Chapter Text
There were no warm days in the North anymore, but at least the morning of Daenerys Targaryen’s arrival was clear, the winter sun illuminating the fields of snow that stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. From atop the battlements of Winterfell, Sansa had an excellent view of the massive columns of soldiers coming down the Kingsroad. The Unsullied marched in perfect formation, displaying a discipline unmatched by any army Sansa had ever seen.
Somewhere amid that host were her brother Jon and his new queen, but at this distance, Sansa couldn’t pick them out yet. The queen’s dragons were another story. As they cut through the horizon, every eye in the castle turned toward the skies, hers included. Sansa had seen so many beautiful and terrible things over the last few years that she had thought herself beyond shock, but this was still enough to steal her words. Dragons were legends and fire and terror and to see two of them here in North was a wonder even to her.
Beside her, she could see Margaery tensing and on reflex, she reached out her hand. As their fingers entwined, Margaery squeezed down and Sansa turned toward her lover, permitting herself a reassuring smile. There were limits to how much affection they could show in public, but right now Sansa was confident that no one was focused on the two of them.
From further down the battlements, Lord Royce gave voice to what everyone was thinking. “Now there’s something I never thought to see.”
“Nor I,” Sansa said, trying her best not to let her awe show. There were few whom she trusted enough to share her real feelings with, especially now. She used to be sure of the North’s support for her family, but with Daenerys on her way, the picture had become more complicated. Men would do much to win a queen’s favor, especially one who had dragons. “But it’s good that they’re here,” she added. “We’ll need every advantage when the army of the dead comes.”
“Of course you’re right, my lady,” Lord Royce replied. “Still, they are… remarkable.”
“Indeed,” Sansa agreed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my lords, the wind has been at my hair and I should fix it before the queen arrives here. Lady Margaery, if you would be so good as to assist me…”
“It would be my pleasure.”
Sansa regretted that these small fictions were necessary, but they were part of the unspoken bargain of these last few months. By now, some of the other lords had probably guessed at the true nature of her relationship with Margaery, but they had said nothing to her on the subject. Sansa allowed them to pretend that nothing unusual was going on, and they didn’t trouble her with their suspicions to the contrary.
She and Margaery walked down from the battlements together with Brienne trailing close behind them. With her sworn shield at least, there was no pretending. She had been the first person Sansa had told about her love, and Brienne had served as the couple’s steadfast protector ever since. Out of loyalty, of course, but also understanding. Brienne might not have shared Sansa’s preference for other women but she knew what it was like for a lady who behaved in unexpected ways.
Once they reached Sansa’s chambers, Brienne fell back, allowing her and Margaery their privacy. As soon as the heavy door closed behind them, Margaery took advantage of that gift, placing a soft kiss on Sansa’s lips. In spite of her anxieties, Sansa let out a pleased sigh. In the past few months, she had learned there was no day so heavy that Margaery couldn’t lighten it, at least a little.
Regrettably, this was no time to lose herself in such pleasures. Although she drew Margaery into her arms, it was only for a brief embrace. After a few blissful moments, Sansa pulled back and Margaery said, “You’re more worried about Daenerys than you want to admit to the others.”
Her tone made it clear that this wasn’t a question; they knew one another too well for artifice, and with her lover, Sansa could afford honesty. “I am. You saw the size of her armies. You saw her dragons.”
“Your brother claims that she can be trusted,” Margaery replied, but behind her words, Sansa could hear some of the same uncertainty she felt herself.
“I trust that she’s our ally against the Night King. But afterwards, if we win the war with the dead… The Targaryens killed my grandfather and my uncle and you know how easily alliances can sour when the circumstances that inspired them change.”
Margaery slid behind Sansa, busying herself with her ostensible purpose for being here. She had a deft touch and Sansa enjoyed the feel of those nimble fingers running through her hair. “I do,” Margaery agreed regretfully. “I suppose we’ll have to hope that Daenerys is more reliable than Cersei Lannister.”
The hate in Margaery’s voice when she spoke that name couldn’t be missed. If there was anyone in the world who had as much reason to detest the queen as Sansa, it was her. “That wouldn’t be saying very much,” Sansa told her, bending her head so that Margaery could make a few additional adjustments to her braid. “You must be excited to see your grandmother again at least.”
“I am,” Margaery agreed, although she didn’t sound as joyful at the prospect as Sansa might have thought.
“Except…”
“Except I’m not sure what she’ll make of the two of us.”
That surprised Sansa. “I thought she knew about your affection for women.”
