Chapter Text
Lord Glover had refused the call to fight for the Starks, in a war that was bound to kill us all. Sansa thought as she folded the parchment in her palms. She closed her eyes and listened to the hearth crackle, warming her solar, just as the fury of Lord Glover’s betrayal warmed her bones.
Sansa stood in the high tower of Winterfell’s Lord’s Chambers and once more opened her eyes then gazed out her window, casting her eyes across her home. The sun peered through the clouds throwing wisps of silver light down upon the castle. Winter snow fell, flecking the grey castle battlements with white. She peered beyond the castle to the vastness of the North. The largest Kingdom in the realm, of which all its lands and people were now Sansa's responsibility to protect and lead.
She returned her view to inside the grey walls of the castle which, over the last several days, had begun to fill with refugees from the country who resided in villages or smaller holdfasts to the north. These people had sought the protection of the Starks of Winterfell from the White Walkers and with them, the Long Night. Aged men and women wearing tattered furs, rough-spun cloaks and patched leathers sought sustenance within the castle. They walked towards a makeshift outdoor kitchen, whilst a group of children kicked around a ball made of crude and hard leather. Soldiers sworn to the Starks were in the castle courtyards training common folk made up of children, men and women, with sword and shield. Spear, axe and hammer. Her brother, as Warden of the North, had commanded that every man, woman and child that was able to fight should be trained and armoured. Sansa did not like to embrace that thought, but she believed Jon when he told her of the immense threat that was the Night King, his White Walkers and their army of dead. Jon had fought them first hand on two separate occasions and lost the battle both times. So she agreed that they needed every person that could fight, to fight.
Northerners with their thick beards and their bodies layered in wool and fur had begun building caltrops from wood taken out of the Wolfswood, spiked with Dragonglass that Jon had brought back from Dragonstone, the seat of House Targaryen. As they did, an ear-splitting screech filled the cold air as one of Daenerys's dragons flew over Winterfell. The dragons black scales, sprinkled with white snow, had flown alarmingly low over the castle whilst the people in the courtyard looked up in horror at the sight. After their brief shock and reprise, they slowly returned to their tasks. Dragons in the north were something most people would not get used to anytime soon. The Dragon Queen, Daenerys Targaryen who styled herself as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, now resided in Sansa's home. The daughter of the Mad King who murdered Sansa's uncle and grandfather, the sister of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen who had raped and murdered Sansa's aunt Lyanna Stark. She gritted her teeth as these thoughts crossed her mind.
The North remembers, nobody more than the Starks, she thought to herself. Jon was named King in the North making the North once again independent, just as they wanted. But he sacrificed that and bent the knee to the dragon, though Sansa knew he did that out of his love for his queen, even if he would not admit it. Love makes people do stupid things and Sansa was not going to kneel to this Daenerys Targaryen or her dragons no matter how hot their fire burns or how loud their roars tore apart the skies. She knew what a lust for power and control did to a person, at first sight of Daenerys she had reminded Sansa of all the power-hungry manipulators Sansa knew when she was a child prisoner in King's Landing. One of whom, Cersei Lannister, now rules at the Capital with a lion's iron fist.
I am a child no longer, Sansa would not let her or her family become prisoners again or be manipulated by those who deemed to have power. Daenerys had that power and claimed to have come north to fight Jon's war out of love for him. “Tell me, who manipulated whom,” Sansa remembered the Dragon Queen saying.
You’ve seen the army of the dead, yet you say Jon manipulated you to fight them, even when they are a threat to the very kingdoms you claim to be the protector of? Sansa let out an audible sigh and shook her head in disgust. Even with her sacrifices, Daenerys would make to help in this war, Sansa could never trust her to be a good ruler. Power is power and power corrupts, but all these thoughts about queens and dragons and power and murdered family clouded Sansa's mind and made her blood thicken. She closed her eyes again, in thought.
