This chapter was edited by Gdiusx.
28th day of the 7th Moon.
New Castle.
Sansa
Sansa sipped her tea as she gazed out of the balcony. Unlike King’s Landing, White Harbor was smaller but far cleaner and more orderly with its wide, straight cobbled streets and whitewashed walls and houses. Even the harbors could be seen from the balcony, huddled just beneath the curtain walls, churning with activity as ships came and departed. Men and women looked small and insignificant in the distance, like ants, yet they were an important aspect of the city, and her father once said a million ants could bring down a mammoth. Sansa had never seen a mammoth, yet her uncle Benjen cims they are thrice as rge as the rgest horse!
Into the White Gulf, many galleys and trade cogs waited for permission and their turn to moor at the many docks.
To the west, the White Knife slithered zily into the sea, the mouth of the river over half a league wide across, far more imposing than the Bckwater Rush, if somewhat slower. There were even more harbors on the eastern, and more shallow, shore, with barges, drydocks, and shipyards sequestered in hidden inlets.
The Manderly Keep, New Castle, was both a pragmatic yet comfortable castle, supposed to be designed in a simir way Dunstonbury had been before the Mermen lords fled the Reach. Its chambers and hallways were rge and airy, with an open-air terrace that doubled as ramparts and a balcony. It was far smaller than Winterfell, even smaller than the Red Keep, yet Sansa could not deny it was one of the more beautiful castles she had stayed in.
Sansa had visited the city before but didn’t remember much of the visit other than she was very impressed and somewhat afraid of the unusually rge crowds. Or, well, unusually rge crowds for a naive child who had yet to see the world. Now, though, she was still impressed with the city even after seeing and experiencing more.
It felt like forever since Sansa was st here, but in truth, only a meager five, nearly six years had passed. They had visited with her father to pay respects to an old retive of the Starks who was on his deathbed. Artos the Impcable had served as Casteln of Winterfell to his death in the Nine Penny King Wars, yet his twin sons Brandon and Benjen survived him.
Brandon settled in Barrowton, marrying a Dustin dy and taking her name - Sansa was unsure if they had any children, nor was she sure if he was even alive. Her father never mentioned him, so perhaps he passed away in one of the many wars that the Starks found themselves in the past decades.
His brother Benjen Stark, however, settled in White Harbor and married a Locke woman who died in childbirth, giving him his only son, Edwyle, who in turn was lost at sea. The kind old man she met a few years ago reminded her of her own Uncle Benjen - but he did not survive their visit.
Sansa still remembered the funeral in the Sept of Snow, where he wished to be buried. She had yet to visit the Sept since her arrival, despite staying in the castle for two days now, but perhaps she could pay her respects and light a candle to the Stranger. She noticed Beauty flying high above her, and Sansa smiled wistfully - another candle to the Maiden would also be prudent.
It saddened her that so few of her kin remained alive, and there were no male members of her house to give her away during the marriage ceremony. It might even raise some doubts about the legality of her marriage down the line. Hopefully, Lord Manderly, his vassals, and Meera Reed would be enough witnesses to squash any doubts about the legitimacy and her willingness. It was a bold step, one that made her feel uneasy. Technically, her hand in marriage should have been given away by Robb as head of the family, but Sansa was eloping.
She was eloping because of selfishness. Sansa liked Perseus, he made her heart flutter and butterflies loop into her belly, and most importantly, he made her feel safe. It wasn’t some childish flight of fancy or a stupid obsession that she had with Joffrey’s galnt looks. No, after that cruel stay in King’s Landing, she could recognize the false smiles, the fake faces, and the ugliness hidden beneath the pretty faces, and would not fall for such things again.
There was always the chance that Robb would decide to wed her off for one alliance or another, promising her hand for swords here or there. Sansa was unwilling to let her destiny be dictated by others again, now that she had gotten a taste of freedom, a taste of power. Besides, what good would any number of swords be against Perseus?
There was no doubt in her mind that Sansa was right in her decision to elope so shamelessly. Yes, it was selfish, but not without cause. She lied to herself that it would suit House Stark more. But deep down, Sansa knew it was a lie because she simply wanted Perseus to never leave. She…loved him. It was that simple.
A sigh rolled off her lips and she turned her attention to the soothing cup of tea.
“How do you like the blend, Princess?” Wynafryd’s voice almost made her jump. Sansa had nearly forgotten about her company.