“She does. It’s not what we’ve been doing together that will bother her. It’s my decision to stay with you instead of seeking another husband that she might not be so understanding of. I suppose I’ll have to make her see that you’re the only one for me now.” Margaery slid Sansa’s braid aside so that she could kiss the back of her neck. “And speaking of marriage, how are you feeling about the prospect of seeing your former husband again?”
Although Margaery couldn’t see her face, Sansa was smiling. “Strangely nostalgic. After all, it was my impending marriage to Tyrion that led you and I to have our fateful discussion about what ladies prefer.”
“So it did,” Margaery agreed, and Sansa could hear her mood lightening as well. “I only hope Tyrion isn’t expecting a joyous reunion when he arrives.”
Sansa shook her head. While her wedding had been a nightmare, Tyrion himself had been far kinder than most would have been in that situation. He knew what their marriage was and what it wasn’t and he never tried to “claim his rights” as a husband, to use the loathsome phrase that men invoked to justify their actions. “He knows me better than that.”
“I did try to tell you he wasn’t so terrible,” Margaery teased.
“And that is why you’re my most trusted councilor,” Sansa laughed back. “As Tyrion is now Daenerys,’ according to my brother.”
“That’s a hopeful sign,” Margaery offered. “There are far worse than him who could have her ear.”
“We’ll know soon enough,” Sansa said, drawing herself up straight. “Come, my love. We had best not keep Queen Daenerys waiting.”
***
Sansa stood as straight as a spear, watching impassively as the courtyard filled up with Daenerys’ soldiers and travelling companions. Although Sansa knew she would have to learn more about all of these people in time, for now her attention was absorbed by just two of them. The first was her brother, looking very much the Northern lord in his thick furs. However much Sansa questioned some of his decisions since he left Winterfell, it was a relief to see him return home alive and well.
And then there was his new queen. Daenerys’ heavy white travelling clothes did nothing to hide her Targaryen beauty, and even without saying a word, her aura of authority was unmistakable. It was an impressive combination but also a dangerous one, and Sansa found herself further on her guard as Jon ran across the courtyard to embrace Bran.
“Look at you,” he said as he kissed their brother on the forehead. “You’re a man now.”
“Almost.”
Sansa had become used to Bran’s monotone, but Jon hadn’t, and she couldn’t avoid a knowing smile when he furrowed his brows in confusion. “Where’s Arya?” he asked her as they embraced.
Sansa had to swallow a laugh. “She’s lurking somewhere around here.”
Jon grinned at that. He had always been the closest of all of them to Arya, more tolerant than Mother and even Father of her peculiarities. Rather than complain about her absence, he stood up straight and turned toward the approaching Daenerys. “Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen,” he declared. “My sister, Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell.”
Daenerys smiled winningly at her. “Thank you for inviting us into your home, Lady Stark. The North is as beautiful as your brother claimed. As are you.”
Sansa paused, wondering what else Jon might have said about her. She supposed the answer would have to wait for another time. “Thank you, your Grace. Winterfell is yours. And may I present Lady Margaery of House Tyrell.”
Margaery’s curtsy was as perfect as one could hope for, especially given the heavy Northern gown she had adopted. “It’s an honor to meet you, your Grace.”
“Lady Margaery? Not ‘queen’?” Daenerys asked, and there was a chill in her voice. “I had heard you were married to the usurper Tommen Baratheon.”
Anger kindled in Sansa like wildfire, but Margaery’s composure never waivered. “I was, your Grace. But ‘lady’ suits me better now. Whatever he might have been, Tommen is dead and House Tyrell has pledged itself to your cause.”
Daenerys’ face softened. “So your grandmother explained to me when she received word that you were alive. And never fear, I have pardoned your house for its past alliance with the Lannisters.”
Sansa misliked Daenerys’ framing of the issue, but instead of questioning it, she simply asked, “And where is Lady Olenna, your Grace? We had heard she was travelling North with you.”
“She is.” Daenerys explained. “Her wheelhouse should be arriving soon enough. She and some of my other councilors decided they would be more comfortable that way than on horseback.”
Before Sansa could respond, Bran suddenly spoke. “We don’t have time for this,” he said, looking straight at Daenerys. “The Night King has your dragon. He’s one of them now. The Wall has fallen. The dead march south.”
