Within hours of Jon Snow’s farewell from Winterfell Sansa Stark had left, albeit in different directions. If the maesters had not determined it to be day, she would never have known it – clouds had gathered angrily above darkening the sky, threatening to explode and snowbound them all. It was imperative, Sansa told her men, they make haste for the Vale before the skies punished them.
Be it her decision, Sansa felt doubtful of leaving the North in the hands of Lyanna Mormont. However, before leaving, the chat she had with the Wardeness filled her with confidence. She may be young, with the weight of Winterfell around her shoulders, but fidelity is certainly one of her strong suits.
The plan Jon had thought was, she had to admit, solid. If he were to die at the hands of Daenerys and Sansa were to fall into trouble, Lyanna was instructed to sue for peace with the Targaryens. If peace were achieved, their brother Bran could unify the north, but if not, he would remain in hiding with the northmen, either at Bear Island or Castle Black. The Wall were sworn to take no part in politics, but they owed Jon Snow too much to refuse.
Jon had insisted everyone march in an infantry square with Sansa and Petyr Baelish in the center, protecting them from thieves or stone crows. It seemed like a good idea, but Sansa could not help feel a bit sorry for the men on the outermost square, forced to face the winds at full tilt. As it stood it was her, Littlefinger, Lady Brienne and Podrick most immune from the winds, while Ghost occasionally broke the square to hunt for game.
With lack of ships and rocky seas, their best course was to travel by land. That would mean brushing past the Riverlands, Sansa knew, and it was not a prospect she welcomed. Riverrun was in chaos now, with the Freys fighting bloody battles at the Neck. From recent reports Emmon, Perriane and Rhaegar Frey had left the Twins manned with little to no people, the bulk of their forces having marched to Seagard. A foolish plan, but since when were the Freys known for strategy?
They had decided to take a detour to the Twins before continuing on their way. It would do them well to inform the Freys of them marching to the Vale. If it came to war they had the men to push through, and if they were short Littlefinger could always send a raven to his friends in the Vale. Even so, Littlefinger claimed he had enough friends in the Twins to secure them safe passage. Sansa was, as always, skeptical.
“Robb had to swear marriage with a Frey when he wanted to make an agreement with them,” she told him. “I hope for your sake you do not plan on wedding me to another madman, Littlefinger. There are many more northmen than knights of the Vale around us, so I doubt that suggestion will get you very far.” The tone was jovial, but Sansa saw to it Littlefinger was aware she meant every word.
Littlefinger’s countenance was of mild annoyance, although it disappeared quickly. “It disappoints me that I have yet not claimed your trust,” he said. “I have rescued you from King Joffrey, given you an army when Winterfell needed it, and am now offering shelter in the most impregnable stronghold in Westeros. One day, maybe, you will see all that I have done for you, and that may be the day you address me by my real name.”
Petyr was expert at casing emotions with polished courtesy, but Sansa sensed the disappointment he had tried to cover. She felt a tinge of pity, but she rescued herself in time. No. That is what he wants you to feel. It must all be part of his plan.
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