Sansa

The morning had dawned clear and cold, with a sweetness that hinted at spring. Sansa reluctantly left the warm pelts without disturbing her handmaids. The princesses in the stories probably slept in, inconvenienced only by the odd pea under a pillow. But never a queen, least of all today. She moved to the window and peeled back the heavy curtain. The snows had eased this moonturn, at least the kingsroad would be dry.

"My Lady?" Cairstine said sleepily. "Shall we draw you a bath?"

She might as well get the circus started. "Yes, thank you."

Servants dragged in the wooden tub and hot water from the kitchens, which had been going hard since daybreak. She hesitated only briefly before disrobing, Cairstine only briefly before soaping up the scars on her back - they were getting better at this.

The girls were busy discussing the knights who might attend the feast. With so many men of fighting age dead (some twice-over), Sansa expected them to be no Ser Loras. Poor Loras. Maybe she was just getting old and bitter.

They were interrupted by shouting outside, the door slamming open, a wilding in the room with an axe in hand. At least she was bitter enough to enjoy the irony of surviving Death itself only to be murdered in her bath. She noticed the girls standing as a barrier between them - or rather a parchment screen, doing more for her modesty than her life. Foolish, but touching.

"Beg your pardon, Your Grace," said Harwin, entering while scrupulously avoiding her eyes. "She will be removed at once!"

"Nothing I haven't seen before," said the wildling chieftain, smirking. "I too am twice-kissed by fire. Perhaps some day I'll show you, Lord Knight."

"Enough, Harwin," said Sansa, coming to his rescue. "Kindly shut the door on your way out, you are letting in a draft."

In his surprise Harwin accidentally made eye contact - following by an impressively quick bowing retreat. If only he were half as effective in guard duty.

"Lady Ailith," Sansa said evenly. "Had you sent ahead I might have dressed for the occasion."

"I'm no lady," said Ailith. "Free Folk died fighting the Night King for you. I've come to collect."

"And my sister stabbed the bastard in the heart," Sansa said coldly. "I was in the crypt when my ancestors rose from their graves." She stood slowly, giving Ailith a good look at the scars. If they were going to ride her skin, she would make them work their passage. Cairstine slipped her robe on.

"We've all fought our battles," said Sansa.

"The King Crow promised," said Ailith, subdued.

"He made many promises," said Sansa. "Then he bent the knee."

"He is a Stark!" cried Ailith.

"I intend to honor that," said Sansa.

"Then give us land," said Ailith.

"It's not that simple," said Sansa. "If you wanted boundless acres, you should have gone north with Tormund. This side of the Wall every inch has been owned for generations."

"Good thing the Night King made some room, then," said Ailith.

"The surviving Houses think it would make a fine dowry," sighed Sansa. "If only they could agree to whom."

"Easy," said Ailith, lightening. "Who's the better lover?"

Young Deoiridh stifled a giggle.

"I am spoiled for choice," said Sansa. "Lord Glover's son is barely weaned, Lord Manderly a widower."

"I can make myself available," said Ailith.

Deoiridh didn't hold back this time.

Sansa couldn't tell if she was serious. Northmen's stories probably had more to do with their own fantasies - who knew what really went on beyond the Wall? Jon did, but it's not the kind of thing he'd tell her. "I'm afraid it's not our custom," she said diplomatically.

"Your loss," shrugged Ailith. "I hear you've had rotten luck in men. You should try fishing a different ice hole sometime."

Sansa didn't know enough wildling culture to know whether it was a dirty expression - Ailith sure made it sound dirty. The girls had had enough fun with all this. "I will consider your request," she said. "Barge into my rooms uninvited again and I will have your head."

Ailith burst out laughing. "We'll get along well, Lady Queen."

#

Cairstine helped Sansa into her good black gown. Not for Bran's sake - he might see the past and the future, but he wouldn't notice if she dressed like a wildling. As a little bird she'd dressed to look pretty; as a prisoner, to impress those with power, and remind herself she was still a person. As Queen she found she was still dressing for others: for girls like Deoiridh, and her bannermen, and the commoners who expected a show. Of course, the people would rather eat under a ragtag king than starve under a silken one - she'd seen it firsthand in King's Landing. But if, hypothetically, the food stores were to be depleted by years of war and an invasion of living dead, hopefully a little majesty would buy some time before the lowborn decided to eat the high.

