Baratheon Lord. Two; John. He's been exiled and it might incite a war to bring him back. Three; Bran and the North is just absorbed into the Kingdoms again, and we're right back where we began. So you see, while their method of delivery has much to be desired, the issue is very valid."
"I guess I hadn't seen it like that…" Sansa trailed off, her brow deepening. Great, just another thing for her to worry about, "So, I see the point in needing an heir. But to be married? That would just make me someone else, not a Stark. And I'd worry that they'd be attempting to control the castle for other reasons."
Jeyne picked back up her hoop, seeming more relaxed having gotten that off her chest.
"You're in good health and we're not at war. I wouldn't spend endless nights up about it, but I would be aware of it. I hope that we can truly move forward and you can marry for love." She looked down, almost afraid to ask. Whatever it seemed her next words were going to be, Jeyne swallowed them back. Sansa honestly did not know and did not want to push her friend.
"You did give me something to legitimately consider," Sansa admitted, "I would have not been so upset had it been given to me like that." She said, thinking back to how callous the announcement and the quick argument had been.
"It's something I've heard a few people whisper about. I can't claim that I'm knowledgeable about many other things. I do think you need someone you really can trust as a Hand soon, though," Jeyne said kindly, "So that in the worst case, they could take over until we get sorted. So, it needs to be someone you could imagine taking the throne."
"Yes, this is the issue." Sansa said, no closer to thinking of her choices, "So, now that you've put me in my place, am I allowed to complain at all about it anymore?" She could readily admit that she was a judgmental and sort of dry sort of person. She liked complaining about things to friends. Jeyne narrowed her eyes.
"Absolutely not. You have better things to complain about than that, surely."
Sansa shrugged half-heartedly, but couldn't help but smile. When she picked up her dress, she managed to nearly make it to the end of the time set aside without another incident. The frustration and worries were staved...at least momentarily.
XXIX
Sansa sat in the crypts, her warm cloak pooling over her shoulders and engulfing her in warm and soft fur. The lanterns were lit around the faces of her family that rested down here; most, to be honest. Still, she was frustrated and in need of some guidance.
She'd heard tales that something about Winterfell was inherently magical, something unknown and ancient and reeking of magic that now lay beyond the wall.
If that were true at all, Sansa sorely needed it.
She did not expect the statues to actually talk, but she'd be lying if she claimed she wouldn't have been thrilled if they had. She, more than ever, needed actual advice from her family instead of the guesses of what they might say that she entertained in her mind.
She had thrown away worries of husband and heirs for now. After Jeyne's discussion with her a fortnight ago, she hadn't spared so much of a passing musing to it. What was weighing heavily was her still-empty Hand position.
She was half-tempted to just be done with it and name Jeyne...but she knew she could not. Not because Jeyne was a girl, but because Jeyne was not someone of a particularly high-born status. She just didn't have the knowledge of how to navigate difficult political dances the way a Hand should, nor had she been expected to memorize great numbers of house family trees, crests, histories, and other necessities.
Her father had been Hand for awhile. There were many days that Sansa wished they'd never left. Perhaps he would have been spared. Perhaps her family would all still be alive?
However, she had to admit that her father had been an excellent hand. Too good, which was what had led to his death.
Robb had been a King in wartime, so he'd never gotten around to asking anyone. She supposed that her mother was as good of a hand as he had, and she too had been an excellent choice.
Arya would make a shit hand. She was a fantastic sister and confidant, but her answer would be to stab any problem that came her way.
Sansa's only choice thus so far was Jon, but he was not answering any of her letters. She feared he'd done exactly as he claimed he would. She was sure he'd gone out past the wall, and only the Gods knew if he'd ever return.
Honestly, if her brother Bran had not claimed Tyrion, Sansa would have been tempted. She did think that he wasn't as smart as he'd once been, but he was still a clever man. Plus, she enjoyed his company and discussion, so he would have been a fine advisor.
Sansa groaned, letting her head rest back against the rough stone.
"Any advice, at all, would be wondrous," She muttered at the solemn, silent statues, "I need someone I know that I can trust. I need someone that believes in me as a Queen and isn't just trying to replace me with the next able-bodied man who comes along. I need someone clever and true, someone who will look out for the realm...even if it means being a little honest with me sometimes."
Sansa waited for an answer, but the only thing was the wind whistling around the caverns.
She bit the inside of her cheek, tracing the contours of each face with her eyes. Her father, her mother, to Robb, to the half-completed statue of Theon (Sansa insisted they stand side-by-side) and finally to Rickon.
Sansa's one pain was that she never knew Rickon as the young man he'd grew into before he died. She always imagined him younger, hardly five, because that's how he was when she'd left. To imagine that he'd grown up with Bran and become a person with feelings and opinions and thoughts were strange to her. Had he been sarcastic like Arya? Quiet and true like Jon and Robb? Funny and clever like Theon? Broken and rebuilt...like her?
