Chapter 76Notes:Yo, like half an hour early, but eh, whatever.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextSansa stood in the great courtyard of Winterfell, her crown upon her head, four Royal Guards arrayed around her, and a great deal of the court as well. She knew what her coming personally to greet her new arrivals meant, and it was a gesture she very much intended. Snow was falling, quieting the sounds of Winterfell as their guests arrived.
The party that rode through the front gates was not impressive in their numbers. But it didn't make them any less important. The perhaps forty men were clearly travel-worn and weary as they came to a halt. The silver eagle on purple of House Mallister of Seaguard in the Riverlands was plain to be seen on near half the men. Beside them was the scarlet with black ravens around the dead weirwood of House Blackwood of Raventree Hall of the Riverlands.
A man who must be Patrek Mallister, heir to Seaguard, a man who was of an age with her uncle Edmure, dismounted. The rest of the party followed his example. Heavy thuds as their feet hit the ground, and they took a few moments to straighten themselves before they'd be required to approach.
Sansa barely kept her surprise hidden as she realized that among the Blackwoods there were two children who could barely be old enough to be squires. She would guess they were older than ten but certainly younger than four and ten.
Finally, as the youngest boy among the Blackwoods was helped off his horse, the party straightened, as Patrek Mallister and a young man in Blackwood colors approached. Patrek pulled ahead and then dropped to his knee. "Your Grace." The rest of the party from the Riverlands took the knee behind him. Every man and boy of them.
Sansa's heartbeat in her chest at it. That was near half the Riverlands, and all but two of the major Houses of the Riverlands pledged to her then. She might have the Riverlands in more than name by the time she was forced to meet with the Dragon Queen. "Please rise, you are most welcome in Winterfell my Lords. My hospitality is yours, rooms have been prepared so that you may rest after your travels." She waved forward a servant who was holding bread and salt.
"Thank you for your kindness, your Grace." Patrek rose to his feet. "I am Patrek of House Mallister and this is Edmund of House Blackwood. We bring tidings of the south, as well as word from those Lords who remember where their true loyalty lies. If we could speak soon."
She hadn't expected them to wish to speak so soon. But she would not deny them this. Both Houses had lost sons in the Red Wedding and countless men at arms in the War of Five Kings and the bloodshed that had followed. "Very well." Sansa gestured for Loras. "Ser Loras will escort you to your quarters. Once your men and things are settled he will bring you to my solar. I will have refreshment brought that you need not thirst or hunger."
"Thank you, your Grace." Edmund Blackwood bowed deeply, his young face was drawn.
Sansa noted the near relief besides the quiet determination they all seemed to carry. Things were not good in the Riverlands. Something she'd already seen, but it was clear the horror wasn't less than she'd thought. Whatever news they brought would be important. "It's nothing after the loyalty both your Houses showed my brother."
Sansa was fond of her public King's Solar. It wasn't ornate, she had neither the spare funds nor the inclination to make it so. Any great tapestries of Stark or Northern history had long since been burned by the various invaders since her childhood. Instead of ornaments, she lacked, or would be foolish to waste man hours on, she'd had it plastered in white. The wooden beams with the shapes of wolves and vines carved upon them were the only bit of the walls not coated in a layer of white plaster. A few servants with good eyes had spent a week painting blue roses, and direwolves across the surface. There were splashes of reds where the leaves of the weirwood trees were painted as well. It was simple, if not too plain for what it was.
She paused, raising a brow as she realized one of her guards was acting twitchy. "Conin yes?"
"Yes, your Grace." The man stepped forward eager to serve. He was one of Daisy's men selected for her guard.
Sansa looked at him critically. She doubted a man loyal to Daisy could be bought to fight against her. And she had two other guards, leaving any risk of him turning on her unlikely to work even if he was fool enough to think of it. "You seem distracted, is there something I need to know?"
"Of course not!" He straightened, though his pale Northern features turned a bright red all the way to the tips of his ears.
She felt herself turning more amused than concerned then, his reaction gave away a great deal. Sansa gave him a critical up-down and ran through what she knew of him. One of Daisy's men, young, clearly out of his depth among knights and nobility but willing to do his duty nonetheless, and he had been on the same guard shifts as Loras for the last few weeks. A laugh caught in her throat as the likely answer to his actions dawned. "Well then, do continue to fulfill your duties when you're not too busy thinking of Lady Forrester."
His face somehow turned even redder, as he ducked his head. He surprised her though by speaking carefully. "Do you think…sorry, it's no matter, your Grace."
"I have a few minutes." Sansa found herself allowing. It was funny in a way, it was the first time one of her guards had attempted to ask anything of her of a personal nature. "If you have a question ask."
He resolutely looked at her with every shred of bravery he likely had. "I want to help Lady Forrester, I like her. But if I do, then I'll have to leave the Order. I'd…her Holiness trusted me to protect you. I've never wanted anything like I've wanted the Order. How can I even think of leaving it?"
"Ah." Sansa faced the man and felt bad for the position she, Mira Forrester, and the political nightmare that was the Forrester/Whitehill blood feud had put him in. But she also understood why he would be the sort of man that Mira Forrester would ask to marry her. "Is it without question the Order would have you resign your place among them?"
He seemed to shake slightly. "To be a part of the order is to sacrifice, I can't do that if I have a wife a…family. It would be unfair to have both."
"You're a good man." Sansa reached out, laying a hand on his shoulder. It felt awkward to touch someone who wasn't one of her siblings or Daisy. But he wasn't a threat to her. "No matter what you decide Daisy, the Order, they won't be disappointed in you. Go, talk to Hogg and Brienne. You need their words more than mine."
He cleared his throat. "I'm your guard."
"I know, however, I have two other guards here, and I have no doubt you'll send one of your brothers from the Order to stand in your place while you make your decision?" She dropped her hand.
Conin wavered and then bowed. "I…"
"And Conin, for what it's worth she chose you." Sansa could see the doubts on his face. "Not because you're convenient, but because she trusts you."
He gave a nod and then left the room.
Sansa sighed, well that was a disaster waiting to happen. Man at arms who'd need a knighthood was a bit of a stretch. She wished Daisy was there, she'd know how to handle this ridiculous situation. Breaking all social rules was just another day for Daisy anyways. But then…it might be a good thing Daisy wasn't here to add to the chaos. She looked up at the second guard. "Please send for food from the kitchens."
She frowned as she looked at the endless paper stacked on her desk. Sansa accepted she was going to need to find someone whose job was purely to organize her paperwork. A scribe, she needed one. She was going to have to speak with Bower and Flint about it. She took her seat and ran through the various summaries of various runnings of Winterfell.