Sansa moved to the solar to break her fast - porridge again. The Others take Glovers and Manderlys, she'd marry that sellsword lord if it meant having fresh fruit from the Reach.

"Your Grace?" said Jeyne, her face that of an embattled commander marshalling troops against overwhelming odds.

"Come join me," Sansa said merrily, "the porridge is extra lumpy today."

This further pained her Steward.

"I'm sorry, the porridge is fine," said Sansa, swallowing a chunky spoonful. "I'm sure the feast will be, too. Assuming we have food?"

"We'll have food," Jeyne confirmed, shuffling slips of parchment. "The royal party will be smaller than King Robert's, and much, much smaller than the Dragon Queen's army - not much different from an invader in that regard, they both eat the countryside dry. Now what's this about you bathing with a wildling?"

"That was fast," said Sansa. "Ailith wants land."

"Who doesn't?" said Jeyne.

"This one has a few hundred sword backing her claim," said Sansa. "She offered to marry me."

Jeyne laughed. "What did you say?"

"I said no!"

"Too bad," said Jeyne, "we could use the extra sword."

"Not worth the scandal," said Sansa. "I'd marry both the kid and the old man if it meant keeping this kingdom from falling apart. If only I had marriageable daughters to give away."

"You should get around to making some of those," said Jeyne. "When a lord and a lady love each other very much, they pray to the Mother…"

"I have a rough understanding of the process, thank you," said Sansa, smiling. "Why is the castle marriage-crazy this morning?"

"It may be connected to the shortage we're facing," said Jeyne, frowning at one of her slips.

"What is it?" asked Sansa, concerned. "Can we send to Castle Cerwyn for it?"

"Afraid not," Jeyne said gravely. "It's a shortage of cock."

Sansa burst out laughing.

"We can't all live like septas, Your Grace."

"From what I hear," said Sansa, "the Steward has shown an inordinate interest in stable management of late."

"We all have needs," said Jeyne.

"Your Grace," said Meera, bowing in her leather armor.

"Captain, thank the gods," said Sansa. "Now we can discuss matters of state."

"The Queen's bed is a matter of state," said Jeyne.

"Lord Glover has requested an audience," said Meera.

"Please show him in," sighed Sansa.

Robett Glover marched into the room, barely nodding at Meera and Jeyne as they left. Jeyne mouthed "babies!" behind his back.

"My lord," said Sansa, stifling a grin.

"You run a womanly household, Your Grace," he said gruffly. "It is one thing to arm them in an emergency, quite another to rule a kingdom. It takes a man to, um…"

Lord Glover seemed even more concerned than Jeyne with the cock shortage. Sansa was actually curious what word he would land on.

"It takes a man," he concluded self-sufficiently.

"Indeed," said Sansa, "we lost many good men freeing the North from the Boltons. Your own men would have been invaluable."

Lord Glover muttered something about Greyjoys.

"But surely it is more productive to speak of the future?" said Sansa.

"Exactly," he said, taking the lifeline. "Gawen is a strong lad. The union would heal the rift between our Houses and bolster your rule."

"An attractive prospect," said Sansa. "Has the young lord learned to talk yet? I do enjoy conversation in man."

"The wedding would be delayed, of course," he said, annoyed. "Were I not married… But it is what it is."

Sansa shuddered at the thought.

"The Western Houses will never kneel to a Manderly as King in the North," he continued. "They're not even real Northmen!"

"Regardless of who I choose to marry," Sansa said coldly, "the Houses will kneel to me, not my husband."

"Of course, Your Grace," said Lord Glover. "But I beg you not to tarry too long. Our patience is not endless."

#

Sansa joined Meera at the wall, laborers hoisting stone blocks onto the scaffolding. As Cersei had doubtless found, dragon attacks (living or otherwise) took a heavy toll on the masonry.

"Our riders have contacted the party, Your Grace," said Meera. "They should arrive later today."

"You sound concerned," said Sansa.

"We lost too many to the dead," said Meera. "Our forces are too few."

"This is what peace looks like," said Sansa. "Soldiers should be home with their families, working their land."