Sansa smiled at Lord Manderly’s granddaughter, as they sat at the rge round table with her other companions. “Acceptable. I am grateful you found a merchant with access to those leaves. I did not expect they could be found so quickly.”
“It was no trouble, Princess.” Wynafryd sipped from her own cup, face almost melting in pleasure. “I never thought such blends of tea could be made, and I feel foolish for never browsing the city’s market and procuring it earlier.”
“Truly, it is,” Wyl added from next to her sister. “So simple, yet so delicious, especially with the pastries your betrothed introduced to the castle. While the muffins tasted splendid, they were a bit hard to swallow, the tea helps with that.”
Myrcel had remained as her handmaiden, and Sansa allowed her to sit with her. Rosamund made her ugh, so Sansa also allowed her to join them, despite her lower birth.
The golden-haired girls had managed to endear themselves to the dies of the castle by showcasing the skills they learned from Percy in the kitchen.
Sansa smirked inwardly as she watched one of the blonde Not-Twins, as Percy called them, preen at the praise; how the mighty have fallen. A princess of the realm, born and raised with a golden spoon, with all of her desires satisfied at a hand’s wave, feeling pleasure at serving others.
Yet Sansa chided herself inwardly, there was no need to belittle the princess. It surprised her how Myrcel had insisted on helping in the kitchens, and at first, Sansa thought she wanted an excuse to stay away from her. Turns out, the girls truly did enjoy cooking.
Naturally, it would not have mattered, for Myrcel and Rosamund were her prisoners and Sansa had no pns to let them go. Besides being hostages against House Baratheon of King’s Landing and the Lannisters, they were her wards, and her responsibility to raise well and find them good husbands. It surprised her how easily she had come to care for the girls, but one thing was certain in her mind. Sansa could cim that she was not an ambitious, and greedy woman, but that would be a lie.
Yes, she craved friendship and companionship simir to what she had with poor Jeyne, but the supposed daughter of the te king was invaluable. Sansa wanted more power and more influence, Percy and Cersei had shown that if you had enough, you would be in control of your life, and she wanted that for herself. Greedy, and selfish, but Sansa would not forget House Stark in the process.
“It reminds me of some of the herbs we grow in the Neck.” Meera Reed looked at the crushed leaves at the bottom of her empty cup with a frown. “Normally, they would need to be distilled and purified from any poisons and toxins, but some of them could be both soothing and tasty.”
Wynafryd leaned forward in interest, “Oh? I had heard plenty of things regarding the botany of the Neck. Flower arrangements and gardening are a hobby of mine, you see.”
“Truly? Mine too,” Myrcel piped up from across the heiress to White Harbor. “What sort of flowers would be common here?”
Sansa tuned out the rest of the chatter. She was gd the maidens were getting along nicely; there was some tension when Cersei’s daughter was introduced to the Merman’s Court, but Lord Manderly and his family were gracious and courteous. It helped that Sansa herself had procimed she and Rosa were her handmaidens.
She suspected it had to do with the heir of the city being captive to the Lannisters, yet Lord Manderly had yet to bring up such a topic. Myrcel would be an excellent bargaining chip to release the captive nobles of the North, yet Sansa was loath to even discuss that. She had just decided to raise Myrcel and had no wish to send her and Rosa back to Cersei.
Speaking of the lesser lioness, she watched in amusement as Rosamund and Meera stared down the railing at the training yard below, talking and giggling in hushed tones. Percy was training their men diligently, having them go through significantly harder gauntlets and formation training. All the men were armed for battle, but Percy fought with his top naked, showing off his incredible physique.
Sansa thought something was bothering her betrothed yet he cimed it was just the weather. Judging by how little he dressed, she was unconvinced but decided to give him his privacy but not before looking meaningfully at his half naked form.
Percy cimed it was to train his dodging, but judging by that lopsided grin he threw at her every once in a while, her hero had other motives.
A flush was creeping up Rosa’s neck yet she still looked warily as Percy dueled five men at the same time, only to have them all on the ground within a few heartbeats. Meera, on the other hand, was wholly engrossed in the sparring below, yet that only amused Sansa.
The daughter of Hownd Reed had been her constant shadow since her arrival two days ago, along with a couple of her father’s men. Once they had some privacy, her brother, Jojen, introduced themselves and Meera had sworn fealty directly to her, which had greatly confused Sansa. Not to House Stark, not to Robb - Her.