Sansa noted a portion of the women had turned from sewing to carding and spinning wool. It looked like she'd need to order looms to be built and set in one of the various abandoned chambers of the castle. The many ways Winterfell had been underpopulated for what she was beginning to realize was centuries continued to show. Outside of the central keep, she had room to expand the various needs of her capital. However, every time it took work and man hours to do so. The Broken tower, now God's Tower, alone was glaring proof of that.
She looked up at the sound of the door opening, her seneschal Flint entering, his cane making the distinct clicking noise she'd become accustomed to. "Good, I was just hoping to speak with you soon."
"What do you require, your Grace?" Flint took the seat across from her, long since having learned he was always to take a seat when possible. She had no interest in the man being in pain when he could just sit.
Sansa offered out the sheet she was reading. "We need to open up the old rooms for the looms. If we mean to produce enough fabric to keep our people warm and clothed through the winter we need to increase what we're creating greatly. I was thinking some of the old halls near the old Bailey?"
"That is out of the way, but there are rooms that could be converted to that purpose, perhaps a week and twenty men to prepare it." Flint winced. "Unless the stone itself requires repair."
Sansa nodded, she could accept the delay if she had more roofs to see fixed. "See to it, and that's another thing. I need a scribe."
"Educated, loyalty above question." Flint frowned. "But most educated commoners are from Manderly lands."
Which was the issue. "And I've already given more power to that House than is likely wise. And between Brienne, Loras, and Wagstaff in my guard as well as the Vale now here, I can't give the position to a southerner. And I've pulled too much from the Order already."
"You could ask the Order to train a scribe for you?" Flint offered.
She wished that was an option. "And the time it would take to educate them if common born would be excessive. Surely there's a third or fourth son from a nearby House that would be convenient?"
"So many are dead…" Flint grimaced. "I'll see who is of age and position to be likely and bring their names to you."
Sansa lifted the next matter to discuss. "It's a priority if we wish to avoid drowning in the management of a country. Now, about Wull requests for arrow shafts, what from our stores can we spare? And why is this even coming to me directly? Surely I have an advisor whose eyes this should have gone to first?"
////
Edmund Blackwood looked at the rooms given to him. He turned to his three younger siblings they'd hidden as squires. "All of you are to stay here till I've spoken with her Grace." His focus turned to his closest sibling. "Alyn is in charge, but no one comes in unless it's on orders of the Queen. Understood?"
"I'll keep them safe." Alyn puffed slightly, he was six and ten, should be a squire to a knight, not here in the North guarding their younger siblings.
Bethany pulled the hat off her head, her long hair falling down. "Do you think I'll be allowed to wear dresses again?"
"Of course." He reached out gently mussing his baby sister's hair and hoped he wasn't lying. "We're safe here."
Two and ten Robert just made a sound of assent and slumped on the bed. "Can we sleep?"
"You can sleep." Edmund looked at Alyn. "I don't know how long I'll be gone. No one comes in."
Alyn gave a sharp nod. "I understand brother."
He gave a last nod, his eyes sweeping his alive and safe siblings. Edmund tipped his chin up and shut the solid wood door behind him. His steps felt awkward and noisy as he made his way down the hall. Reaching up he touched his chest, the thick packet of letters sewn into the chest of his jerkin were still there.
"Edmund, ready?" Patrek Mallister asked from where he was leaning against the wall.
He glared, he wasn't a boy. He was eight and ten damn it all. "Let's do our duty."
Patrek snorted but didn't argue as they walked to where the Northern knight was waiting for them.
At the end of the hall was the Northern knight who was to escort them. He was a striking man, his hair was all brown curls that shone gold where the light hit them. His beard was neatly trimmed on his face, his outer jacket a Stark grey, the green cloak the Queensguard seemed to wear, crisp and clean. He was the picture of knighthood, a strange mixing of Northern and southern traits. The man's green eyes locked on them, his accent southern as he spoke. "If you two would follow me, my lords."
"Southern accent, and southern name. What are you doing in the Northern Queensguard, Ser?" Patrek asked the confident swagger he'd held before the War of Five Kings, shining through.
Ser Loras's eyes near sparkled. "I am a sworn sword to the Queen. And we're a Royal Guard, you know Northerns, can't even keep the name of things if it's too southern."
Edmund frowned, there was a joke there that the guard was laughing at neither he nor Patrek were noticing. "What House are you from Ser?"
"Tyrell." The man grinned as he lengthened his stride. "Come along, best not keep her Grace waiting."
Patrek made a choking sound as he tripped over his own feet.
Edmund felt like he'd been punched in the gut, but he did spare enough thought to be smug that he hadn't physically tripped like an idiot. Who was the boy now? Biting back the words he followed after the man who was apparently the Knight of the Flowers. No flowing locks and roses here though, it was strange, but frankly, it mattered little in his mission. "Her Grace, do you have advice on how best to speak to her?"
"Be honest and don't bother hiding things." Ser Loras glanced at him. "And keep your mouth shut on the subject of her Grace's paramour if you want to survive in the North."
Patrek spoke up, clearly missing the very obvious advice. "Her Grace has a paramour? That's not just the songs. But she's a woman?"
Ser Loras actually laughed. "You should let the boy talk, he clearly has the brain between you two." He raised a brow. "And really, her paramour is the single scariest thing I have ever beheld. Good luck if you piss them off."
Edmund wondered if Patrek noted the fact that Loras had very carefully not said the Queen's lover was a man. If the songs were true… he would be taking the knight's advice to heart. Best not to speak at all until he knew better what the situation was. His family depended on him after all. Besides, in a world where the old ways no longer were followed and men were more monsters than any beast from tales what was to say a Queen couldn't fuck who she wanted? Or to say they hadn't brought a god of ruin upon them all?
////
Sansa noted neither of the Riverlords had changed from their traveling clothes. The ingrained dirt while not atrocious was notable. Patrek Mallister was a tall man, one comfortable in his own skin and one who knew his own worth. Edmund Blackwood was a fourth son and had only just turned eight and ten if her memory served. He was stiff, seeming to try and fill a role he had yet to grow into. The black crow feathers attached to his collar were slightly bent as they poked at his chin. And yet, if Loras's quiet gesture upon entry was correct, it was Edmund who was the more useful. "You insisted on seeing me, my Lords, what is so pressing you dared not wait till you'd rested?"
Edmund took a halting step forward, pulling a thick packet of parchment out of his jacket. "My father Lord Blackwood sends his highest regards as well as assurances of his loyalty to the rightful ruler of the North and the Trident. But he also sends to you his legacy that it might survive the wars to come, your Grace."
"What does he mean by legacy?" Sansa asked as she accepted the packet from the serious and drawn young man.