"It's a fine line from soldier to bandit," said Meera. "Many don't have homes to return to. None are the same as when they set out."

"Is that why you left the Greywater?" asked Sansa.

Meera watched the white horizon. "I made a promise once."

"I'm sure he holds it fulfilled," said Sansa.

"He was a sweet boy," said Meera. "Now there is only the Raven."

An unsettling thought. "I seem to find myself with an excess of castles and a lack of loyal bannermen," said Sansa. "Can I interest your family in new holdings?"

"A generous offer, Your Grace," said Meera. "But I'm afraid we frogs don't do well in the cold. The Reeds belong in the Neck."

"I wish I had more like you, Lady Meera," said Sansa.

"Your Grace!" Wyman Manderly called breathlessly, mounting the steps. "A word, if you please."

Meera dropped her hand from her dagger.

"Lord Manderly," Sansa said politely. "I feared you would not be able to join us."

"Always a bother, sailing up the Knife," he chuckled. "But when I heard Glover was coming, I thought it best not to be outdone by the competition."

"Would that you had come as quickly when we faced the Boltons," Sansa couldn't help adding.

"We came before that, when Robb called the banners," he said sourly. "All I got for my trouble was a dead son. He's the one that should be courting you. He'd tell you your hair is like the sunset or some such nonsense."

"What would you say?" asked Sansa.

"Only what you already know," he said. "You need men, and money. I have both. I am not a cruel man. It would be a mutually beneficial arrangement, as all good marriages are."

"It would only cost me the Western Houses," said Sansa.

"Oh, they'll come around," he said. "They are all spray, no bite."

"I will consider your proposal, my lord," said Sansa.

"Very well," said Lord Manderly. "I do not believe myself a particularly proud man, but make no mistake. Marrying the Glover babe would be an unacceptable insult."

#

The visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of silver and polished steel. White banners whipped back and forth in the northern wind, emblazoned with the three-eyed raven Bran had taken as his sigil.

Sansa waited in the courtyard, her bannermen and household arrayed behind her, as she'd done twice before. The first time had brought Joffrey; the second the Dragon Queen. What dangers awaited her now?

The carriage was much smaller than Cersei's wheelhouse. Servants brought out the familiar wheelchair, and Brienne herself carried Bran.

"Welcome home," said Sansa, taking his hand.

"The crown suits you," said Bran, wearing a simple silver circlet.

"You already know my Captain of the Guard."

"Your Grace," Meera said stiffly.

"Congratulations on your sword," said Bran.

Meera and Sansa looked at each other.

"Do you know how long you'll stay?" asked Sansa.

"Enough to ensure the succession," said Bran.

"But surely you'll rule many years yet?" said Sansa.

"Yes," said Bran, turning to Meera. "Would you help me to the godswood? I'll be there if anyone needs me. I don't expect you will."

Meera glanced at Sansa, who nodded.

"Your Grace," said Tyrion, Hand's brooch glinting on his chest.

"Lord Tyrion," said Sansa, surprised. "I'd assumed you'd stay in King's Landing."

"As had I," said Tyrion. "Alas, your brother, in his three-eyed wisdom, saw fit to bestow that honor on Ser Davos, while I'm here freezing my ass off. We come bearing exotic gifts from sunny Dorne."

A servant revealed a crate of round, bright yellow…

"Lemons!" said Sansa, louder than she intended.

"With the formalities done," said Tyrion, "I'll be in the wine cellar."

"But…" said Sansa.

"No need for an honor guard, thank you," he said, walking off. "I remember the way."

"Ser Brienne?" said Sansa.

"Your Grace," said Brienne, white cloak over golden armor.

"As your King and Hand are communing with their respective gods," said Sansa, "I leave you in the hands of my Steward. She'll see that your party is comfortably installed."

#

Sansa found Tyrion among the caskets, as promised.

"Tyroshi pear brandy," he said, cradling a small barrel. "How did you manage this minor miracle?"

"I believe you did, when you arrived with the Dragon Queen," said Sansa.

"Ah," said Tyrion.

He cracked the barrel, sloshed its contents into metal cups, handed her one.

"A toast," he said. "To helping queens burn down entire cities."

"To seeking lesser evils," said Sansa. The brandy burned.