Jojen had then left the city for Greywater Watch that same day, with a few of his father’s men who had come to escort him. She worried how he would find his way to his home with Moat Cailin under the Ironborn's control, but the young man simply smiled when questioned.
“None know the Neck better than the Crannogmen.”
Sansa found the Crannog woman to be both mysterious and intriguing. She was three years older than her at eight and ten, yet still unmarried. Her hair was glossy and voluminous, a light-brown shade with a hint of red, that the girl tied in a simple pit. Meera had gdly joined her in applying oils and herbal concoctions from the Neck to keep their hair silky and vibrant. Her eyes were bright, not dissimir to Percy’s sea green, but reminded her of moss or the leaves of a tree. Her soft features complimented her kind nature as she spoke softly to Rosa, causing the younger girl’s wariness to melt as she stared at her man.
Yet, Sansa knew that underneath that softness hid a hardened woman who had grown in the treacherous nds of the Neck. Meera had trained with Percy st eve, and her demigod had decred her to be acceptable, which was quite the compliment coming from a man who could sy a sea monster.
“He is quite impressive, is he not?”
Both girls flinched as they turned to her, Meera coughing awkwardly. “Indeed. Disregarding his sying of the sea monster, Perseus is also an excellent trainer and clearly a veteran of war.”
“He taught me how to cook.” Rosa shrugged as the rest of the girls looked in interest. “I will admit that he terrified me when we first met. I mean, disabling two warships and swimming so fast… I thought he was a merman!”
“Ah, yes. You have to tell us more about your betrothed, Princess.” Wyl cpped her hands, “The wedding is in a few days, yet we hardly know anything about him.”
The older sister, Wynafryd, was almost vibrating with excitement. “Is it true that he is a secret prince from a faraway nd? Or that he is blessed by the gods with wonderful powers? There are so many rumors flying about him.”
“With his skills in cooking, he has to be the personal cook of a king!” Wyl interjected, “Those pancakes were exquisite, and the way he cooked those eggs… what were they called?”
“Omelets.” Rosamund supplied helpfully, but Sansa noticed Myrcel looking strangely at her not-twin as she mouthed the word.
“Yes, omelets and not to mention Sandwiches.” Wyl looked as if she was sharing a secret, “Some scullery maids cim Perseus told them he learned how to make those from a witch he met on a beach!”
Sansa chuckled ruefully as the table descended into chatter. Of course, the two of them had been intentionally vague about Percy’s origins. Having a son of a god walk alongside mortals would be preposterous, powers or not. Let alone him coming from another world. It was a whole ball of trouble the two of them had agreed to not disclose to the public. And so, Perseus Jackson cimed that he was a son of the sea, hailing from far, far away, a pce that could not be found on any maps.
Vague, but mostly true.
There were many subtle inquiries about Percy’s origin, but nobody had been openly pushy about it. After all, her betrothed was not a man to be trifled with, and he had amusingly shown inhuman powers. The driftwood hero, some called him. Others had cimed he was a sorcerer prince from some lost city beyond the Saffron Straits and the Shadownds.
Of all the things that interested the dies about Percy, his culinary skills were the most prominent topic. Her betrothed had confessed that he was not considered a decent cook by the standards of his home, and Lord Manderly and his head cook agreed yet that was not an issue. It was the recipes and ideas that he brought that were of far more interest.
As the chatter shifted to Percy’s good looks, Sansa smiled nguidly as she inspected Lord Manderly’s granddaughters. Both of them were comely with a heart-shaped face and blue eyes, but that’s where the simirities ended.
Wynafryd had her chestnut-brown hair in a simple braid that reached her elbows, while Wyl dyed it a garish green in a simir braid, though the girl let slip she pnned to dye it blue - Sansa suspected Percy was the cause. Wynafryd was tall and willowy; a graceful beauty with a serene smile and intelligent eyes - as befitting of the heiress of a major city like White Harbor. Wyl was shorter, yet had much more pronounced curves, with an easy grin and a charismatic way of bringing people together. An enticing beauty, who could probably charm a septon if she wanted to.
Both were clearly interested in her betrothed, yet Sansa felt no worry. It was only natural for women to be attracted to Percy - power attracts, and it helped he was dashing and comely. Even Meera stared at him with a certain hunger, yet she kept a healthy distance from him. All of them understood that they may only watch, but not touch - for he was hers.
