Chapter Text
Sansa watched as Joffrey clawed at his own throat. His fingernails tearing gashes in the creamy flesh. His face was turning a ghastly purple making the whites of his eyes and the blonde of his hair seem ghostly. His wormy lips sucked and gasped for air. It was a horrible sight, yet she could not look away.
“How long do I have to look?”
“As long as it pleases me.”
She wondered if it pleased him now. She felt a hot hand grab her wrist and flinched before seeing Ser Dontas’ alcohol flushed face.
“If you wish to see your home, to be safe, come with me.” He tugged her wrist and she followed.
Her slippered feet made her clumsy, the heavy fabric of her dress making her sweat, her hair escaped from the amethyst hairnet, but she followed. Through corridors, and alleys, and streets with no name, until she squeezed between two buildings and the smell of salt water invaded her senses.
It was pleasant, compared to the filth of King’s Landing.
“This way my lady.” Ser Dontas lead her toward a small dock where a single row boat rocked in the tide. When she saw the lone figure sitting in the boat she shrank away. “It’s alright, my lady. This is the engineer of your freedom.”
Sansa carefully lowered herself into the vessel, Ser Dontas following and beginning to row. The scent of perfume combined with the sea air.
“Lord Varys.” She whispered.
“My lady.” Came his soft whisper. “We are headed to a trading vessel bound for Meereen. Once you land, you have an audience with Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. You must convince her to offer you protection. You have valuable insight into the political situation of King’s Landing, as well as the Lannisters and their hold in the realm. Use that to your advantage.” Varys’ voice was as soft and rapid as the flutter of wings. “Do you understand, my lady?”
Sansa nodded and there was silence for a long period before she spoke.
“May I ask you a question, my lord?” Her own voice was a whisper.
“Why am I aiding you?” Lord Varys asked, an eyebrow raised a knowing smile on his lips. Sansa shook her head.
“No my lord.” He would only tell me lies . “What do you want in return for this service?”
Varys’ smile changed to one of almost satisfaction.
“You’re asking the right questions, my lady.” Sansa nodded her thanks of this slight praise. “From time to time a little bird will come to you and ask for information that you will provide.”
“So I am to become another of your little birds?” From one cage to another.
“We’re here.” Ser Dontas said, his usual tone and volume jarring after the whispers. Sansa looked up and saw a large and beautiful ship. The kind that carries silk to Dorne and never returns . She thought. A rope ladder descended for her.
“Ready for the lady!” a gruff voice called. Varys placed a soft hand on Sansa’s arm as he spoke.
“You have never been, nor will you ever be, a little bird. You are a wolf. You will always be a wolf.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sansa knelt before another monarch, begging for mercy. This time was different, the mercy was for herself, there was no hint of falsehood, there was no tang of gratuitous cruelty. But that did not mean Sansa was safe, it merely meant she would see the dragonfire coming to claim her.
“Why should I grant you freedom, let alone allow you to reside in my palace?” Daenerys paused after she spoke, but Sansa knew she was not finished. “You, whose Father fought with the Usurper, who sat on the Usurper’s Small Council only to betray the Usurper by denouncing his son?” Daenerys rose and descended from the marble bench that acted as a throne. “It seems to me that traitor's blood, not wolf blood, runs through your veins.”
Sansa bit the inside of her cheek. She would not be emotional, she would not fight purely for honour. Father had. Robb had. And they died for it. She raised her eyes to that of Queen Daenerys’ and found a stoney kind of rage, but also a hint of compassion.
“Your grace, I understand that to you the actions of my father and my house seem treacherous, but to us the actions of your father, and even your brother, did not inspire love nor loyalty.”
“You dare-” The Queen started before glancing at the older man in Queensguard armour that stood a little way from them.
Ser Barristan Selmy . Sansa recognised him. Barristen the Bold. But was he bold enough to tell a queen a terrible truth?
“Some actions are indeed indefensible.” The queen conceded, though it looked to cost her greatly. “But that does not excuse disloyalty.”
Sansa knew the next words to leave her lips should be ones of soothing assurances, of love and loyalty, perhaps a disavowal of her name and house. That’s what Cersei would expect. It’s what Margaery, and Littlefinger, and Varys would have done. But despite her tutelage Sansa was still a Stark.