She could ask Bran, but she doubted she'd get much of an answer.
But he hadn't been alone in his travels before he died, there had been others with him.
Sansa shot up straight. She gathered her items hurriedly, husting through the quiet halls to Jeyne's room.
"What?" Jeyne groaned from the other side, pulling herself out of bed to answer, "Oh! My Queen. I wasn't expecting you so late."
"I think I know who I shall ask to be my Hand," Sansa said, pushing into Jeyne's room without pause, "I feel so stupid for not realizing it before! Seven hells, I feel stupid!"
"Who?"
"I mean, she rightly deserves it. And her father's still alive so she's not expected to be the Lady of her house yet. He's in good health, so it may be years before she's called back. But my father was still the head of the Stark house and the Hand so there's no reason we can't work it out."
"Sansa, who?" Jeyne repeated, rubbing her tired eyes.
"I hope she accepts. Gods know that Bran was incredibly rude to her. I should have thanked her or asked her to stay, at least. I was younger, more concerned with other issues, of course. I think we could be great friends, but I think she'd be a wise addition to the team as well. I need to find some paper...do you have any?"
"I will give you this, but only if you tell me who exactly you're writing to!" Jeyne huffed, opening her chest of drawers with a loud sigh.
Sansa blinked. In her ultimate excitement, she realized she had not yet spoken the name of her intended Hand. Her thoughts had come so swiftly upon her, and she'd known that the name had yet to be spoken. Sansa reached for the paper, her mind already formulating the query she'd have sent off by dawn.
"Meera Reed, of course!"
XXX
Sansa and Jeyne told no one that they'd sent a letter off. No one knew the worries about the Hand plagued her, so it was not as though people were chomping at the bit to know who she was choosing. She was sure that Wyllis may bring it up in the next small council meeting, but she hoped to announce Meera long before then.
She would be so glad to only have to listen to Randin and Wyllis' concerns with their own jobs and not their thoughts on every other issue. They weren't without reason, but with the proper channels, they'd tell Meera who would then tell Sansa.
Except, Meera had not written Sansa back yet.
Sansa knew it took a raven two days to fly if the weather was bad. Apart from a chill in the air, the skies had been clear, so there should have been no reason that the raven never delivered the letter.
After that, though worry clawed at Sansa's chest, she told herself to give it a couple of nights. It was a momentous choice. No one should make it lightly. It was more than fair for Meera to have a handful of days to decide.
Still, after a fortnight and a half with no communication, Sansa was worried.
After all she'd done for Bran, Bran had dismissed her without so much of a thank-you. They'd spent years together and he'd tossed her out like she was lesser. Thinking back upon the incident now, it enraged Sansa to no end by his cruelness. She feared that Meera had taken that very personally, as was perhaps her right, and she would serve the Starks faithfully, but no further. Maybe it made her sick to think of serving Sansa, the sister of the person who'd spurned her.
Jeyne was nervous too. They both knew that Sansa had come a long time choosing this person and neither was sure who her second choice would be. Her mother had always warned Sansa to never put all her eggs in one basket, but here she was.
Maybe she should have pleaded, adding that Meera was her only choice, and guilted her into coming? No, that's not how she wanted this relationship to start. She wanted Meera to come because the girl chose to, not because she was ordered or felt it was her duty.
"You seem anxious, m'Lady," Gawen even said one day, "Your mind is a thousand miles away, I should think."
"There's much to think about, as there always is," Sansa said with a soft smile. What she wanted to say was that her mind, which was usually drifting somewhere in King's Landing, particularly to where the Kingsguard had their quarters, was now splitting it's time at Greywater watch too.
It was nearly a full moon after sending the letter out that Sansa was tapped on the shoulder by Gawen.
"My Queen, there is a small assembly arriving at the gates."
Sansa frowned. She almost went to check to see that she had not missed anyone important arriving in her ledger, she was sure that the next expected arrival would be Alys, and she was not for a whole week. Unless the girl had moved up her timeline and somehow forgotten to inform her Queen, which Sansa doubted, this was a surprise.
Down at the gates, there was a small commotion. Sansa arrived just as Randin was intercepting the leader of the group. It was a mess of curly hair atop a lean figure. Sansa felt her breath leave her and then joy fill her.
"Lady Reed-,"
"I've told you already, I'm hardly a Lady! Spirits. If you continue to call me that, I'll show you how little of a lady I truly am!"
Sansa preened. Arya would love her if she ever returned back.
Randin looked hardly ruffled. He was used to dealing with Sansa, a very uncommon Queen, after all.
"Then what," he asked, his voice tight and tired, "Do you expect we call you?"
By this time, Sansa had made her way to the front. Meera met her eyes, a bright glimmering light shining on the girl's face. She bowed a little to Sansa before sending a glance back at Randin.
"Hand of the Queen should work just fine."