His chin tipped up slightly, his shoulders squaring. "His three youngest sons and only daughter. House Blackwood has already lost two sons to the Lannister scum and Braken betrayal. As our land shall surely run with blood once more, my father asks that you allow a guarantee that some of his blood will survive, your Grace."
Sansa stared at the young man and felt a great swell of pity. Not that such an emotion had any place here. "Your second brother died in the Red Wedding beside mine own oldest brother. I had not heard House Blackwood had lost another son?"
"Jaime Lannister and House Bracken took our contested lands and took my brother as a guarantee of our submission to Lannister rule." Edmund's face was a stiff mask as he spoke. "Once news of our allegiance spreads his head will be forfeit."
Sansa felt the cold certainty then that the man was likely already dead then. "Your House and brothers' sacrifice will not be forgotten. I assume the two youngest boys in your party were your sister and youngest brother?"
"Yes, your Grace." Edmund replied, braving to defend the fairly rude gesture of dumping uninvited guests upon her doorstep.
She considered her options. The girl would be young if disguising her as a boy for safer travel had been effective, the youngest in the party had been too young to squire, perhaps old enough to page. "Your siblings, what ages are they?"
"Alyn is six and ten, Bethany is three and ten, and Robert is two and ten." Edmund replied promptly.
Sansa gave a slight nod. "Very well, you and your family are most welcome, it would be my honor to provide my protection to those of so loyal a House. Your youngest may partake in lessons with my brother as a ward of House Stark. Your sister I will gladly name a ward as well. As for your brother Alyn, it would seem Ser Loras is without a squire."
Loras startled slightly but he gave a faint tip of his head in agreement.
"I assume you and Ser Loras can agree on the details after this meeting. In the meantime, I assume you had more news that was pressing beyond your family's care?" Sansa could see the promise of having a Blackwood squire for Loras, a position in the Royal Guard once the boy had earned his knighthood would be expected and was an honor she had no qualms at offering either.
Edmund bowed his head, gratitude practically radiating from the boy. She'd been generous, a mercy she could afford and would benefit her as well.
"We bring word from over half the Houses of the Riverlands." Patrek pulled out a large stack of letters bearing the seals of a dozen different Houses and set them on her desk. "We await your orders to march north or south as you will it."
Sansa swallowed, she'd won then, the Riverlands were her's in more than just name. "I will send riders in the morning, but I would not ask the Riverlords to march north or south."
"We can fight!" Edmund puffed up, a desperate pride and stubbornness there before he blanched. "Apologies, your Grace, I only meant we are still strong."
She smiled slightly at him. "I know, but your lands have been ruined enough. I would have you defend your homes. Should my brother secure a lasting peace with the Dragon Queen a third of your armies can be marched north. Until then, I mean to name two Lords to command so that they may further secure the Riverlands and prepare it should our enemies attempt to retake it. Already I have ensured two thousand men of the Vale are stationed at Harrenhal as well as another three hundred at the Twins."
"You mean for us to hold the line while the rest of your armies fight the Dead." Patrek looked thoughtful. "It is not a bad plan. And if the Dragon Queen's army turns its eye on us, your Grace?"
She didn't waiver under the true question. "Then you are to surrender without hesitation. My grandmother was once Lady of Harrenhall, I will not ask any man to face that certain ruin when I cannot face it beside them."
Sansa was exhausted as she collapsed in her great fur-covered chair by the fire. It was a long day, and she expected the Forrester men to arrive any day now. She missed Jon. He should be dealing with half of this.
"What crawled up your ass?" Arya snarked from where she'd been idly spinning a dagger between her fingers.
She gave a half-hearted glare toward her sister.
Bran looked away from the fire. "Daisy will leave Highgarden to return to you soon. She only delays to secure Jon's safety."
"Highgarden, I thought Jon was on Dragonstone?" Arya stilled, lowering her knife as she looked at Bran in disbelief.
Sansa felt a migraine coming. "To be there she would have had to have flown them there."
"Your lover can fly?" Arya's voice pitched up.
She ignored that. What could have caused them to go to Highgarden? It couldn't have been to escape dragons, they would have returned to Winterfell if that was the case. "What did you see?"
"A lake of blood, old eyes reopened." Bran frowned. "I did not see well, but old things wake from their slumber."
Sansa closed her eyes. Well fuck. That was not helpful at all. She stood up. "I am going to bed."
Notes:So Westeros is polytheistic, so Daisy being a new deity isn't a religious crisis. The Old Gods being real isn't panic-inducing, they already thought the Old Gods were real. These other gods impacting their lives is the thing that is new. To them the Andels invaded with the support of the Seven, they cut down as many of the old gods as possible and took a cultural place of prominence in the south. To them, the Seven are the gods who affect their lives and to who they should be making sacrifices to because those gods hold dominion in the south. If a southerner is in the North it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for them to pay homage or make sacrifices to the old gods, they'd be in the land in which the old gods hold dominion up there after all.
Like polytheistic pantheons tend to be very geographically rooted, the gods are considered a part of the region they are worshipped in. The issue for people encountering Daisy isn't 'religious crisis, are my gods even real?' it's 'fuck, fuck, fuck, we don't know how to make homage or sacrifice to this god to pacify them'. Daisy is dangerous to them because there's no cultural understanding or knowledge of how to ensure things are favorable with her. And they don't know what she's attached to. The gods of most ancient polytheistic religions are tied to regions, they are a part of the community that worships them. Daisy not being tied to a physical place is freaking them out. Her not wanting any sort of sacrifice or homage made to her is freaking them out because how else are they to ensure her favor? And what if she wants to claim territory that is another gods', and usurp that position? Do you pick the god walking around or the ones who have served your people and your ancestors for hundreds of years? How do you keep from getting trapped in a divine pissing match?
But to them giving worship to multiple gods, even gods from different courts is totally fine. To the south like 'oh, fuck guess we shouldn't have been ignoring those old gods' is...its a change, and def an adjustment to how they saw the regional influence of the gods, but its not super radical. Its alarming because they haven't been paying homage to what is apparently gods that do have power in their area. So like, that's not something they'd feel happy about. More deeply alarmed and slightly religiously confused as 'fuck, what do the old gods like again? And right, how do we manage to do this while not violating any of our acts of homage to the Seven? Gotta threat that needle'. But its like a an adjustment from third gear to fourth gear. Its getting a new sports team you have to root for. And making sure you know your knew sport team's rivals and double checking they're not arch rival and enemy of your other teams.
Chapter 77Notes:We're gonna still be in the North for a bit a longer =D
Chapter TextSansa was roused from her sleep by a hand on her shoulder. She startled but calmed seeing Brienne's face kneeling by the side of her bed, her other hand holding a single candle. "What is it?"