Eventually, Sansa was dragged into the conversation as she regaled the dies of the daring rescue from King’s Landing and their adventures along the Narrow Sea. At some point, Beauty nded on the railing much to the girls’s shock, but Sansa easily assuaged their worried when she stroked her feathers.
“She’s beautiful, Princess!” Wyl moved her hands towards the moon hawk before looking at her hesitantly, “May I?”
“Certainly, but be gentle. Beauty is still a proud and fearsome bird of prey.”
The moon hawk looked at the Manderly maiden inquisitively but accepted the gentle hand that petted it. Soon the rest of the girls joined in, and Wynafryd even called for a maid to get pieces of meat for her.
They were interrupted by a cough from the doorway to find Lord Manderly smiling at them. “Princess, could I have a moment of your time?”
Sansa nodded and gracefully stood, “Certainly, My Lord. In your sor, perhaps?”
“That would be best, yes.”
She waved farewell to her new friends, who seemed more interested in pampering Beauty. Sansa signaled Meera to remain with the Not-Twins, and followed the corpulent lord with his guard captain keeping a respectable distance. “How do you fare, Princess?”
“I must say White Harbor is more magnificent than I remember,” Sansa smiled. “A beautiful city with a gracious host. Your granddaughters have been nothing but courteous and pleasant to speak to.”
The old merman almost blushed from the praise, and Sansa allowed herself a small chuckle. It was true, after all. Why would she spare her more than deserved praise?
Like every other pce in New Castle, the hallways had varnished walnut and oak pnks on the floor and walls, warding away the chill of the granite and fgstones. Even now, Sansa saw faded banners, broken shields, and rusted swords from ancient victories hanging on the walls for dispy. There were even a few ship prows and figureheads hung high above like hunting trophies.
The Manderlys were a loyal, but very proud house.
“I am pleased to hear that,” Manderly let out a jovial chortle, merrily patting his sizeable gut. “If you have any requests or desires, please don’t hesitate to bring them directly to me.”
“Thank you, My Lord.”
They continued on in silence, and soon they were in the lord’s sor. The room was paneled with walls of dark wood, with intricate carvings of merman and mermaids. A few select tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of war and peace; one of them was more recent where a Manderly knight smmed his warhammer at a Rosby knight with the Targaryen banner in the background, most likely the battle of the Trident. Another one was of the port of White Harbor, with many ships and smiling merchants in the forefront. A nod to the city’s bustling trade.
“Please, have a seat, Princess.”
Wyman Manderly forwent the rge oak desk with a particurly rge and comfortable chair and instead led her to a small table near the window den with a few parchment scrolls and a small beer keg. The lord waited patiently for her to sit on one of the comfortable chairs tapered with sea-green Lyseni velvet, before sitting on a much rger one opposite her.
He poured himself a mug of White Harbor’s famous beer, the foamy drink making fuzzy sounds as it filled the mug.
“Would you like a drink, Princess?”
“Thank you, My Lord.” Lord Wyman poured her a mug and she took a sip, nodding appreciatively - it was a pleasant mix of sweet and sour that warmed her throat and settled in her belly. “Tell me, how are Percy’s orders coming?”
“Oh, yes. Your spoils were more than enough to cover the costs of equipping your men with the finest arms and armor my city can provide. Soon, you will have a contingent of men better armed than the finest southern knights, all paid with Lannister gold! It will just take a bit of time to have it all ready.” Wyman chuckled heartily, his booming ugh reverberating in the room, and she joined along.
The dowry that Cersei Lannister prepared for her daughter was truly an extravagant one. There were surprisingly few coins, for she had learned the crown was heavily in debt, yet the ship was full to the brim with valuables; statues made from solid gold, bolts of the finest Myrish silk, bundles of Torrentine cotton, yards of Norvoshi wool, a gilded couch made from goldenheart wood, and many other precious materials.
Not to mention the more martial gifts; There were arms and armor, and even a score of Myrish Crossbows, apparently from Joffrey’s own collection. Yet the most valuable item had to be the gilded suit of armor made by Tobho Mott that Sansa decided to have Percy wear, though it would need to be refitted for his frame.
