cp14

Chapter 14

Weiss was brought to a cage after that daring proclamation from Daenerys Targaryen, pointedly found away from the painted table that their war council made strategy in. The moment the lock clicked shut my consciousness fell away from Dragonstone. As if waking up from a fevered dream, I bolted up from beneath a thin strip of blankets, rested against Winterfell's heart tree. I stumbled as if a toddler learning to walk at first, the shift of being in Weiss's body always a difficult thing to reorient from, but eventually, with a good few moments of effort, I righted myself and stood without further complication.

"You were successful," Bran noted, spooning some porridge into his mouth. A trio from Nymeria's pack were by his side, lain down but ever alert.

I nodded shortly towards him. "Enough. Daenerys is going to attack King's Landing soon. Weiss is going to be stuck on Dragonstone though, so I won't be able to know how it goes. Put a few of your eyes to the capitol and let me know how the battle goes."

"They are already there," Bran said blandly. It was good to see him being productive and useful.

I grunted and exited his tent, making me way to the castle, my limbs stiff and staticky and very much still asleep. Ghost approached me from a snow-packed portion of the god's wood further away, his albinism making him unseen until that moment. His added eyes made me feel safe. Winterfell was home, but Rickon's memories were rife with worry of the castle, both from the occupation of Theon Greyjoy and his capture by the hands of Ramsey Snow. It would likely take years for me to feel genuinely secure here, if not decades.

But with Daenerys on the move, security in Winterfell was of especial importance. Now, more than ever.

I did not knock as I entered Sansa's quarters. She was awake, though still in her bed, luxuriating in the cool breeze and burning brazier. Farther along in the room was Sansa's sworn sword, Brienne of Tarth. Sansa's own insecurities brought about from Joffrey and Ramsey coupled with Brienne's thorough viewing of her vows had the two bunking together ever since we retook Winterfell.

"Rickon?" My sister queried, sitting up with a shiver. Her nightgown was thick, but her red hair, often artful in its grooming just as our mothers had always been, was a mess of split ends and tangled webs. One particular strand was stuck in between her teeth. Brienne too sat up from her cot, offering a short bow. She wore a large man's linens to bed.

"We have to talk." I told her, closing the door behind Ghost just as he padded inside, swiftly hopping onto Sansa's bed to wish her his own greeting.

She shoved him away with a newly slick cheek and looked at me ponderously for a moment before her eyes lit up. "Oh! Are we finally going to announce it?"

Pausing, I blinked. Announcement? "…What do you think I'm wanting to talk about?" Have I missed something?

Sansa too blinked with a pause, her eyebrows furrowing together. Idly, she scratched at Ghost's ear, causing his leg to thump against her mattress. "…Did you not intend to inform our lords of Jon's betrothal to Alys Karstark?"

"What." No, really. What in the hells was she talking about?

"You told me that you wanted Alys to be betrothed to Jon, that Karhold should go to him."

"I most certainly did not!" I balked.

Now it was her turn to balk. "Yes you did! Rickon, it was just before you were given that letter by Cersei. You said that you wanted Alys to wed Jon."

I breathed out a deep breath, closed my eyes and pinched at the bridge of my nose. "No. I didn't. I know my exact words. I told you that I wanted you to convince her to take a husband loyal to our house. I did not say that I was entertaining her for Jon. I did not even offer a name. I was hoping that you would convince her to wed and that we could determine those that would be suitable later. At the end, she would be given the final choice."

Anger courted her next words. "Would that you would have told me of your plans. Vague words of loyalty and bravery and earned rewards brought me to think on our brother. But I suppose I'm to understand all the inflections of your plans? No, I'm too stupid for that, aren't I? I've only the one use. Shall I spread my legs for your ambitions as well?"

I quickly hopped onto the bed and held her, her angry diatribe melting into blubbery. My body was gripped tightly for comfort and the whispers of not again and I won't were repeated more than once. But though she was clearly fearful, no tears wetted my shoulder. Sansa had cried enough in her life. Brienne and I shared a glance, and understandably, with an awkward air about her, she left the room after quickly donning more appropriate robe over her small clothes.

I repositioned Sansa so that we were facing one another, our foreheads and noses touching, eyes of the same color staring into one another. "This was not what I wanted to speak of, and I am sorry for that. I am not angry, nor am I particularly annoyed. My words regarding Alys were too vague and you believed Jon was my intention. There is no fault in that save for my own. Have you spoken to Alys on this?"

"I have." Sansa spoke lowly. Ghost shoved his way between our bodies, doing his best to offer what comfort he could. "She is not enthused. I did not know this, nor do I think does Jon, but he was the one to kill Harald Karstark in the melee. One of the Mormont men taunted her about it weeks ago. But if it meant her line would continue, she would do her duty."

"But nobody else knows?"

"None. I presumed you intended for their betrothal to be made secret until it could be used best. Or something along those lines, I suppose."

I sighed, gusting onto her chin. She pulled a face, apparently not liking the smell of my morning breath. "There is that, then. When you can, tell her that I have changed my mind. Jon has lived a hard life and I would not force him to wed. I will make suggestions of a bride to him, but that will be all. Just as I might do for you. I might speak to you of a husband later in life, but I will never force you to the bedding chambers."

Her eyes sharpened. "You speak truly?"

I nodded against her brow. "You are a Stark, but you are my sister before even that. You have gone through… so much. All of us have. Just as father did. But we are not like father, the last Stark left save for Uncle Benjen who had joined the Night's Watch during Robert's Rebellion. There are five of us, our line is not near so precarious, though I doubt Arya or Bran would have families of their own. Should you choose to remain a widow without children, then that you shall remain."

Sansa's smile was a shy thing, but childish in its glee. The hug that followed was strongly reminiscent of our reunion months ago, near strong enough to make my breathing hard. Even still, it was something of a struggle. A struggle I was happy for when a sincere Thank you was whispered into my ear.

We separated after a moment and stood from her bed. She stretched idly, shifting her thick nightgown. "I distracted you. You wanted to speak to on something."

"I did and do. There is news to the south. Daenerys Targaryen is going to attack King's Landing soon, perhaps even before the day is done. Cersei Lannister is alone save for a small garrison; Jaime had taken their army to sack Highgarden to pay the fines of the Iron Bank. It is likely that Daenerys will be successful."

Sansa's smile was a vicious thing. "Good."

I frowned at her. "Not great, however. I'll have to go south to treat with her should Daenerys take the throne, a king to a queen, and you will be the Stark in Winterfell whilst I am gone. I will not leave Winterfell as it is."

"How do you mean?" Sansa asked quickly. "What is wrong with Winterfell? The Bolton's are gone and our allies are united."

"Not all of them," I growled. "I've let one threat remain as a benign itch, but should I treat with the dragon queen that itch might be fester into a new blight on our house in my absence. As it has done in the past. I'll not risk it, I'll not risk him."

"Petyr Baelish dies today. Gather the lords and inform Arya. We've a show to start."