King’s Landing was chaos, and Sansa Stark found herself putting out fires whenever she held court. She couldn’t stop or leave them for her brother to fix. Jon would be a great king if the people in the Small Council were loyal to him. Sansa needed to lay those foundations before he was here.
After the facts of the battle at the Wall became clearer, Mhaegen’s support for Jon had turned to adoration. Sansa had erased Cersei’s manufactured ‘Master of Men’ title and named her Master of Laws. She would choose poison over betraying the king she calls her god.
Varys was renamed Master of Whisperers. The eunuch still played his games, never revealing full secrets to Sansa or anyone. As time went on, however, she felt the Spider’s trust in her increase. “If only Lord Eddard Stark liked playing the game as much as Your Grace,” he told her once, to which Sansa instinctively replied, “I don’t anymore.” It was true. Sitting the Iron Throne was worse than she thought it would be.
For Master of Ships Sansa had summoned Paxter Redwyne from Riverrun, and to solidify the alliance with Dorne, promised Ellaria Sand that Obara would be named Master of Coin. Qyburn was still Grand Maester because of lack of alternatives, but Sansa had already sent ravens to Oldtown requesting another. Poor Qyburn wandered around the corridors of the Red Keep like a man emasculated, without allies or aims, knowing his days were numbered. She would have felt sorry for him if she didn’t know of the experiments.
The three thousand Unsullied of Daenerys Targaryen’s army formed the new City Watch, led by Dickon Tarly. It was easy for Sansa to take the young man under her wing. He was isolated, intimidated by the Crown, and unknown to the power he commanded. Jon would have no trouble from his closest friend’s brother.
Jaime Lannister had been pardoned but stripped of his knighthood and title as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. It was Sansa’s only unpopular decision, but she knew she had to make it. She took all criticisms on the chin. He is the only survivor of House Lannister. When he goes back to Casterly Rock, he will not forget the favor I gave him. Either Jon or Sansa would have to make the decision… and better her, than the future king of Westeros.
When Sansa approached Brienne, she already seemed to know before Sansa said the words. “No,” she said. “Any honor of serving the Kingsguard has been stained.”
“Bring it back,” Sansa said. “Not since Barristan Selmy has the Kingsguard been more deserving of a knight like you.”
“I’m not a knight,” she said. No, Sansa thought. You’re better.
The Dragon Queen had been cremated, as was tradition with Targaryens, but there was no Sept of Baelor to bury the ashes in. Builders were assigned with the reconstruction. Against Mhaegen’s wishes, who said they build a Temple worshipping the Lord of Light, Sansa insisted the Sept worship the Seven Gods. “Change is good,” she told her, “but sweeping change is not.”
The Silent Sisters worked on Cersei and Petyr, tending to their bodies while the Sept was built. Some basic foundations were erected, but not nearly enough for the purpose of funerals. The memorials would instead happen in the Throne Room. Sansa supposed the Sept may take a decade to be fully built. Mayhaps there would be a statue of King Jon in front of it, she thought, stifling a chuckle at her brother’s reaction to it.
With the fires Sansa had to put out, she scarce had time to think of Littlefinger. But whenever she was alone or with Ghost, Sansa remembered Petyr’s open mouth, the pool of blood collecting inside. His words still haunted her. What if he really knew where Arya was? the emotional side of Sansa asked, even if she knew it to be a lie.
Ghost reminded her of Winterfell, which often made her cry. Sansa hadn’t met Bran since his return. She wanted to go home, but knew it would not be possible yet. When Jon returned, Sansa would be his Hand. Maybe she could convince him to let her return to Winterfell, but that would only happen after some months, after Jon found his feet.
But, as Jon neared the capital, the fires were finally out. Excitement among the people of King’s Landing was almost palpable as their king neared. Commoners and royalty alike had all gathered in the Dragonpit, waiting for their savior, their hero, their god.
Sansa was excited herself. They had so much to speak of. She heard Jon had met Bran on the way to King’s Landing. She heard the locals had feasted wherever he stopped for shelter. She wanted to tell him of the battle at the city, and hear about the battle for the dawn. War truly seemed over, and even winter was bearable.
When Rhaegal swooped in the Dragonpit, to huge applause and chants of Prince, it took all the strength in Sansa to not run to her brother and hug him by the neck. Ghost, limited by no such inhibitions, bounded to his master as soon as Jon dismounted from the dragon.
When Jon caught her eye, Sansa gave her a wide, beaming smile. It faltered when she saw his face.
It was grim, dark and sad, of a man who couldn’t care less of all the power in Westeros. It was the face she knew well; the same face their father wore when duty overtook desire, of Robert Baratheon, for whom Seven Kingdoms did not fill the hole Lyanna left. It was the face of a man who had loved and lost.
*
Comments