"You saw her more clearly," said Tyrion, pouring himself another.

"I did not," said Sansa. "She could've turned out the best queen in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, I'd still resent her for taking back the North."

"Not to the point of rebellion, I hope," said Tyrion, smiling. "You'd be facing a brilliant Hand. Oh, and a dragon."

"Not an insurmountable challenge, as Cersei showed," said Sansa. "But no, not to the point of war. If I called the banners again so soon they'd probably find a new queen."

"And if Jon had sat the Throne, as Varys wanted?" asked Tyrion.

"The Northmen would have followed him back into the Realm, for all the good that would do," said Sansa. "Jon is too much like Father. It is a fine thing to be honorable, until you end up with your head on a pike. I did not break away out of vanity."

"I didn't think you had," said Tyrion.

"Father, Mother, Robb, Rickon," said Sansa. "The North has lost too much to Southern intrigue."

"I don't blame you," said Tyrion. "But you won't have the luxury of sitting out if we collapse into civil war again."

"I'm counting on the brilliant Hand to hold it all together," said Sansa, smiling.

Tyrion took a long swig. "The Great Houses may have chosen Bran, but they didn't choose me. They grumble they've suffered through three Lannister kings only to be ruled by a fourth from behind the Throne."

"What does Bran say?"

"That's the problem, not much," said Tyrion. "Every now and then he'll swoop in and say something like 'nice day we're having'. Which is even worse, because now I have to wonder whether he had a vision of endless sun, crops withering in the fields. Or is it the last nice day we'll have before the flood waters rise? Or is it just small talk? It's enough to drive a good man to drink!" He drained his cup.

"Imagine what it would do to a bad one," said Sansa.

"The Greyjoys and Martells are wondering whether they should follow your lead," said Tyrion. "The lords of the Stormlands and the Reach aren't happy about having a bastard and a sellsword thrust on them. Lord Tully thinks he should've been Hand since you told him he couldn't be King."

"Someone had to," said Sansa.

"And Lord Arryn…" said Tyrion. "Actually, Arryn's a sweet boy and gives me no trouble. But I'm sure he would if he had half a brain!"

"Aunt Lysa wanted us wed when I was in the Eyrie," said Sansa.

"Excuse me," said Tyrion, "you were a lawfully married woman."

"She would've waited for your execution."

"Oh, alright then," said Tyrion. "As long as proper protocol is observed."

"You never remarried," said Sansa.

"Not for lack of offers, let me tell you," said Tyrion. "You could almost believe the poor girls crying tears of joy."

"What of Casterly Rock?" asked Sansa.

"Still there last time I checked," said Tyrion. "The gold may have ran out, but never the golden-haired cousins. You must be under much greater pressure in that regard."

"The Manderlys are the stronger House," said Sansa. "The Glovers have wider support. Choosing either could mean war."

"In that case, a toast," said Tyrion, raising his cup unevenly. "To marriage plotters - may we ever frustrate their designs!"

#

The Great Hall of Winterfell was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. Its grey stone walls were draped in white - the direwolf and the raven. Sansa bit into a soft, sweet lemon cake as the harpist sang of the battle against the dead.

The Night King, blue eyes aflame

Came whiffling through the tulgey snow

And burbled as he came!

One two! One two! And through and through

The Valyrian blade went snicker-snack!

She left it dead, and with its head

She went galumphing back.

Arya had joined the ranks of mythical knights from the stories. In this version the Night King somehow turned into the undead dragon. Artistic licence, she supposed. Were there any lemon cakes left?

"Your Grace?" said Brienne, kneeling with a package.

"Ser Brienne," said Sansa. "Enjoying the feast?"

"Yes, Your Grace," said Brienne. "You are well? Safe and happy?"

"Happy might be too high a standard," said Sansa, "but I am in good hands, I assure you."

Brienne pulled back the cloth to reveal the silver stag hilt, its ruby dancing in the firelight.

"Widow's Wail," whispered Sansa.

"Taken when Jaime was captured by the Dragon Queen," said Brienne. "Lord Tyrion said it was mine now, that at least I'd be able to wield it with my right. But it was forged from your family blade, as was Oathkeeper. They are yours, as is my service."