“If I may speak candidly, your grace?” She asked, ignoring the aching of her knees. Daenerys gave a slight nod of her regal head. “Your father murdered my uncle and my grandfather. He had a noose tied about my uncle’s throat and a sword placed just out of reach. This sword could have saved my grandfather, who was burned alive whilst his son choked to death trying to save him. My uncle died with his father’s screams in his ears.”
Sansa saw Ser Selmy flinch from the memory, but noticed the queen did not. She did not shrink from hard truths, and Sansa admired that. “This was after your brother and my aunt disappeared. I do not know if Rhaegar stole Lyanna, as Robert Baratheon believed. I do not know if they ran away together driven by love, as many a song whisper. I do know the Rhaegar was a prince, and a husband, and a father; and my aunt not more than a girl. In my understanding, your grace, the discontent between the Starks and the Targaryens seems justified.”
“And what of your father’s betrayal of the Usurper? They were said to be the greatest of friends.” Daenerys’ face was as stoney and unreadable as the harpy perched on top of the pyramid.
“My father served Robert Baratheon truly and faithfully. He denounced Joffrey as a bastard for Joffrey is, born of incest between Cersei and Jaime Lannister.”
“I heard this rumour before I left the Seven Kingdoms, your grace.” Ser Selmy said in his deep voice.
“A rumour. Your father started a rebellion based upon a rumour.”
“He denied a cruel boy a throne to which he had no right based on history and Robert’s bastards.” Sansa shifted on her knees, the ache rising to her thighs. “All of Robert’s base born children were born black of hair. All of them. Yet Cersei’s children had golden.”
Ser Selmy seemed to be nodding before muttering “Edric Storm.”
“After my father was beheaded, Cersei had all of Robert’s bastards killed. Even the babes.”
Sansa noted a flicker of true sadness cross the queen’s face at this.
There was silence for a moment.
“Ser Selmy, show Lady Sansa to the blue guest chambers.”
Sansa rose with difficulty, her knees and legs aching with the prolonged holding of her kneeling position.
“If I may request bread and salt?” She asked the knight. The meaning of this request seemed lost on Daenerys, but Ser Selmy simply nodded knowingly.
Sansa had been granted mercy. She wondering if Daenerys’ mercy had the same sting as Joffery’s.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Sansa was finally alone she did not let out a sigh of relief. She did not sag under the weight of fear either. She carefully removed her heavy outer dress, placing it over the back of a chair, and walked toward the dressing table to examine herself in the mirror.
Her face was gaunt, and dark circles framed her eyes making them seem more blue than usual. She reached up and ran her fingers through her hair. She had always loved her hair. Tully red, the same colour as her mother’s and Robb’s and Bran’s and Rickon’s. The colour Father loved. She remembered sitting for what seemed hours brushing her hair until it shone like waves of copper. It might still shine, but not in waves.
“The Dragon Queen is said to be the most beautiful woman in the whole world.” The captain explained, not taking his eyes from the ocean. “But I think you might challenge her.” He smiled. It was a sweet smile, the kind her father might have given her, not the kind of Littlefinger or a drunken lord at a feast.
But still Sansa’s heart stopped.
She remembered Cersei's hatred of Margaery. The hatred sparked by the whispers of Margaery’s beauty. Sansa would provide no such spark that could turn into a flame. So that night when the ship was calm and almost still, she took a dagger and sliced lock after lock after lock of her hair. It fell like flames around her until the ends barely met her collar bone. She looked in the mirror and examined herself critically. That night she did not sleep. She would not allow herself to sleep. And the next night she stayed awake as long as she could. She would not sleep a deep sleep until she saw those dark circles form below her eyes. She did not eat much, allowing her face to become hollow and gaunt.
She may still be pretty, in the same way someone dying of consumption was pretty, but she was no longer beautiful. She stripped off her clothing and made her way to the large bath servants had filled with water and a sickly sweet scent. She sank into the warm water and tried to imagine she was in the hot springs of Winterfell. If she closed her eyes and swirled her hands to make a gentle splashing sound, she could almost manage it.
Almost.
