Two angry northmen burst through the thick wooden doors and on the opposite side of them, at the end of the long hall, awaited the Queen. The guards reacted fast closing in before her with their hands tightly gripping the hilt of their swords. She gestured them to pull back and gave the northmen the approval to step closer. One was tall, taller than any of the Queen’s guards. He was wearing the traditional northern leathery armor, pauldrons and a swordbelt tied around his waist. The other one was the exact opposite. Older, weak-looking, almost half the size of the first man, dressed in leathery warm clothes, yet obviously not a fighter, Sansa reflected. “Your Grace” bowed both of them at the same time as if they had rehearsed. “I am afraid we bring troubling news, my Queen.” Started the fighter. “We didn’t survive the Great War, fought the dead and won just to die at the hands of a wildling. They sacked our village and when we refused to surrender, they started executing us one by one and raping our women. We were forced to run and leave everything we have been building our whole life behind. They killed this man’s son!” He pulled the older man in front of him by the shoulders like a father presenting his son as a suitor. The older man remained quiet but the Queen could see the pain in his eyes. How can I bring his son back?
This was the third time the wildlings have invaded a village south of the wall. When Sansa became Queen, they demanded their promised lands. Her northmen would not have it. They built those villages with their own hands and sweat. They would never just give them up, especially not for wildlings. The Queen said she is not beholden to her brother’s or Staniss’ promises, they are no longer ruling the North, she is. The wildlings, of course, took matters in their own hands, every attack more brutal than the previous. It left Sansa feeling overwhelmed.. Who knew ruling can be so tiring?
Ever since she was a child, Sansa dreamt of one day marrying a King and becoming his Queen. She was born to be one… or at least that’s what she believed. But that was a childish dream, a dream where people bow in front of you and you just wear a crown while pouring orders. Pretty dresses, fancy dinners, your people drink secret toasts to your health, admire you as they admire the Gods. But this was nothing like that. Yes, she wore a crown and yes, everyone bowed to her, but for every bow done before her, twice as many whispers spread behind her back, how they wished Jon Snow was still the King. And it wasn’t because Jon is a man and she is a woman, no. It’s because Sansa had never really had the trades befitting a great Queen. Sure, she had a tough life growing up and it had made her stronger, shaping her into the person she is today. However, that makes a strong person, but not a great Queen. She was always dragged around, playing parts of other people’s schemes. Her life was never really her own, so while figuring out herself, she also had to figure out how to be a Queen and that did not come easy.
Sansa looked at the grieving old man in front of her. “I am sorry for your loss, please inform the rest of the villagers they are welcome in Winterfell, this will be your new home. Everything you may need, will be provided for you.” This was a good solution for now and her people accepted it happily, but if the wildlings kept sacking more villages, it won’t take long before Winterfell is overcrowded by newcomers.
After the two men were escorted out, she gathered her council. “Show me the locations of the three villages that were attacked.” She demanded looking at the huge painted map in front of her. The bearded man next to her tapped his finger three times over small villages around The Dreadfort. The wildlings were heading deeper south, she concluded. “Gather up the armies, send them out to a few locations near here and here.” She lowered her hand over two locations that she thought were the next target of her enemies. Do this with the lowest possible number of casualties, capture them and bring them to me.” Sansa Stark dismissed her council, sat down and buried her head in her hands. What would Jon have done were he here? she wondered.
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