All of that was hers now, and Sansa did not waste time in having anything gold or silver melted into coins through White Harbor’s mint and used the city’s extensive guilds and workshops to outfit her one hundred men-at-arms with the finest equipment; including warhorses. It would take over a dozen days for her order to be processed - possibly more depending on how fast the resources could be secured. It would have been way slower if Sansa had simply not thrown gold at the forging guild and told them she wanted the best they could do as soon as possible.
It was the perks of being a princess, and a wealthy one at that. The bcksmiths all scrambled, from the green boys to the greybeards, and the hammering on the Smith’s Square could be heard in the distance once you entered the city proper. The masters focused on forging suits of heavy pte, greaves, helmets, and gorges, with the finest steel the North had, while a small army of apprentices was churning out additional chainmail.
Meanwhile, Percy had taken it upon himself to train the men to his standards, for it would not do to invest in such expenses on men who were not worthy of it.
So far, he reported that they were not bad but that there was ample room for improvement, which coming from Percy was quite the compliment. Sansa would confess to knowing little about fighting and matters of warfare, yet she trusted in Percy and in Ser Rodrik Cassel; he was the one who handpicked and initially trained those men. Her father… only accepted the finest men of skill and character into the Winterfell household.
Meanwhile, Manderly was still sipping on his beer, looking like a proud, if overly plump, peacock for the capabilities of his city.
“I am sure Percy will be very pleased with that,” Sansa replied, blinking innocently. It was a skill she had mastered in King’s Landing, looking meek, innocent, and subservient, to minimize the threat to her being after that misstep. “He was the one who won all those spoils, you know. Took them right from the Lannister fleet, and they could do nothing but cower in front of his might.”
The subtle threat was probably unnecessary, and Sansa watched Wyman’s face intently, but the elderly lord remained unfazed with his ever present jovial smile. She had wanted to get a measure of him, but he was hard to read. After a few days, Sansa was confident that the craven, foolish face that always smiled affably was just a disguise. All of her senses screamed that the Manderly Lord could py the game better than any Southron noble in King’s Landing.
“Indeed, your betrothed is a remarkable man - I have seen and heard enough proof of his might. Ciming his hand in marriage was a very astute decision, Princess.” Wyman lifted his mug in respect before taking a sip, “The young man had even mentioned improving your ship, The Silver Lady, and requested a meeting with one of my shipbuilders. I promised to grant him use of one of the shipyards sequestered in one of the inlets of the White Knife for a moon.”
Her fingers tightened around the warm wooden handle of the mug.
“Did he offer you something in return? I would rather not make you think we are abusing your generosity, My Lord.”
“Nothing of the sort at all! I am loyal to the Starks and your cause, Princess. With your help, we shall rid the nds of brigands and pirates. It is the least I could do.”
Sansa gave her practiced, polite smile, yet she felt troubled on the inside. There was no doubt she would have taken the fight to the Ironborn and other foes of the North, but she was not aware of trouble with brigands and bandits. Still, Wyman Manderly had decred his intentions clearly; Loyal to the Starks, that was Robb, Bran, and then her.
Yet if she, or Percy, to be precise, assisted him with his brigand problem, Sansa would command his full loyalty, second only to the king.
“I am grateful, My Lord, but I must insist. Percy does not strike me as the type to accept free boons.”
“Indeed, Perseus told me as much. He promised to help better design our budding fleet. Your brother, King Robb, had ordered me to build a new fleet for him to better protect our Eastern shores. I have already built twenty warships and sent recruiters from Old Castle to Skagos for sailors and marines.”
“I confess to not being the most knowledgeable on maritime matters, but to build so many ships in less than six moons? Impressive.” Wyman preened at her light praise, causing her to smile inwardly. “How is the recruitment process?”
“Very well, princess. Ships arrive every week with sailors and marines. I had to expand a district in the city to house them all. Your betrothed promised to look into the designs and assured me he could improve them, though he was interested in meeting with the small branch of the Alchemist Guild we have here first before he committed to anything.”
Sansa almost choked on her gulp of beer. Why would Percy want to meet with the pyromancers? Yet the matter was shelved for ter, she could always ask him. Now, there were far more important matters that required her attention. Manderly would not go to summon her in person for nothing.
“Is there any other news from along the coast?”
“Ah, yes,” the fat lord nodded, looking rather troubled. “Word just came this morning. It seems you were not the first ones to come upon sea monster attacks. An Ibbenese whaler limped to port, reporting they lost a ship to a simirly sized beast like the one your betrothed syed.”