A gentle tap at the door made her sit up quickly, sloshing water over the floor. A tall, slender young woman entered. Her name was Missandei and she was a companion of the queen’s. She carried a pale blue gown cut in the fashion Daenerys had been wearing.
“I am to assist you to dress, and provide anything you may request.” Missandei’s voice was gentle and soft.
“Thank you.” Sansa reached for a cloth to dry herself and heard Missandei’s stifled gasp. Sansa’s skin had once been as pale and smooth as porcelain. Now it was cracked. She had scars along the backs of her thighs where the swords of knights had hit her, cuts on her upper arms where men had grabbed her, and once long scar down her back from where Meryn Trant had slit her dress open so the whole court could see her body.
Let her look, and got back to the dragon and whisper of the cruelty of lions.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sansa walked down the corridor, meeting the eyes of every Unsullied guard she passed.
It had been a week since the dragon queen had granted her asylum and this was the first time Sansa was to dine with her.
It was a slight, but not the worst Sansa had experienced.
When she reached the large double doors that led to the royal suite, they were opened for her and she was announced.
Daenerys sat at the head of the table, a decadent feast in front of her.
Seventy seven courses whilst King’s Landing starved . Sansa remembered, almost shivering. She wondered if this Queen knew about the lives of the people she said she ruled.
“Your grace.” Sansa managed to sink into a graceful curtsey despite the unfamiliar cut of her garments.
“Lady Sansa.” Daenerys’ voice was kinder than it had been a week ago, and was laced with exhaustion.
She is rather young . Sansa thought, sitting where the queen gestured. Not much older than Robb...or Jon.
“Please forgive me for my neglect of you this past week.” Daenerys began with a flick of her dainty wrist that seemed to summon servants from the walls. Sansa’s goblet was filled with a fragrant wine and her plate laden with delicacies which she could not name. “There have been many matters which demand my attention.”
“Of course, your grace.”
There was a moment of silence whilst Sansa contemplated her next gambit.
I must convince her a dragon needs a wolf.
“Are you dissatisfied with your meal?”
Sansa’s eyes snapped to Daenerys’. There was a look of mild annoyance.
“Not at all your, your grace. The meal is simply unfamiliar. Westerosi food is rather different.” Daenerys’ expression soften slightly.
“Try the rice first.” The queen suggested with a gentle smile.
She needs me to be a little ignorant, so she can be wise. Sansa realised.
“Thank you, your grace.” Sansa tentatively lifted a fork full of the fluffy yellow rice to her mouth. It was spicy and savoury. Sansa let a small moan of pleasure escape her. “Oh, it’s lovely.” She exclaimed, smiling at the queen. It was the same smile she offered to Cersei, and Joffrey, and Littlefinger. The smile of sweet, ignorant girl.
“It’s a local dish.”
“The kind of food the people of Meereen eat?” The queen dropped her gaze to the full plate of food in front of her.
“Not at the moment.” Her voice was soft and tinged with regret and a little shame. “They do not eat much at the moment.” Sansa did not speak. She knew the moment balanced on the edge of a blade. Daenerys would either trust her with problems or dismiss her and Sansa did not wish to push the scales out of her favour.
“Some of the cities I have freed some slavery have been over run again and they wish to return Meereen to the cruel practises of the past. A blockade is but one effect of their cruelty.” Sansa nodded and took another small bite of her rice dish. “We shall have food aplenty here.” Daenerys assured her with a gentle smile.
“I was not worried for myself, your grace.”
“What worries you, my lady?”
Sansa bit her lip. Tread lightly . She cautioned herself. One misstep and you will taste fire and blood.
“I was remembering a shortage of food in King’s Landing.” Sansa spoke softly.
“And how did the Usurpers handle the crisis?”
“Badly.” Sansa replied simply. Daenerys chuckled and took a sip of her wine, leaning back in her chair as if waiting for Sansa to tell her a story, to reassure her of the validity of her actions.
“The people starved for want of a pennyworth of bread, whilst the Red Keep served Dornish wine and pineapple almost nightly. When the royal family were returning to the Red Keep a riot broke out. They called it the Bread Riots.” Sansa raised her eyes to meet that of the queen. “I was beaten and almost raped during these riots.”
“You are safe here.” Daenerys reassured. Sansa took a breath. I must convince her of my insight, but I must not threaten her rule .