She found herself thinking of her family, in particular, her sister, Arya. She tried to channel the strength her sister had and the calm demeanour in which she portrayed herself, despite her own demons Arya was fighting in her mind. As she thought of her little sister, she grabbed at the needle pendant hanging by her waist, fashioned after Arya’s own sword called Needle, Sansa had made it as a reminder of the strength of her sister and the new bond and understanding they now shared. Sansa let out a deep breath and let the pendant fall back to her waist. She turned to face the old Maester Wolkan, and to his left, the Lord Protector of the Vale and Sansa's strongest ally Bronze Yohn Royce. Sansa took her place at the head of the office table, sat and unfurled Lord Glover’s parchment in her hand.
"So Lord Glover will send a small supply of food but nothing else," she sighed in annoyance.
Once they dealt with the dead, she would deal with the wind vane that was Robett Glover. She tossed the parchment, marked with the sigil of the fist of House Glover, onto her table and brought her attention to Wolkan. "Any news from White Harbor Maester?"
"Only the raven Lord Manderly sent that arrived a few days ago, my lady," Maester Wolkan said in an aged and timid voice. "He is making his way to Winterfell as we speak with soldiers and a small provision of food, he should arrive before nightfall."
Sansa contemplated a moment before speaking. "Bronze, could you ride south with an honour guard and meet Lord Wyman on the Kingsroad? Escort him and his men to Winterfell and pass on my apologies for not greeting them myself."
"Of course, my lady," he said in his unmistakable deep voice.
"Maester, I've heard whispers that our men are becoming restless and the common people more fearful by the minute," Sansa said, though knowing full well what the response would be.
"Many know of the stories of the Long Night that happened thousands of years ago, my lady, the fear of it happening again worries them," Wolkan offered.
"Stories of a looming army of dead will not help our soldiers fight, nor will it keep our people calm. Go about the castle before dusk and speak to as many commoners and soldiers and tell them we will be having a feast in the courtyards and that all are welcome."
"As you command, my lady. Should we have some food brought to you inside the castle?"
"No, I will eat outside tonight." She thought of her father. Eddard Stark would take a different person every night into the Great Hall to have dinner with them, to hear their stories, their problems and their needs. She remembered a night that seemed like a lifetime ago, Mikken the Blacksmith was brought in to feast, she recalled his gaudy laugh and toothless smile, his great grey beard and wrinkled skin. She remembered how he made her father laugh, the smile he wore and his grey loving eyes. She remembered her mother Catelyn speaking to Mikkens wife. The way her long auburn hair of the Tullys flowed, the hair Sansa had inherited, though hers was a much brighter red than her mother had. "Kissed by Fire," Tormund of the Free Folk would call Sansa.
She reminisced happily about her mother's love, her warm hands and soft smile. She missed her mother and father, she wished they were here. She wished her father could see how strong Arya had become, despite the things she has been through and the things she has done. But Sansa caught herself thinking of Jon and her mother. Catelyn had never loved him, she blamed and cursed him, every second of his presence was a reminder to her mother of things she would rather forget. But Sansa still wished she were here, she yearned that her mother could see how close she and Jon had become since they were children and all the things he has done to protect their family and their home.
If mother were here, she would forgive Jon and thank him for all he has done for us, for me. She would see all that he has done for her daughters and her son and the North and she would call Jon a Stark. I know she would. He deserves that much.
The door to Sansa's solar opened and one of her personal guards entered with a half confused, half dumbfounded look on his face. "I don't mean to intrude, Lady Sansa, apologies," the guard said.
Sansa raised her head to meet the guard with the great brown beard and smiled. "There is nothing to forgive Aberdale. What is it?"
"It's Lord Varys, m'lady. He wishes to speak to you,"
Sansa's smile faded the spider. She knew of Lord Varys from her time in King's Landing and heard more since then, a man that changes loyalty almost as often as the weather changes. He had now declared for Daenerys Targaryen.
No doubt she has a hand in Lord Varys wanting to speak to me. Sansa questioned. I will trust this man as far as I can throw him. She raised her chin and nodded to Aberdale, and he retreated beyond the door, at this Sansa rose from her chair, Maester Wolkan and Lord Royce followed and bowed to Sansa. As they began to exit the solar Lord Varys entered, the three exchanged titles and courtesies, but Sansa noticed Lord Royce's bow to Varys was quite stiff and stilted, this could not help but amuse Sansa, though she caught her smile before it appeared on her face and told herself to remain stoic.