“That’s…not good.” Sansa had thought there was only one of those beasts. But if there was a second, there could be a third, a fourth, and many more. “Where did they sight it?”
“Just south of Widow’s Watch. I was hoping Perseus could share his insights on how to deal with those menaces.” Manderly’s words almost made her leap with joy inwardly. They were not going behind her back to contact Percy directly. Asking for permission from her meant that they wanted to hold to the connection to House Stark first and foremost. And it did not diminish her presence or standing.
“I will let him know,” Sansa promised.
Yet even this would not be enough to trouble the Lord of White Harbor. At least not enough to summon a princess in person. No, there was another problem, rger. Even now, as Sansa sipped from her beer, she could see Wyman’s pale brow look heavy, as if he was troubled by something. Yet, he seemed too hesitant to speak up.
Eventually, Sansa lost her patience and prodded, “What troubles you, My Lord?”
“My gaoler, Garth, had succeeded in…convincing your prisoners to talk.”
“Oh? And do those lowlifes have anything of interest to confess?”
“Enough to both please and worry me, Princess.” The fat old lord grimaced. “First, I would like you to inspect this scroll.”
He gave her a small scroll, a raven scroll, and Sansa read through it quickly.
“Sweetest sister…I recall one of the prisoners was a Sisterman. Could he be from Sweet Sister?”
“Aye, I have reason to believe these orders came from the south, specifically from Roose Bolton. I compared the handwriting with another scroll of his, and they matched. What Garth discovered from the prisoners confirmed my fears.” Lord Manderly took a deep gulp of his beer, “I won’t bore you with the details, but apparently Roose Bolton had somehow learned of your escape North and had pnned to kidnap you.”
Sansa ignored the sinking feeling in her gut and the anger threatening to erupt, and schooled herself.
“Kidnap? Not rescue?”
“Indeed, the three who attacked you were but one of many scouts sent to sweep the Bite for your ship.” The more he spoke, the more worried Manderly seemed. Rivulets of sweat glistened down his face and dripped down his fur-lined colr. “They had a galley on standby they were supposed to report to once they discovered you. My men are now searching for it, it might be out at sea, but we know it operates out of Roose Bolton’s new port on the mouth of the Weeping Water. The leech lord had requested your te father for a charter to build that small town as a reward for his achievements during the rebellion.”
“I see, but I was certain those pirates worked for the Lannisters for they were far more interested in my head rather than kidnapping me.”
“Aye, they were supposed to scout for your ships before reporting to their masters to attack. Greed got the better of them, once word of the ludicrous bounty reached them.” Wyman shook his head in disbelief, “pcing a bounty on a noble dy’s head like she’s some common brigand? And I thought the Lannisters could sink no lower.”
“Yet they must not have heard the rest of the news, for Myrcel had an even bigger bounty for her rescue,” Sansa coldly pointed out. “They were surprised to find her onboard.”
“It’s what happens when you expect competence and integrity from lowly fishermen and pirates.” Lord Manderly clicked his tongue. “It’s a dangerous game the lords py, and it's easy for one to be arrogant and think they are infallible after they experience some success.”
“Perhaps we should issue bounties of our own, then. I doubt we could actually pay them, though.” Sansa chuckled sardonically, Wyman ughing along as he spped his belly. “They must have at least known of Percy’s presence.”
“Apparently, they did, but none of them seemed concerned with it. You have to understand, Princess, even now, when I see his powers with my own two eyes, I find it difficult to believe I am not dreaming. Yes, sorcery has dwindled as of te, and few remember the glory of the Freehold, but what your betrothed can do could easily be a tale from the Age of Heroes.”
“Indeed,” Sansa agreed with a chuckle. “But what does that have to do with Roose Bolton? Accusing him of treason is a serious matter, My Lord.”
“It’s what they pnned to do to you afterward. Their orders were to take you to the Dreadfort where Roose’s bastard son would care for you.” Wyman Manderly’s genial face was repced with a savage, hateful snarl, and his skin turned purple from rage as he ground his teeth. “I have no doubt, that monster would have had you killed or worse; wedded to him in some asinine scheme to cim Winterfell.”
Sansa’s eyes widened, “What makes you certain that is their goal?”
“Have you learned what happened to the Hornwoods?”