"Mira Forrester, Hogg, and Conin beg an audience with you before dawn, your Grace." Brienne said seriously.
She pushed her covers down, sitting up. "Bring them to my solar, I'll be there presently." Sansa watched her sworn sword duck her head in acknowledgment and then leave to see to her orders. As the door closed she sighed. She was unsure if it was early or late, either way, it was far too soon for her to have been roused. Though she could guess the reason.
Leaving her bed she didn't bother with unbraiding her hair or any of her formal court gowns. Instead, she pulled on the simplest and thus easiest to dress in gown from the bottom of her chests. It was one of the few gowns from her time as Ramsey's wife that she hadn't sent to be turned into rags. She wasn't sure how it'd remained in her wardrobe so long, likely just forgotten…or the small part of her that had made it and been too loath to be parted from it. After all her sewing had been the one thing Ramsey hadn't taken from her.
She laced it up the front without hesitation, grabbed an embroidered wrap, and pulled it around her shoulders before walking through the door into her private solar. "The Forrester party arrives tomorrow then?" She addressed the question to Hogg.
He bowed quickly before straightening. "Aye, best guess an hour or two after dawn. They changed their pace after Woolfield removed Lady Whitehill from their custody."
Sansa accepted that it'd been an expected possible turn of events. She looked at the disparate though connected people in her solar. "Well, what decision have you reached?"
Conin straightened. "If you would bless our union, your Grace." He reached out, taking Mira Forrester's hand as he spoke.
Sansa's eyes tracked back to Hogg. "I assume it's been settled within the Order?"
"Aye." Hogg gave Conin a sharp nod. "He's no longer a part of the Order."
She glanced at Brienne. "Send for Ser Flint to meet me here in an hour, and have Loras dragged out of bed." Sansa gestured to the door. "Two hours in the gods' wood then." She smiled faintly as Conin bowed and Mira curtsied. She hoped they were happy, it certainly was a sign of times to come. With more living noble daughters than sons, marriages below one's station were going to happen. Still, it would seem she would be giving her blessing to the beginning of the pattern.
Sansa looked up from her desk at the sound of Ser Flint her senschel's arrival. "I'm sorry for rousing you from your bed, but we have much to see to and little time to do it in."
"The Forresters, your Grace?" Flint asked, sharp man. And why she appreciated his service.
She hummed. "Indeed, Mira Forrester is eloping in the gods' wood with Conin of my guard in an hour." She ignored his startled expression. "We'll need to have rooms set aside for them and their possessions moved to quarters in the same wing as the rest of the Guard's quarters. Something with a few rooms, at least two. The morning meal will need to be a small celebration for their nuptials. Some fresh mistletoe over the headboard in their new quarters and on the tables in the great hall. And then we'll need everything prepared for justice in the Forrester and Whitehill matter."
Flint, ever professional, folded both his hands over the top of his cane. "And when Lord Forrester is rightfully irate that you would not only allow, but bless the union of his sister with a man who lacks even a family name?"
"He will know exactly how displeased I am that he would put personal grudges over common sense on the eve of war after I've so richly rewarded him and his House." She forced her ire over the pointlessness of the matter down. "And I have no intention of leaving Mira to rot."
Flint didn't flinch from her words. "You'll make the boy a landed knight then?"
"Indeed, that should solve his lack of name and quite honestly it's past time I had proper ladies in waiting. Mira is uniquely suited for organizing such a thing. It also solves my lack of scribe." Sansa set her quill down from where she'd been writing the required papers of ennoblement. "I'll give them one of the minor keeps at the northern edge of Stark lands. The Bolton's so kindly slaughtered several of the branch families who once held them."
He gave a thoughtful nod. "I can see the wisdom of such a thing. Lord Forrester may duel the boy."
"And he'll lose." Sansa was half counting on the man being stupid enough to do so. It'd legitimize her decision, after all. Rodrick Forrester, lingering injuries from the Red Wedding or not, had a reputation as a warrior. It'd make Conin's skill at arms above reproach. "Thoughts on Lovewell as a name?"
Flint snorted. "Well that'll make a statement, you Grace." He titled his head. "This will make you few friends."
"The carrot and the stick. Lord Forrester has refused my goodwill, he and the rest of them will learn why that was stupid. I can't tolerate infighting now." She handed him the list of what was needed. "You'll see to it?"
Flint tipped his head. "Aye, I suppose you'll be giving the boy a horse and armor?"
"He already has armor thanks to his position. If you could see to the horse, it'd make a fine wedding present, don't you think?" Sansa raised a brow. "Ensure nothing is stated as a gift to Conin alone, but rather two of them. It's Mira whose loyalty I want the court to note."
"I'll see to it, your Grace." He dipped his head before turning to see to his tasks.
Sansa let out a long sigh, rubbing at her temples as the door closed. It was going to be a long night and then day. But she had a wedding to attend.
////
Mira Forrester had known since she was a girl her marriage would be a tool. But then every woman's marriage was such and she'd trusted her father to do well by her. Her time in the Reach had taught her far more of the realities of marriage than she'd known. She'd thought she'd been prepared. And then it had all fallen apart and she'd been forced into a marriage she'd despised on threat of death until Margaery Tyrell had had her husband killed. A thing she'd met with relief.
Being home in the North, safe and secure she'd thought herself free to finally expect the marriage that she'd been promised. A good man of correct standing and the ability to aid her family. It wasn't much to hope for. But her brother was held in high esteem by their Queen, their House's position was secure so long as they survived the next handful of years. The few months to perhaps a year she had to be a widow were a blessing. And then Rodrick had fucked it up. She'd realized then what marriage was laying ahead of her, and marrying a crotchety old man was nauseating. Her brother wouldn't be able to afford to marry her to someone for any reason save power. Power only an established Lord with no wife could provide. So a widower of some years.
Her mouth felt dry as she laid her hand in the crook of Loras's arm. "Thank you."
"Always." Loras smiled at her. "I underestimated you."
Mira couldn't help the huff at that. "You underestimate a lot of women."
"Well, I can't be perfect." He paused before leading her into the gods' wood. "You could still change your mind?"
She looked away from his face and to the future. "No, I've made my choice."
"Well, let's go and get you married then." Loras squeezed her hand, and then led them forward.
Mira walked into the gods' wood in the early first rays of dawn. The sky was just beginning to lighten as they walked across the fresh snow through the wood. As they came to the heart tree she was…surprised by the dozen or so bleary-eyed Lords who'd clearly been woken and dragged from their beds to witness. She didn't focus on them, instead, her eyes found Conin waiting at the tree. She was heartened to see the several members of the Order of the Shield. She had not broken that for Conin, and she was glad.