"You swore to protect my mother's daughters," said Sansa. "One became a queen, the other a slayer of nightmares. Oathkeeper is yours. It can serve no better purpose than protecting her son."

"Thank you, Your Grace," said Brienne.

As to the sister blade… But Bran had already settled that, hadn't he?

"Lady Meera?" said Sansa.

"Your Grace," said Meera, scanning the hall for threats.

"We are in desperate need of your assistance," said Sansa. "We have here a beautiful blade with a horrible name. What would you suggest?"

"Beautiful indeed," said Meera, pausing to admire it. "I would call it Summer."

"A fine choice," said Sansa. "It is yours."

"But this is Valyrian steel," said Meera.

"Then you best wield it well," said Sansa, handing her the sword.

"Th-thank you, Your Grace," said Meera.

The harpist finished. Sansa stood and raised her cup. "My lords, a toast!"

A hundred cups flew into the air.

"To Bran the First, King of the Six Kingdoms," said Sansa. "Long may there be peace between our people."

"Hear, hear!"

"Lady Hornwood?" said Sansa.

"Yes, Your Grace?" Berena Hornwood said uncertainly.

"You were one of few Houses to answer my call against the Boltons," said Sansa. "Thanks to you the battle was won, and I have inherited certain estates from my late husband. Would you hold the Dreadfort and its lands in my name?"

"Proudly, Your Grace," said Lady Hornwood.

"Thank you, my lady" said Sansa. "Lord Glover?"

"At your service, Your Grace," said Robett Glover, glowing as he stood. The Manderly men glowered.

"House Mormont has died with Lady Lyanna, the Giantslayer," said Sansa. "Bear Island is without a lord. Would you hold it in my name?"

"Of course, Your Grace," he replied, surprised but not displeased. He seemed to be waiting for the real announcement.

"Thank you, my lord," said Sansa. "Lord Manderly?"

Now it was the Glovers' turn to pout and the Manderlys' turn to smile.

"Yes, Your Grace," beamed Wyman Manderly.

"The death of Lady Alys presents a similar problem for Karhold," said Sansa. "Would you hold it in my name?"

"Gladly, Your Grace," said Lord Manderly, also waiting.

"Thank you, my lord," said Sansa. "Lady Ailith?"

Ailith's men banged on the table as she stood. Glovers and Manderlys were now equally confused.

"Yes, Lady Queen?"

"The Free Folk fought side by side with us against the dead," said Sansa. "If we are to live side by side, will you hold the Last Hearth and its lands in my name?"

"Yes, my Queen," said Ailith, the wildlings cheering around her.

Sansa sat down, heart thundering. The Lords Glover and Manderly frowned at each other, stood back up.

"Yes, my lords?" said Sansa.

"Your Grace," said Lord Glover. "There was one more matter we were hoping to settle.."

"Your hand!" Lord Manderly concluded.

"Of course," said Sansa. "After careful consideration, I have engaged to marry Lord Tyrion of the House Lannister. King Bran has given his approval."

Tyrion choked on his wine.

"But he's… he's…" said Lord Manderly.

"A Southerner!" said Lord Glover

"A Lannister!" said Lord Manderly.

"A dwarf!" said Lord Glover.

"He is all that," Sansa said coldly. "And your new liege."

"Queen Sansa and Lord Tyrion!" cried Ailith.

"Hear, hear!"

#

The feast was winding down by the time Tyrion pulled Sansa aside.

"Were you planning on telling me eventually," he demanded, "or kidnapping me from my bed?"

"Are you rejecting me, my lord?" Sansa said sweetly. "I fear my heart would shatter."

"Bollocks," said Tyrion. "This presents a number of complications."

"Ever the sweet-talker," said Sansa. "You haven't said no."

"I haven't said yes," said Tyrion. "Even for your own purposes this is hardly the simplest solution."

Sansa looked him in the eye. "Have you considered this could be something I want?"

Tyrion squinted at her. "Fine, don't tell me. I should be marrying someone to bolster the Throne, someone like... like the Martell Prince!"

"I hear Dornishmen are flexible in that regard," said Sansa. "But fret not, my suspicious snow bear. We can wed one of our children to the Martells."

"Children?" said Tyrion.

"Oh yes," said Sansa. "My advisors assure me it is imperative to have as many as possible."