After Maester Wolkan and Lord Royce left the solar, Aberdale closed the door as he bowed to Sansa. Lord Varys moved towards the table in small placated steps before stopping. "Lady Sansa." The bald man bowed low and let it linger before returning upright.
"Lord Varys," Sansa spoke in a flat tone and returned the bow, though with not even half as much effort as he put into his. "Spiders do not do well in the North."
Varys's smiled. "Neither do Mockingbirds," the smile was cutting as he spoke. "Or so I have heard."
Sansa made her eyes linger on Varys. The eunuch wore dark robes with black embroidery in the form of dragon scales that lined his collar and sleeves. His hairless head adorned a round face with small beady eyes and a pleasant, practised smile that Sansa had seen before on many people. She walked across the room to a table next to the hearth, on it lay a wine pitcher and several pewter goblets. The pitcher was filled with a red wine of the Abor, sweet and musty.
"I'm sure you've heard much and more, my lord." She began to pour the wine into two goblets and listened as she heard the spider weave his web.
"I have heard that a certain Lord Baelish of the Fingers had met an untimely and unpredictable death at the hands of his protege and her sister."
She drew her eyes upward at that and grinned to herself. Picking up both goblets, Sansa turned to face Varys and handed him one with a smile and motioned towards an empty chair for him to sit in.
"Why would you have any interest in Northern matters?" She mused, pacing back around the table and taking her seat once again.
Varys spoke as he began to sit. "I am an adviser to the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Her Grace only wishes to know why the former Lord of Harrenhal and Lord Protector of the Vale was sentenced to trial and executed by the Lady of Winterfell. And for me personally, he was a dear friend," he took a swig of his wine.
Sansa heard the lies he muttered and the unspoken meaning between his words, she noticed the Spiders eyes dart across her room as he drank. A voice echoed in her mind. Fight every battle, everywhere, always, in your mind. Everyone is your enemy, everyone is your friend. Every possible series of event is happening, all at once. Everything that happens will be something you will have seen before.
Sansa took a drink of her wine, the sweet red smell of Arbor berries filled her senses, and the wine tingled on her tongue.
"I would not have thought Her Grace would acknowledge titles given to those by the usurpers of her throne," she said, returning to her goblet for a second drink.
Varys smiled. "A mere courtesy."
"Is it?" She replied sharply. "Her Grace wishes to know why I had ordered the execution of the man who betrayed my family. The man who was behind the War of the Five Kings. The man who had sold me to the Boltons and then tried to turn my sister and I against each other? The North and the Vale demanded justice for everything Lord Baelish did, and I gave it."
Sansa could see Varys begin nodding before a look of curiosity came upon his face. "And they respect you for it, love you even. But he had done all those things and yet you still kept him close for such a long time?"
Sansa's grip on her goblet tightened. "Better the enemy you know, then the stranger you don't," she said.
"And who was the stranger, my lady?"
She paused a moment before letting herself breathe. "The game.”
"Ahh, the great game," Varys leaned back in his chair. "I am sure Littlefinger had taught you much, he was a smart man, ambitious, ruthless and I admired him for it. Is the game still a stranger to you?"
No, she thought, we are playing it right now. "I have yet to find out, I don't believe I have been tested," Sansa remarked, in her best impression of an uncertain little girl.
"The game is indeed terrifying," Varys said. "Even more so now that we live in a world of dragons and White Walkers. Your brother, Lord Snow, has said it most astutely. We need to stand together and be allies in these uncertain times. Together we can survive, and together we can fight back against the tyrant enemy down south, for the good of the realm." Varys’s eyes seemed to stare through Sansa's. "An enemy you know well."
"I told Jon, Lord Tyrion and Her Grace, not to trust Cersei, but they did, and she broke their trust," she replied.
"As I said, my lady, an enemy you know well," his smile cut again, but Sansa could see that he felt proud of himself. "Queen Daenerys is a stranger to you, but as long as you cooperate, you have no reason to fear her and to—”
"Fear?" Sansa made the word sharp. She made it cut into Varys's words as Arya's dagger had cut into Littlefinger's throat. "Do you fear her, my lord?"
"Any ruler must know how to inspire fear and show mercy when they are necessary," Varys responded.