***
It wasn’t long before their party had reassembled in Winterfell’s great hall, joined there by a crowd of lords and knights from both the North and Daenerys’ entourage. Among them were so many faces from Sansa’s past that she could hardly sort out her emotions at seeing them all again, but Tyrion, Olenna, and the Hound could wait for later. Between Jon’s return, Daenerys’ arrival, and the news that the dead were drawing near, there were far more important things to address than her feelings.
“They’re afraid,” Margaery whispered to her as everyone made their way to the hall’s long benches.
“I know,” she said softly. But who do they fear the most? she wondered. The Night King or the dragon queen?
As everyone else sat, Sansa remained standing, allowing all eyes to come to her before she spoke. “By now you have heard that that our enemy is approaching,” she told them. “But rest assured, we are ready. As soon as I heard about the Wall, I called all our banners to retreat to Winterfell. Lord Umber, when can we expect your people to arrive?”
Ned Umber stepped forward, clearly terrified at being called on to speak in front of such an august company. “We need more horses and wagons, if it please my lady…” He trailed off, trying to figure out whom precisely he should be addressing. “And my lords… And my queen. Sorry.”
Sansa ignored his awkwardness, favoring him with a slight smile. “You’ll have as many as we can spare, my lord. Now hurry back to Last Hearth and bring your people here at once.”
With a bow of his head, Ned returned to the safety of his bench as Jon added, “We need to send ravens to the Night’s Watch as well. There’s no sense manning the castles anymore. We’ll make our stand here at Winterfell.”
“At once, your Grace,” Maester Wolkan replied, but before they could move on to other business, Lyanna Mormont spoke up.
“Your Grace?” she asked, her skepticism unmistakable. “But you’re not, are you?” she continued, rising to her feet. “You left Winterfell a king and came back a… I’m not sure what you are now. A lord? Nothing at all?”
From her seat at the end of the high table, Lady Olenna said, “Hush, child. The adults are speaking.”
Unlike Ned Umber, Lyanna wasn’t frightened in the least by the company she was in. “I speak for House Mormont. We named Jon Snow the King in the North, and we demand to know what he did with the crown we placed on his head.”
Murmurs of agreement came from all corners of the room, and when Sansa looked at Jon, she saw the doubt in his eyes. This was what she had had feared. He wasn’t their father, whose rule in the North had been accepted without question. Jon’s hold over his people was tenuous and it couldn’t be transferred so easily to a foreign queen.
“You did make me your king, my lady,” Jon agreed. “And it was the honor of my life. I’ll always be grateful for the faith you showed in me.” He rose from his chair, now speaking to the entire assembly. “But when I left Winterfell, I told you that we needed to find allies or we would die. I have brought those allies home to fight alongside us. I had a choice: keep my crown or protect the North. I chose the North.”
Sansa’s eyes shifted to Daenerys, and hers, she saw, were fixed on Jon. The rest of the room wasn’t sure where to look. More murmurs passed back and forth as those assembled tried to work out where their allegiances should lie.
Before they could decide, Tyrion rose from his chair. Sansa didn’t need to have spoken with her former husband to tell that he had changed since they last saw one another. The most obvious change was the thick beard now covering his face, but whatever had happened to him went deeper than that. There was a deep grief in Tyrion that Sansa could recognize all too easily.
“If anyone survives the war to come, we’ll have Jon Snow to thank,” he told the crowd. “He risked his life to show us that the threat is real. Thanks to his courage, we have brought with us the greatest army the world has ever seen. We have brought two full-grown dragons. And soon the Lannister army will ride north to join our cause.”
At that last, the room grew even more hostile, and Sansa with them. Daenerys’ presence, though uncomfortable, was a necessity, but the Lannisters were something else entirely. Instinctively, she turned toward Margaery, seeing the fear in her lover’s eyes. Sansa yearned to pull her into her arms, to assure her that she would bathe the North in Lannister blood before she let Cersei harm either of them again.
“I know, our people haven’t been friends in the past” Tyrion continued, trying to turn the growing anger. “But now we must fight together or die.”
Sansa turned to Daenerys, cold fury surging through her. What kind of a deal had the queen made, bringing their enemies into her home? “I know that,” she said icily. “But may I ask how we are meant to feed them, to say nothing of the greatest army the world has ever seen? While I ensured our stores would last through winter, I didn’t account for Dothraki, Unsullied, and two full-grown dragons. What do dragons eat, anyway?”
“Whatever they want,” Daenerys said, and the naked assertion of power in those words brought a chill to Sansa’s heart that all the hearths in the room couldn’t banish. Between Cersei, Daenerys, and the Night King, it would take every ounce of cunning she could muster to make it through the winter without being devoured herself.