She didn't feel afraid looking at him. Their future days would be difficult and dangerous, but she was not afraid of him. Which meant more to her than love or rank or wealth. She calmed her heart rate and felt it slowing. She refused to focus on the pain that it was Loras giving her away instead of her brother. Instead, she focused on Conin's dark curls and the splattering of freckles across his pale nose and cheeks.
Her voice was clear as she spoke the words that would bind them, her lips curled faintly at how Conin's voice nearly cracked. She didn't doubt her decision as they knelt before the tree, her hand in his. Of the many silent prayers she might have given, the one she asked for was for them to survive the coming storm. And then her maiden's cloak was removed, and Conin's simple green Guard's cloak was wrapped over her shoulders. And as they turned to face the world as husband and wife, hand in hand, she felt like she could breathe freely.
////
Sansa smiled to herself as she saw the new couple on the second to the highest table. She knew her court was confused, many an early riser had sent word to rouse their allies. Nearly the entire noble population of Winterfell had made it to the morning meal despite Sansa not doing a thing to cause it. Every nobleman and woman was nervous. They had yet to realize quite how large of a shift was about to happen, but they knew one was here. Sansa rose from her seat, the hall quieting instantly. "Lords and Ladies, people of the North."
Everyone was paying close attention.
"We live in dark times with little time to partake in joy. But for that reason, it is more important than ever that we celebrate what joy there is, and that loyalty, faith, and goodness are rewarded." You could've heard a pin drop. Sansa looked at the newly wedded. "Approach."
Conin and Mira rose and made their way before her, both lowering their heads in respect.
She walked around the table before halting. "Conin, kneel."
His eyes widened, interesting, no one had told him what was going to happen. But he kneeled without hesitation. Mira took a half step back.
Sansa held out her hand to Brienne. "Your sword if you would."
The cold steel of the hilt was promptly laid in her hand. Raising the sword she laid the flat of the blade on his shoulder. She spoke the shorter words of the oath of knighthood, so as to avoid speaking of the Faith of the Seven. "Conin, do you swear before the eyes of the old gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord, and your queen, to fight bravely when needed and do such other task as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"
Conin's voice didn't waver or crack. "I swear by the old gods and by her Holiness."
She tapped his other shoulder before lowering her sword. "Then rise, Ser Conin Lovewell, and may you not only serve long and loyally but may your future be bright and full of the love you and your wife share."
The hall filled with clapping, it was done to be polite, but it was there nonetheless. And Conin's face was full of a joy and awe that was beyond words as he looked at Mira as if to check it was real. "Thank you, your Grace!" His cheeks were bright red and flushed.
"I know you will prove my generosity wise, Ser Conin, in the days and wars to come." Sansa took a roll of parchment, her seal prominently on display. "As such you and your wife will be given the keep at the edge of the Wolfwood and the lands beholden to it, to serve and protect."
Mira accepted the role as her husband seemed beyond words. She lowered in a curtsy, and Conin quickly followed suit, bowing. "We are honored, your Grace."
Sansa smiled, turning her attention to the court who very much were realizing just how large of a political move she'd just made. "Now, it is rather the wrong time of day, but our love birds insisted on an early ceremony. So, let us not buck all tradition. Let us bed them!" She stepped back.
And well, they were Northerners and the fun of a celebration easily broke any tension or oddness. The enthusiastic Order members certainly helped. The newlyweds were swept away with laughter and shouts of the usual good cheer, rewards, and love for gossip could inspire.
Sansa returned to her seat. Well, her opening gambit had begun. By end of the day, her court would realize the true measure of the threat. She felt a settled determination as a man hurried before and bowed before speaking. "Forrester banners approaching the gate, your Grace."
Well, that timing couldn't have been neater. "Have Lord Forrester, Lord Whitehill, and those men of standing from the party brought to the King's Hall." She rose, projecting her voice. "Please, remain and eat. I leave you to see to a matter of justice." She turned in a swish of skirts, Brienne and Wagstaff falling into step behind her. No doubt no one would be sitting out of court today. But well, manners.
Sitting upon her throne, Sansa coldly watched Lord Rodrick Forrester stride down the hall. The benches and room on either side were crammed with people. Rodrick clearly had realized he'd overstepped based on his purposely respectful face. Behind him, several men, notably Torrhen Whitehill were in chains as they were led in by eight Forrester men at arms.
Rodrick Forrester came to a halt before her throne and dropped to one knee. "I've returned victorious, with your enemies defeated, your Grace."
"Have you?" Sansa's voice was clear and her face felt like it was carved. "I wasn't aware I had enemies for you to be victorious over in the Ironwood."
There was distinct awkwardness throughout the Forrester party. Rodrick lifted his head. "Lord Whitehill abandoned his post and raised arms against your forces."
"That's a dirty lie!" Torrhen snarled, pulling against his chains. "You brought an army to my lands!"
Sansa held up her hand. "Enough!" Her gums ached as if her teeth wished to be fangs, by the side of her throne Ghost and Shaggydog bared their fangs. A low growl came from deep in Shaggydog's chest, no doubt Rickon was wearing his second skin then. "Get on your feet, Lord Forrester."
The hall was tense as the man rose to his feet.
She turned her gaze on Lord Whitehill. "Lord Whitehill, you left your post on the Wall, raised arms against forces under the royal banner, and spilled Northern blood on the eve of a fight against the Dead. Do you deny it?"
"Forrester threatened my home!" Whitehill's face was red. "I had no choice-"
Sansa's eyes narrowed as she cut him off. "No choice? The soldiers were under Stark colors. Did you think me so feckless as to turn on a House sworn to me with no cause or provocation? Surely a single raven could have been sent. A single moment of thought to think you were being provoked into stupidity?"
Whitehill seemed to deflate. "I only took my men home to defend my keep and my family."
"Against direct orders from your Queen, in violation of the terms laid out to earn the mercy, I showed your House. This is treason. Do you deny it?" Sansa stared at him, daring him to argue.
He swallowed, the anger draining from him as he seemed to realize exactly how serious his position was. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing
"Then the law is clear. I sentence you to death, to be executed at noon this day in the old way as justice demands. Those men who had been assigned to guard The Shadow Tower are to be sent to Castle Black and there to swear to the Night's Watch. Should they refuse this mercy to be hung from the neck until dead." Sansa continued, ignoring the panicked expressions of her Lords. "As you are the last trueborn son of House Whitehill and your sister has married into House Woolfield," there was a surprise, the court hadn't known that, "Highpoint, as well as all lands, titles and wealth, shall be forfeited to the crown until it can be awarded to more loyal and deserving vassal."