“I know, your grace. You protect your people, as the Lannister’s do not.” Daenerys replaced her goblet and resumed nibbling delicately at her food. I must try . Sansa thought. “I worry for you people.”
Daenerys’ eyes found Sansa’s and a knot wound its way into Sansa’s stomach. There was annoyance in those startling violet eyes, and rage, but also something else, something Sansa recognised from the mirror of her own, younger eyes. A desire to please, a desire to be loved .
“What would you have me do?”
“I am just a girl, your grace, I know little of the politics of-”
“I used to say such things to men who would patronise me, brush me aside as ignorant and powerless.” Daenerys interrupted. “I do not make the mistakes of a common man.”
No, Sansa thought. Your mistakes cost thousands their lives . She remembered the seamen talking of the Bloody Flux and how the people of Yunkai felt abandoned by their dragon queen. Your mistakes are uncommon and deadly .
“What would you have me do?” Daenerys repeated.
Sansa hesitated for a moment.
Let her see I am a wolf.
“I would have you ration the entire city. Not just the peasants, but the nobles and the palace as well. Let the people know that whilst their bellies ache with hunger, so does yours. Let them know they are not alone. They will repay this loyalty and love a thousand fold.”
“The nobles will not like it.” Daenerys said, rising and moving toward the balcony. “They already rail against my abolition of the fighting pits. This may push them into revolt.”
“I do not claim to have all the answers to the quandary of ruling.” Sansa said, rising and following Daenerys. She stood next to the queen for a moment and paused. “My father always told us that the one who passes the sentence should swing the sword. It’s the way we rule in the North.”
“The one who passes the sentence should swing the sword.” Daenerys repeated, staring out at the lantern studded city below them.
“Perhaps I use some cool Northern wisdom in my sweltering city.”
She needs me to be a little wise, so she can seek council.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sansa sat at the table with the other members of Daenerys’ small council.
“These are my only choices?” The queen asked her voice a shade below a shout. “To re-open the fighting pits assenting to slavery and death, or to keep them closed and face a rebellion from people and nobles alike?” She stood abruptly. “I refuse either choice.”
“Your grace, the people need amusement.” The sellsword Captain of the Stormcrows, Daario, said with a grin. “What is a little blood if the people are willing to pay the price?”
“The kind of price is too high.” The queen, usually partial to the sellsword’s deep and velvet voice was not charmed.
“It’s a brutal and disgusting type of sport.” Ser Barristan proclaimed.
“Any man can fight in the pits. Can you say the same for your tourneys?” Hizdahr zo Loraq answers.
“Tourneys are about training and honour!”
“As are the fighting pits! Even the most lowly can find honour-”
“Lowly! Ha! You mean even a slave! But you have forgotten our queen-”
“Is tired of this squabbling!” Daenerys’ voice rose above the fighting men. Silence fell over the table. The queen let out a sigh.
“Your grace?” Sansa spoke in a soft voice, feeling the eyes of all present on her.
Daenerys turned to her and Sansa saw the queen’s features soften. She begins to like me .
“Yes, my lady?”
“Perhaps there is a compromise?”
“Do you have a suggestion?”
“I believe the people need entertainment, relief from the hardness of their lives. Whilst the brutality of the fighting pits should never be restored, the void they left must be filled by some means. Perhaps, a type of tourney. People could volunteer in a melee type of fighting. Weapons could be blunted, men would yield, and the last man standing would win honour and-”
“And what?” Hizdahr snapped. “The trade Meereen had has been halted, the crown lacks the money for a great prize. What would you, a mere child, have us offer this pretend warrior?”
Sansa’s blood turned to ice.
“Our warrior would receive honours, a stipend until he is unseated, and a gift from the queen herself. A converted token of strength, speed, and cunning, the sigil of her house in golden statue form.” She paused for a moment and met the man’s gaze with her own icy stare.
“I would also remind you, Hizdahr zo Loraq, that I am the daughter of a great house, I am the blood of the First Men, and I have been chosen by your queen to be here. Insult me and you insult the mother of dragons.”
Hizdahr broke his stare and Sansa turned her eyes back to Daenerys. There shone a look of pride in those startlingly purple eyes. She needs me to be a little strong, so she can be soft.
