A loud knock on her chamber door woke her in the midst of the starry night. “Your Grace!” a voice followed the hammering on the door. The Queen stomped over the slippers next to her bed, nearly falling flat on the spot and quickly wrapped a warm cloak around her. One quick glance through the window and she saw them, eager to get through the walls of Winterfell. Panicked mothers, children, stable boys, farmers… everything but fighters amongst them. Which village did these unfortunate people belong to?
As soon as her bare foot touched the stone cold floor, a shiver traveled all the way up her spine, tickling through the hairs at the back of her head. Ignoring it, she took a few further steps and grabbed the round handle of the door, pulling. All it took was one look at her advisor’s face to know that this might have been the last decent sleep she would have in days.
Had Tormund not returned within three days after the supper he shared with the Queen, the wildlings would gather up and focus all of their forces on a much bigger target than a village of thirty inhabitants. A city. And so they did. With the people of Karhold still sound asleep in the late hours of the night, the city fell within a day… well… within a night. Still in their nightgowns and no weapons at hand, the people that spent years building their homes, now left them in just a few short moments, without a second thought. Of course, those who managed to run to the shores were safely sailing in the waters of the Shivering Sea, away from the chaos. And those who decided to stay and act heroes were outnumbered, bravely giving up their life, gifting their families just enough time to board the ships.
The land located northeast of Winterfell was surrounded by a heavy forest allowing many of its people to disperse in various directions, safely escaping the invaders. It was home to a few thousand inhabitants and once, to House Karstark. However, during the Battle of Winterfell their house ceased to exist with the death of their last member, Lady Alys Karstark, who gave her life protecting the current King of the Six Kingdoms. After her death, the important decisions fell into the hands of the small council of Lady Alys, until the Queen of the North named one of her trusted advisors Lord of Karhold, whose wife was of a respected family of the city that carried the same name. And it was him who burst through the doors of the Great Hall of Winterfell sending the Queen’s advisors to wake her in these late hours of the night.
Sansa Stark knew well enough that imprisoning Tormund would only worsen the situations between the northman and the wildlings. However, she had at least hoped for a peaceful week and all she got were three days. As promised. After a heated discussion with her council for the better part of the day, the Queen decided that Tormund Giantsbane would stay in the dark, cold cell behind bars. Releasing him would not make the situation any better. At the very least, she had some kind of leverage, holding his life in her hands. Until today. Today it became clear, the wildlings would act even if it meant risking the life of the one they considered their leader, they might have even acted on his command. For Sansa Stark all of this meant one thing and one thing only. She is at war. A war she is slowly but surely losing, the attack on Karhold cut her armies in half, leaving the northman questioning their Queen’s competence. Lately, they did not even bore concealing their scorn against her. Ironically enough, she was the only Stark defending them against the foreign invader by the name of Daenerys Targaryen, the only one seeking independence. Maybe one mistake was enough to erase all the good you have done. That proved to be so for the Dragon Queen, and now for her as well. She should have seen it coming. A Queen would have.
To make matters worse, even her own brother, the King of the Six Kingdoms, could not help her now, at least not by joining her armies against the wildlings. Rolling up the letter that carried a seal of the Six Kingdoms, Sansa considered the plan of the man she once called her husband, the Hand of the King. He always somehow managed to comfort her in her worst times.
After one of the many sleepless nights that followed, the Queen decided the Tyrion‘s plan was her best chance considering she is highly outnumbered. The morning came and she gathered up all the Lords and Ladies of the North. Her voice echoed in the Great Hall ceasing the perfect silence.“We are at war and the time to fight back has come. Send all of our banners to the Dreadfort.”
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