Torrhen Whitehill jerked. "You can't do that!"
"Remove him." She turned her gaze on Rodrick Forrester as her guards dragged the screaming and cursing man from the hall. His face was undeniably pleased. It was a mistake. "Lord Forrester."
He bowed. "A just decision, your Grace."
"I do not appreciate having my hand forced, nor my time and the lives of my men wasted." Her tone was cold.
Rodrick barely repressed a flinch. "I meant no disrespect, you Grace."
"What else would you call taking the men I gave you to secure Ironrath and placing them on the border between your lands and that of the Whitehills where they had no business being? To then use me as executioner for your own personal grudges? You walk perilously close to breaking faith with the crown." Sansa didn't have to be Daisy to know the man's heart was beating rapidly.
He had a nobility to him to his credit as he stood tall before her displeasure. "House Forrester's loyalty to House Stark is unfailing. If I have acted rashly, I can only beg understanding. The Whitehills killed my father, my brothers. If my actions provoked them it was out of caution, not malice."
"Let us be clear Lord Forrester, your family was avenged, all but two of the members of House Whitehill were dead. Their military strength was broken and the remnant on the Wall in preparation for the coming war. Your family's loyalty and losses were rewarded in both trust, position, and reparations. There was no threat to be abundantly cautious of. Even as you acted the last of your family was traveling to take shelter in my halls."
The growl in Shaggydog's chest prevented anyone from speaking. Sansa continued, "You did not break my peace, by the barest of margins. And my instructions for the use of my army were unspecific enough you have broken no oath. However, it would seem I have misplaced my faith in you. You will no longer hold the title of Master of Reserve, the title and authority are no longer your concern. Your command of those divisions of my army I had entrusted to you is at an end. You are no longer welcome on my small council. As House Whitehill will no longer exist after today there will be no reparations owed to you from whomever I gift those lands and titles to. You will remain Lord of Ironrath and Lord of the Ironrath alone. Before the month is out I expect you and your men to man the Wall in place of the Whitehills. I suggest you do not waste my time again."
Rodrick was horrified, his face pale, murmurs rushing through the hall. "Your Grace! Surely that's too much! We have ever loyally served House Stark! A single mistake out of grief for murdered family, you must understand!"
"I must nothing." Her voice snapped across the hall like a whip. "My brother is treating with the House that burned my grandfather and uncle alive, who stole and raped my aunt to her death. I sit here preparing to stand against the Dead while the Lannisters still breathe." She rose from her throne. "Do you think our personal grudges and agendas will matter when the Long Night comes? I have suffered the presence of oath breakers, enemies, and traitors to my brother in my halls, on my council." As she spoke she knew Ghost had risen behind her, flanking her. "And I will continue to do so because it is necessary. If you or any Lord wastes my time and the lives and security of this realm again I will mount your or their heads on my walls without hesitation. Is that understood Lord Forrester?"
He lowered his head, his hands shaking ever so slightly. "Yes, your Grace."
"Then my judgment is made and the court is dismissed." Sansa turned and swept from the room. Her anger and fury at the stupidity of men who should know better felt like ice in her veins threatening to crack and swallow her into icy depths below. She was done leaving any doubt in the thick, stubborn, northern heads that she was anything but capable of doing what was required.
It was a cold rage that settled into her bones and stayed there. And it filled her with purpose and carried her through the dozens of tasks she had awaiting her until the execution. And it kept her solid and unwavering as she stepped to the raised platform with a headsman's block set in the middle of it. The crowd of Winterfell watched as Torrhen Whitehill was brought to the platform by two Stark men at arms.
He licked his lips, looking out across the hostile courtyard. Then his eyes turned to her. "Keep my sister safe."
Sansa wondered if he was a good man, it didn't really matter. She simply gave a tip of her head in acknowledgment of his final words. Already she had secured his sister and ensured her life, from there she would be given the tools needed to survive. What she did after that would be her own concern, not Sansa's. She turned to Loras who was holding the sheathed greatsword she'd been learning to swing in the gods' wood.
There was a change in the atmosphere as she took the hilt of the sword and unsheathed it. The sword was large, near as tall as she was, from tip to pommel it came to near her chin when standing up. The weight was both less and greater than she'd have expected before having held it all those days ago. She set the tip of the blade upon the platform, her hands holding the hilt. "I, Sansa Stark of Winterfell, Queen of the North, the Trident and the First Men, Protector of the Realm, sentence you to die."
Torrhen gave a spiteful glare across the people there, and dropped to his knees, laying his own head on the block.
The crowded courtyard was eerily silent, as was customary for executions in the North. For death was not a sick show to them as it was in the south. But even then she could feel the weight of her people's eyes more heavily than the sword weighed in her hand. She did not buckle or hesitate or shudder from her duty. As she had passed the sentence, she swung the sword. And it was done.
Chapter 78Notes:Black Panther Wakanda Forever was solid, had a fun time seeing it. Probably the best Phase 4 MCU movie.
Also guys, guys we finally got to something y'all have been wanting for months now =D
Chapter TextArya was leaning against the window, looking through the glass down at where Rickon was attempting to not get murdered by Lyanna Mormont. She raised a brow in amusement as he hit the ground. "Do you think he'll want to squire?"
"Who?" Sansa asked absently from where she was writing at something that was no doubt important.
She smirked over at her sister's redhead. "Our baby brother."
"Rickon?" Sansa actually had an expression of surprise, as if her brain had tripped.
Arya couldn't help the snigger at seeing her sister flat-footed for once. It was not an expression she wore often. "Well, he's not bad with a sword. Bran used to want to be a knight."
"I…well I suppose we should ask him." Sansa sighed, the line of her shoulders lowered. "Which knight takes him as a squire may be an issue. They'll all want to like we don't have more important things to be doing than currying favor."
Arya crossed her arms as she continued to lean against the wall by the window. "It's that important who trains him?"
"Don't be an idiot, it doesn't suit you." Sansa's gaze was positively exasperated.
Her lips curled upwards in smug amusement. "Well, I can't entertain myself entirely with how your Lords jump at my very presence."
"You and Rickon are going to kill someone from heart failure." Sansa's eyes turned back to her writing. "I'm surprised you're not trying to fight the Order?"
Arya made a faint noise at that. "They're fun, but not every day." She did appreciate the Order of people willing to not only fight her but the glee they showed anytime she knocked one of them on their back was faintly concerning. "What are you writing?"
"Instructions for Lord Blackwood in regards to the Tully holdings." Sansa set her quill down. "I'm expecting several nobles to discuss ladies in waiting. If you want to escape, now would be your chance."
She considered it, her sister's meetings were dull. But she would admit to being curious about what her sister intended after beheading a man yesterday. So she simply remained, saying nothing.