"Mmm," Sansa contemplated on that, and she placed her goblet of wine on the table. "Forgive me; I don’t know Daenerys. I want to believe in her, do you truly believe in her?"
"I travelled across the Narrow Sea to support her, my lady.”
"So you believe she is the best for the realm?"
"I do, she saved thousands of lives in Essos," Varys replied
"Slaves," corrected Sansa.
"Indeed, but lives all the same."
"Yes, they are," Sansa said. "And she did save them, I am sure they are grateful. But there are no slaves in Westeros. I can only hope the choices she makes for Westerosi lives are for the good of the realm."
"As do I," he replied. "Queen Daenerys has her trusted advisers to help her make those choices as any good ruler does."
"Yes, just as Lord Tyrion helped her make the decision to burn the Tarly's alive," she reproached. Varys shifted uncomfortably in his chair. She saw him take a short swallow and watched his eyes glance around lightning quick before he looked back at her. She knew the truth of it now. "Or was that her own choice?" Sansa mocked. "All this talk of her listening to advisers…” She leaned forward in her chair, staring at Varys. "You have doubts in her ability to rule.”
"I don't believe I said that," Varys replied.
Sansa could only smile as she sat back into her chair. "I lived in King's Landing too, Lord Varys. We both know a person can say one thing, yet mean something completely different."
Varys face was incredulous until his lips went into a wide smile. "The game isn't a stranger to Lady Stark anymore it seems."
A knock came at Sansa's door. "Come in," she spoke toward it.
Lady Brienne entered. "Forgive my interruption, but you asked for me, my lady?" she said.
"No interruption," Sansa said, rising from her chair. "Lord Varys was just leaving."
Varys rose from his chair, placed his wine on the table and bowed deeply to Sansa then turned and bowed curtly to Brienne. "My lady, Lady Stark is fortunate to have a warrior of your skills by her side."
Brienne had a look on her face as if she did not know how to respond, she bowed her head at Varys, and he proceeded to leave Sansa's solar.
"What did he want?" Brienne said after lord Varys had left.
"What any Master of Whispers wants," Sansa said. "Information."
She turned to look out her window. The winter snows still fell on the North. The sun was near its zenith as it peered through the thin clouds gifting the land with specs of white light, it was almost noon. She turned back to her table and began writing on a blank parchment.
"Is there something I can do for you?" Brienne said.
"There is," Sansa replied eagerly. She blew air on the wet ink on parchment, confident that it was dry she rolled it up tightly. "Head down to the courtyards, look for children wearing old direwolf pins and give one of them this." She handed the parchment to her trusted adviser and loyal protector. "They will know what to do."
"Children?" Brienne questioned, grabbing the parchment.
"Orphaned children of Northern families that fought for the Starks and were loyal to us. When you have done that return here, then at noon we will leave again."
"Yes, my lady," Brienne bowed her head and proceeded out of the solar.
Sansa picked up her goblet of wine and drank deeply.
They walked through Winterfell's courtyards, past groups training, through stores of caltrops, by servants cooking in the yard kitchens and finally, they arrived at the door to Winterfell's underground. "Stay here, make sure no one enters," Sansa commanded Lady Brienne as she opened the large door and headed down into the depths.
The steps of the crypts were lit by scones every few feet. The air was colder down here, Sansa had to wrap herself tightly in her cloak as she descended into the ever eerie darkness. There was a time when she was younger when the crypts of Winterfell would scare her, the cold air and the immovable statues of her ancestors and their shadows that seem to follow her. But now she came down here often and as she walked through the halls underneath her home she felt safe and she felt amongst welcome company, she was with the Kings of Winter and her family. She finally noticed the shape of a small figure standing in front of the statue of her brother Robb, as she came closer that figure became her sister and Robb's stone direwolf, Grey Wind took its shape, curled around his master's legs. Arya was facing Robb's statue, staring intently at his image.
"The grey wind stirs at noon," Arya said, as she held up the parchment Sansa had given Brienne. "Clever wording, Lady Stark."
"You don't have to call me that in private you know," Sansa said. "Or anywhere really, you're my sister."
Arya gave her sister a quizzical look. "When I returned to Winterfell, you said I had to call you that."