She shook her head, and the Lord of White Harbor proceeded to tell her of the terrible atrocities that had been committed by the bastard of the Dreadfort against her brother’s subjects. From the usurpation of the Hornwood to the forceful wedding of Donel Hornwood, Wyman’s cousin, to what he had discovered from his spies; the former Lady Hornwood had been brutally murdered by the insane bastard.
“And Bran did nothing? He could have sent Ser Rodrik with Winterfell’s garrison to rid that scum from the nds!”
“The young lord…has been distracted, I hear.” Wyman looked ill-at-ease with the topic, his words were ced with hesitation. “With the Ironborn reaving in the west, he cimed he needed Rodrik and the bulk of their troops in Winterfell to rout them in case they raid too deep.”
“Yet you could have taken Hornwood by yourself. You are a lord of considerable influence and power, not to mention the title of Warden of the White Knife offers you certain liberties to protect the realm. Any house along the White Knife would be honor-bound to muster their troops for you if you called, even if they are not your direct vassals.”
“That is true, I was ready to send my men, but the Ironborn snatching Moat Cailin took everyone by surprise.” If Lord Manderly was fttered by her previous comments, he did not show - his face was calm, yet she could see his subdued rage in his blue eyes. “Despite my dearest wish to have that bastard drawn and quartered, and send his head to his wretched father, I needed to look to my people first.”
“Speaking of, why have the bastard marry your cousin and then murder her?”
“I suspect he did so on his father’s orders. Why waste his hand in marriage to a widow of a single castle, when he could use you as a political tool for a cim on the entire North.”
The sheer…boldness of such schemes utterly dumbfounded her. “How did Bolton ever think he could get away with that?”
“It’s the perks of using bastards, I’m afraid.” Wyman drained the st of his beer. “A lord can reap all the benefits from the achievements of his bastard son, but could just as easily disavow him if he had committed a crime. Not all bastards are like your half-brother or even the te Hallis Hornwood’s own son; dutiful and honorable boys, I hear. Some of them would grasp above their stations, but it would ultimately be up to the lords how they raise their sons. In fact, Roose Bolton has not even officially acknowledged Ramsay as his bastard yet.”
Sansa tried to get a full picture of what was going on here. It didn’t help that everything Wyman said would naturally be biased, for even if he believed it all to be true, she would need to listen to the other side to give judgment.
“And, how could Ramsay Snow have taken the Hornwood nds without an army?”
“He was decred casteln of the Dreadfort, and that alone should be enough to call the old Leech out. Yet Bolton cims that his casteln is innocent and all our cims are frivolous. That what’s happening in the Hornwood is simply a bandit problem.”
“How do you know it was actually Ramsay Snow? Do you know what he looks like?”
“Yes, and worse; I know all about his proclivities, and I assure you it is not for a maiden’s ears.”
Wyman’s face was grim, yet Sansa was not phased. “I assure you I have heard and seen plenty of terrible things, My Lord. Indulge me, what do you know about Ramsay Snow and his proclivities?”
And so Wyman did. The Lord of White Harbor must have dearly loved his cousin, for he had not spared an expense in learning all that could be learned about the Bolton bastard in the short amount of time since he appeared. It both impressed her to know of the connections and assets the Manderly lord had at his disposal and utterly disturbed her that such a monster was allowed to roam free under her father’s rule.
A kinsyer, a murderer, a torturer, a raper…was there any sin he did not commit?
Sansa wanted to sigh loudly and rub her brows, but it would not do to do so in front of Lord Manderly. It irked her that such atrocities were happening in her brother’s kingdom. It irritated her, even more, to be in the dark - so much had changed in the past few weeks she was at sea; she had been busy settling and preparing for the wedding the st few days.
The thing that vexed her the most, however, was her brother’s apathy towards the whole matter. Even if he sent her those one hundred men, even if Bran was crippled and young; Sansa expected more, a lot more, from a Son of Winterfell.
“My Lord, I must apologize for being ignorant of the happenings of the North. The Ironborn, the Hornwoods and Boltons… Is there a wildling threat as well?” She involuntarily scoffed, causing Lord Manderly to chuckle. “I will ask that you tell me all you know about what has been happening in my brother’s kingdom. I need all the information I can get before I would commit to a decision, and make no mistake; House Stark shall stand by its oaths, protect its subjects, and punish those who break the king’s peace with extreme prejudice.”
Bub3loka