Sansa didn't comment, she simply gave a flick of the eye, and then continued with her work. It was a curious thing about her sister, she merely accepted her choices with no or little comment. She just continued with the quiet dignity that suffused her being. Her every movement purposeful and graceful. Watching her was like watching an image that not even their mother could have achieved.
Arya looked away from her sister and back out the window. She felt the faint warm glow at watching their baby brother, who was taller than her damn it, eagerly bouncing to his feet to chase after the Order as they went to run yet more laps. If her brother didn't want a knight she'd have to show him a thing or two. Well, she'd have to show him either way. And if his knight opposed she'd just have to see the issue removed. There were lots of knights.
She was considering if he knew knife throwing when the doors opened and whoever it was that Sansa had been waiting for was announced. Arya did look away from Rickon at the names. Lord Manderly, Lord Glover and Mira Lovewell? Interesting mix. Perhaps this meeting wouldn't be as dull as expected. The devotion radiating from the men was amusing, it left Arya feeling rather smug to see it.
Lord Manderly raised from his low bow to Sansa. "My Queen, you wished to speak with us on a matter?"
"Yes, it's come to my attention that I have overlooked appointing ladies in waiting. A thing that would decrease the number of letters I am constantly in need of writing, as well as spreading the duties required for running the court." And a dozen other things were left unsaid, but Arya heard it all the same in her sister's voice.
Mira Lovewell had a startled expression on her face, though she hid it quickly.
Lord Glover frowned. "If I may, is that necessary? Surely a scribe would be enough."
"You underestimate the duties a lady in waiting can accomplish, and it is a way to reward loyal Lords." She turned her attention to Manderly. "Your granddaughters would be quite suitable, and if we mean to make Winterfell a final hold before retreating should the Dead take the Wall, they could move as many as possible to Whiteharbor should Winterfell fall."
Lord Manderly was clearly pleased. "I would be honored to send for them, your Grace."
"Excellent, I will be grateful for their aid." Sansa acknowledged. "In the meantime, your concerns Lord Glover are noted. I have no intention of having more than six ladies in waiting at any one time. Unless you have another option for six literate, politically capable, people of noble status sufficient to take some measure of my lesser duties?"
Lord Glover cleared his throat. "My apologies, I take your point, your Grace."
"No need to apologize Lord Glover. It's been near three hundred years since the North last had a proper court and our borders are far greater than they were in the time of Torrhen Stark." Sansa offered, a brisk kindness to it. "Now onto the matter of the small council. I intend to name Lady Dustin to Lord Forrester's position, she's already aware of and partaking of the work. It also will soothe some fears of my holding resentment towards those who have stood against me after the business with Lord Forrester."
"I can see the wisdom in that, but she's a woman. And had familial ties with House Bolton. Surely such a position would be ill-suited for her?" Lord Manderly put in, though the abundant caution was amusing.
Sansa raised a brow. "I should hope it hasn't missed your notice that I am a woman. And Lady Dustin has far more years of experience than I have breathing. Her unfortunate family connections are rather the point. Or do you disagree?"
"If you're going to do it, I will admit now is the time to do so." Lord Manderly had a faint twinkle in his eye. "But I believe you have more to announce you think we shall not approve of, your Grace."
Sansa gave him a faint nod. "I intend to name Tormund Giantsbane to half the lands left by the Boltons officially instead of presumptively within three months' time. And I intend to name Lord Royce to the small council, as well as Lord Mallister."
"To which positions then, your Grace? There is only Master of Commerce and Master of Whispers left to be named." Lord Glover looked deeply confused.
She folded her hands before her on the desk. "With Jon in Dragonstone my formal small council numbers only six. Of those, Wolkan is of limited use outside of his knowledge of healing, which leaves me with five individuals to give advice worth listening to. And I cannot have three kingdoms sworn to me and only men of the North on my council."
"The Vale has not yet bent the knee." Lord Manderly leaned back on his heels, understanding crossing his face. "You mean to give Lord Royce a temporary seat as representative of the interests of the Vale and name Lord Mallister as your Master of Commerce then?"
Sansa nodded. "Exactly. If you would draw up the appropriate paperwork Lord Manderly." Her eyes turned to Lord Glover. "I expect an accounting of laws from the reign of the Targaryens compared to those laws that pre-date their conquest in my solar by the end of the month Lord Glover, as well as your recommendation on any adjustments that may be required moving forward. Until then, the two of you are dismissed unless there is anything else?"
Arya knew her sister needed more sunlight while it lasted. Also, that old fat men could and would talk about nothing for hours. She very pointedly stepped away from the window and closer to her sister's shoulder, while one hand played with the pommel of her sword. She could feel the men's eyes tracking her movements.
They both bowed. "No, thank you, your Grace."
"Very well, now Lady Lovewell, if I could have a few minutes of your time." Sansa switched her focus easily enough.
Arya rolled her eyes as the two important old men scurried out of the room like frightened children. Honestly, men. She returned to her place by the window, though she kept her sister and the lady who'd been at the heart of so many goings on in the corner of her eye.
Sansa held out a roll of parchment. "I've taken to seeing all the details of your new House are seen to."
"Thank you, your Grace." Mira accepted the parchment, unrolling it to quickly glance at what it was. She stilled part way through. "Our sigil is to be Mistletoe."
Sansa leaned back in her seat. "It is in some part presumptuous of me. But I believe we both know your husband wouldn't have realized you needed one for a week at least."
"Love Triumphs." Mira's voice was quiet. "You mean to use my husband's and my promotion so quickly? And against my brother?"
"Yes." Sansa didn't bother being nice about it. "If I allow infighting to break out we will all die. You and your husband, unfortunately for you, are an easy symbol of my displeasure. For what conflict this will cause between you and your brother, I am sorry. But it is necessary."
Arya wondered how the mistletoe was important, but she had no doubt that it was. Maybe because it killed trees? She blinked, oh that was why. Interesting threat, not subtle, but then this Sansa was both more and less subtle than she had been in childhood. She wondered how close Sansa had been to chopping off Lord Forrester's head? She might even ask later.
"I understand, I will see to it that Conin's dress holds our sigil." Mira dipped her head.
Sansa's eyes were sharp, but she seemed to come to a decision. "And your own, after all, it would not do for my principal Lady in Waiting and courier of whispers from my nobility to look anything but the part."
Arya's head snapped to the meeting happening.
Mira choked on air, her eyes widening. "Courier of whispers?"