"That was a joke," Sansa said flatly.
"You aren't very good at jokes, sister."
"Well, you'll have to forgive me. We're Starks. Humour isn't our strong suit."
"Keep making that excuse," Arya said wryly. "You get used to it though, calling you Lady Stark. Besides, I know you enjoy hearing it." Arya looked up at her sister and gave her a sly grin. Sansa could do nothing but roll her eyes and smile at the jest.
"So, what's happened now?" Arya said as she returned to her expressionless demeanour.
"Nothing urgent," Sansa replied. "One of the Dragon Queen's advisers came to speak to me."
"Lord Varys?" Arya ventured.
"How did you know?"
"I’ve been keeping an eye on him, on them all. I saw Varys speaking to the Dragon Queen, I saw him ask for your whereabouts and I saw him walking towards your chambers.”
Sansa was now the one with a quizzical look on her face. "Are you sure you don't want a place in my court?" She half-jokingly said. “You’d be a great deal of help.”
"No thank you," Arya replied. "I'll leave the politics to you. What did Varys want?"
"Information, he was trying to find out if I was working against his queen."
"What did you tell him?"
"Nothing he doesn't already know. But I did learn a few things that may help in the future."
Arya returned her gaze at her brother’s statue and nodded her head in acceptance.
"Arya," Sansa said. "Do you trust her. The Dragon Queen?"
"Jon does," Arya said evasively.
"Jon is in love with her Arya. Look at what happened to Robb," Sansa turned her gaze to Robb's statue. "Look how much love affected his war effort and where it led him. I won't let that happen to another of our brothers, not after everything Jon has been through, not after everything he has done for us and our home."
"Even if it hurts him?" Arya questioned.
"Hopefully it doesn't come to that," though even as she said that, Sansa could feel a pang of guilt tear through her. She suddenly felt regretful and sad.
"I don't want to hurt Jon,” Arya said, breaking the silence. “But I don't trust his queen. I've watched her, she is too hungry for power to be trusted and she is not, and never will be one of us.”
Sansa turned to face her sister. "Thank you for being honest with me, but I still need your help, I need your skills. Will you keep an eye on Lord Varys?"
"I will," Arya said in agreement.
"Let me know if you notice anything strange," Sansa said. "Use the little wolves if you need to. I should go before people start to wonder where I am. Thank you, Arya."Sansa turned and began to leave her sister at the statue, but a sudden thought crossed her mind and made her stop. She faced Arya once more. "Have you told Jon about the Twins. About what you did to the Freys?"
"No," Arya's answer was one that did not want further scrutiny.
"I know you are worried that what you did may concern Jon, but you should tell him, Arya," Sansa pleaded.
"Jon is a man of honour," Arya said. "Even after they betrayed and killed him, people say he still lived by his honour. Any bit of honour that I had, left me when I left Westeros."
"What are you saying?" Sansa stepped forward, not believing what her sister had just said. "You told me that you refused to kill an actress in Braavos and that is why you left the Faceless Men."
"I did, but she died anyway. People I try to save always end up dying soon after. Killing is what I am good at. I've killed many people. I fed the lord of a great house his sons, and then I assassinated him. Then I murdered the rest of his house while wearing his face. Jon being concerned is an understatement."
"Even still," Sansa said, not putting it down. "You told me about it all, but I am not a warrior like you and Jon and you two are close. He will come to understand. Speaking to him may help you with those things we talked about. It helped me when I spoke to you about Ramsay."
Arya looked up to her, with wide, sad eyes. Sansa noticed that she looked younger than she ever has since she returned to Winterfell. And Sansa realised that she isn't looking at Arya Stark, the brave, fearless warrior trained by some of the best swordsmen in the realm and honed by the dangerous Faceless Men. She is looking at Arya Stark, youngest daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark, and her little sister who had suffered years of torment and struggled to survive just like Sansa did.
“Arya?” Sansa asked with quiet care.
"I will think about it," Arya replied finally, in an uncharacteristically weak voice. "Thank you, Sansa."
Sansa nodded to her sister, content with the answer. She turned on her heels to walk down the halls of the crypts and began to make her way back to the surface. Noon had passed, but there was still more work to do.