“I have received wise council. That is enough for today.” Daenerys gestured with a flick of her wrist and everyone stood the leave her. “Stay, Lady Sansa.”
Once the chamber had emptied Daenerys led Sansa to her private suite.
“Wine, little wolf?”
“No thank you, your grace.”
Daenerys gestured and Sansa sat on one of the many soft sofas of the apartment. A gentle breeze lifted a gauze curtain making the room a more bearable temperature. Daenerys joining Sansa on the sofa and placed two goblets of wine on the nearest table. The entire city, nobles and peasants alike, were on rations but the queen still had wine when she deemed it necessary.
“Tell me of home.” Daenerys asked, her tone sound more a demand than a request.
“The North is vast, some say it is as large as the rest of Westeros combined. The Starks have ruled the North, as kings or wardens, for thousands of -”
“Did your Maester teach you that?” Daenerys had a kind almost patronising smile on her lips.
Sansa stared at her hands. “Yes.”
“Tell me of your home. Tell me of your memories.” Sansa raised her eyes to meet Daenerys’
She needs me to be a little soft, so she can be strong .
Sansa looked back down at her hands. She spoke of summer snows and great grey walls, of hot springs and kidney pies with peas and onion, of the Godswood and the crypts. It wasn’t until Daenerys reached out and brushed tears from Sansa’s cheeks did she realise she had started to cry.
With a hand still cupping Sansa’s cheek, Daenerys spoke.
“Hush, little wolf. I will take you home. I promise.”
Sansa truly wanted to believe that promise.
But no one ever keeps a promise.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sansa could feel a single bead of sweat sliding down her back as she stood in the Meereenese marketplace. It was a humid and sticky day. Sansa trailed passed stalls of people selling spices and fruits and silks. She planned to buy some silk, just as she had told Daenerys and Missandei and Ser Selmy, who was now trailing a respectful distance behind her. But silk was not what brought her to the marketplace. The twitterings of a little bird called her down from the Great Pyramid. The little bird asked her questions.
How is she dealing with the blockade?
Has she re-opened the fighting pits?
Where are her dragons?
Sansa had answered as cleverly and as honestly as she could.
She rules with righteousness and compassion.
She has decided to re-open the fighting pits but as a form of competition rather than battles to death. Similar to that of tourneys at home.
I do not know where her dragons are.
The last statement was not entirely true. Sansa knew where Rhaegal and Viserion were, she could hear their rumbling roars late at night, deep in the pyramid. But no one, not even the mother of dragons, knew where Drogon roamed.
Her answers must have pleased the Master of Whispers for his little bird whispered something back to her.
The White Wolf has come to the East.
Sansa’s heart had stopped and her mouth had become dry. Over breakfast the next morning Sansa had mention to her, self-proclaimed, guardian that she would be venturing to the marketplace. Daenerys offered a warning for her safety and Ser Selmy as protection.
The dragon queen had come to like Sansa. Asking her to sit on council meetings, attend to her whilst she bathed and dressed, even gifting Sansa small tokens of affection. One day Daenerys summoned Sansa to the barren white marble hall where the queen held court. Daenerys was once again seated on her marble bench throne. From there she proclaimed Sansa Stark her ward, with a gentle smile.
Sansa smiled back. And she smiled now as she felt a silk between her fingers.
“I’ll take nine yards of this blue silk.” She said to the merchant. He smiled at her and passed the bolt off to an assistant. “And nine of this golden peach.”
“It’s a very fine fabric, my lady, are you sure you do not require more? Winter is coming and you may need something fine to warm yourself.”
Her heart stopped and then suddenly seemed to beat extremely fast.
“It surely will not get cold this far east?” She asked her fingers trailing over the fine fabric.
The merchant met her eyes. “I hear that a cool change is expected three days hence.”
Sansa suppressed a gasp.
“I’ll take twelve yards then. Have this and the blue delivered to the Great Pyramid.” She slipped the merchant an unfamiliarly shaped coin and began the walk back to the Great Pyramid and dragons. With the crunch of her slippered feet she could hear the whispers.
The White Wolf comes East.
A cool change is expected three days hence.
Winter is coming.