"No doubt you've noticed I have yet to name a Master of Whispers, and in time I will. You also are not an idiot and must know a great deal of my information comes from Hogg and Lord Baelish. I would know what my court is whispering that members of the Order are not privy to. I dislike being blind to the state of things. In future, you will answer to whomever I name for the post of Master of Whispers. But let us say I have learned that having only one source of information is foolhardy. And so I would have you do this service for me. Unless you are opposed?" Sansa waited, though it was clear it wasn't a true question. No, she had her claws far too deep in Mira for 'no' to be an option.
"It would be an honor." Mira lowered her head in deferment.
Sansa paused. "And I should think your brother will forgive you eventually, once he realizes you've secured a position inside my inner court that no doubt you will use to advocate for the family of your birth?"
Mira swallowed, her eyes disturbingly wet. "Yes, your Grace."
"Good, then I suggest you see to your wardrobe as your position as my Lady in Waiting. I'll expect you at my side beginning in three days' time." Sansa gave a gesture of dismissal with her hand.
Mira curtsied low. "I will serve you as best I can, your Grace." Her voice was thick, and then she turned and left. No doubt a great many things to see to.
Arya cocked her head as the door shut. "Did you do that because you felt bad or because it was useful?"
"Both. If I'm going to do a thing, it ought to be for more than a single purpose." Sansa stood. "I take it we are to go and see Rickon's training?"
Arya's lips curled. "Oh, and how do you figure that?"
"You wish to go, but have decided to shadow me as well." Sansa stepped around her desk and linked her arm through hers. "I appreciate your concern."
Arya walked, leading them out of the room. "Concern? Just wondering if perfect Sansa was going to start crying over cutting a man's head off."
"Severed heads stopped being shocking a long time ago." Sansa's eyes turned distant. "He used to take me to the walls and make me look at them. Joffrey."
Arya's jaw tensed, though her steps remained even. "Well, we'll be seeing a great many more heads if you mean to face two wars."
"At least." Sansa let out an exasperated sound as the Royal Guard fell into step behind them. "We are surrounded by enemies."
She didn't disagree. "Do you remember what father used to say?"
"The lone wolf dies." Sansa began.
Arya finished. "But the pack survives." She considered how to put it, but then careful words had never been her way. "We're together."
Sansa squeezed her arm gently. "You are remarkably suited for the position of Master of Whispers."
"You're joking?" Arya huffed.
"Why should I be?" Sansa stared at her with those piercing blue eyes. "You're a Stark, my sister, and a faceless man. I should think very few are as suited for a role in the shadows as you are." Her focus softened. "Of course, if you do not wish to, someone else will prove suitable eventually."
Arya felt like shifting awkwardly at the sentiment, the faith, and recognition of who she was from her sister. "I'll think about it." She allowed finally.
"That is all I ask." Sansa replied, a restrained affection in her tone that meant far more than words could say.
So Arya said nothing to it. Instead, she noted the change in the attitude of the men and women they passed as they walked through the clean halls. "They respect you more."
"I followed the old ways," Sansa replied, her head held high as it always was now. "I have borne two names besides Stark now. They have not forgotten that."
Arya's brow pinched at the reminder of what had been done to her sister. She wished she could kill Baelish already. If she wore his face it's not like anyone would need think anything had happened to him for months. But then any plans of his already in motion might harm them. Logic was irritating sometimes. "You're a Stark."
"And they will never forget it," Sansa stated with a surety that could not be shaken.
She gave a slight nod to that. "Good."
They remained in a comfortable silence as they walked the rest of the way out to the yard itself. She ignored Sansa's faint indication of going to the walkway above the yard. Instead, she led them out into the various men at arms, Vale knights, and people who were constantly competing for manly acknowledgment.
Rickon caught sight of them, or rather Shaggydog scented them and Rickon's head snapped around a half-second later. His face split into a massive grin, and then he took off into a sprint for them. His feet left the ground and he lunged forward hugging them both desperately. "Sisters!"
Arya wheezed slightly from the force of him squeezing. Fuck, he was going to tower over them in a few years. She still wrapped a single arm around him. Her lungs filled with the comforting scent of him.
While she might have been slightly stiff about it, Sansa was not. She hugged Rickon back as fiercely as he hugged them. As he pulled back, Sansa cupped his cheek. "I hear you are doing very well?"
"I'm getting better every day!" He proudly puffed up, basking in their attention.
Arya flicked her eyes to the men who'd been working with him. Interesting, they agreed. It would seem their brother wasn't merely bragging. Her eyes flicked back to him. "We'll have to see how you are with a staff."
His face lit up even more somehow. "You'll show me?"
"Well, you are my brother." Arya wondered if she should blindfold him, she'd have to ban Shaggydog from the yard if she did or he'd just cheat.
Rickon bounced on his toes. "Can we start now?"
"Tomorrow." Arya disliked how many people were watching, no she'd teach him in the morning.
His eyes snapped up, and away from her. "Daisy."
Arya and Sansa, as well as the whole yard, turned as a speck in the sky grew before it landed with a great gust of wind in the courtyard. And Arya couldn't keep the way her mouth opened slightly as she realized fully that the spec that had just hurled into the yard was a person.
Her sister's paramour was not what she expected. Instead of a woman dressed as a man, she was in a dress. A very girly dress that was all soft greens with golden roses embroidered all over it. The hair brushing against her shoulders with a vivid streak of blue was also not as described. However, the visible muscle on her uncovered arms, faint scar across one cheek, and the way she held herself with utter assurance said perhaps not everything she'd heard was wrong either.
The woman easily straightened as if falling from that height and at that speed was nothing, her face lighting up as she instantly locked onto Sansa.
Sansa made a sound in the back of her throat that was…hilariously close to a croak and a squeak at the same time. "Your hair!?"
Daisy, for it had to be Daisy unless there were other strange women who flew, paused, her face surprisingly amused as she showed exactly zero of the awed distance from Sansa that everyone else seemed to treat her with. "There was an issue with a dragon." She walked straight for Sansa with a smile.
"You…what are you wearing?" Sansa had not sounded so close to the tone she'd taken as an outraged child since Arya had returned home.
Arya glanced at her sister's face and felt like laughing. Well, her sister wasn't all that cold and controlled all the time then.
Daisy came to a halt within arms reach of Sansa. "Got held up at the Reach. But Jon's safe, sorry about being late getting back to you."
"You…" Sansa stepped forward throwing her arms around the other woman and hugging her tightly.
Arya watched curiously as Daisy's eyes fluttered shut as she hugged her sister back automatically. It was like both of them were breathing out in relief at being reunited. She raised a brow, actually, Sansa seemed to have lost a weight that had been on her shoulders. It was simply gone. She wasn't stupid, whatever they truly meant to each other it was important, and whatever it was her sister felt it was returned. Interesting, a shame though. She'd have liked to have killed a god.