Chapter Text
“Lord Tyrion has invited me to Dragonstone to meet with Daenerys…and I’m going to accept.” Jon holds up a hand, staving off the shouts of the men around him. “After a fashion.”
Sansa’s mouth falls open as she looks at Jon. He gazes back at her, an almost mischievous look in his eye.
What is he thinking? A fine proclamation to make after asking her to stop undermining him in front of the men. Meeting Daenerys, indeed.
“We need this dragonglass, my lords,” he calls, turning back to his men. “We know that dragonglass can destroy both white walkers and their army. We need to mine it and turn it into weapons. But more importantly, we need allies! The Night King’s army grows larger by the day. We can’t defeat them on our own. We don’t have the numbers. Daenerys has her own army and she has dragonfire. We need to try and persuade her to fight with us.” He turns back to Sansa. “Which is why my sister and Ser Davos will ride to White Harbor and then set sail for Dragonstone.”
Happiness and terror swoop inside her at the same moment. Happiness at Jon’s trust in her, terror at being sent south to face the dragon queen.
“This could be a trap,” she says, and is relieved to hear mutters of agreement from the men.
“It could be, but I don’t believe Tyrion would do that,” Jon says patiently. “And after all--you did marry the man.”
Sansa purses her lips. She and Jon haven’t talked much about her marriage to Tyrion, in large part because there’s not much to say. He had asked once, gruffly, if Tyrion had been good to her, and she had told him that he was kind and had not harmed her. Later, she had consulted Maester Wolkan to see if her marriage to Tyrion was still binding.
“It’s a very unusual case, as it has never happened before,” Maester Wolkan had said apologetically. “Your marriage to Lord Tyrion was never consummated, yet your marriage to Ramsay Bolton was, which, I believe, invalidates the marriage to Lord Tyrion. One could argue that as the Light of the Seven is the faith of the enemy and the old gods are the faith of the North, the marriage to Tyrion Lannister is not binding under the King in the North.”
It had done nothing to answer her question.
Now, she wonders if Tyrion considers their marriage still binding--binding enough, at least, to treat with her rather than hold her hostage.
He wouldn’t do that , she tells herself. He’s not like the other Lannisters.
No, Tyrion won’t hurt her.
.
Littlefinger visits while she’s packing. Of course.
“You’ll need a trusted advisor to go with you,” he says, and it almost makes her sad, how desperate he sounds. The man who killed Lysa Arryn, who has had countless others killed, who spews so many lies that his mouth has forgotten the shape of the truth. It’s so sad, how he should be reduced to all but begging her to take him with her.
“I’ll have Ser Davos,” she says in a deeply unaffected tone.
“You’ll need someone smarter than Ser Davos.”
“Your place is here,” she reminds him, not looking up from her packing. “With the Vale army, and with Jon.”
Littlefinger is quiet for a long moment. “I fear your brother does not like me,” he says at last.
“Can’t imagine why,” she murmurs.
“Are you angry with me?”
She finally brings her eyes to his. “I would like to pack in peace.”
He bows his head. “Of course. My apologies, Lady Sansa.” He withdraws from the room almost at the same moment Brienne enters it.
“What did Littlefinger want?” she asks as soon as the door is closed.
“To come with me to Dragonstone.”
Brienne manages a dignified snort. Everything Brienne does is dignified, which is one of the reasons Sansa likes her so well. She’s glad the other woman will be accompanying her south.
“Are you packed?”
Brienne inclines her head. “Yes, my lady, as is Podrick. It was kind of you to invite him.”
“He was very fond of Lord Tyrion; I imagine they’ll be happy to see each other again.” Podrick had been one of the only people who was kind to her in King’s Landing, and it comforts her to have him around again.
“As you say.” Brienne hesitates. “Do you believe Lord Tyrion will treat with us because of your...because you were married? Or do you think this is all a trap?”
“I have no idea what to think,” Sansa admits. “I think Jon may be right--Tyrion wouldn’t lay a trap for him. I also think the North has nothing to lose if I go in Jon’s stead, which is as it should be.”
“I won’t let any harm come to you, my lady,” Brienne says, touching her sword.
Sansa nods. “I know you won’t. I only…” She shakes her head. “Daenerys’s father ordered my uncle and grandfather to ride south, and then he had them killed. I can’t help but worry that Daenerys has inherited some of her father’s qualities. Then again, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and right now, Cersei is her biggest enemy. She’d be an invaluable ally. I have to go. And, strictly speaking, I’m a better negotiator than Jon. If he went in my stead, we could find ourselves without a king.”
.
The journey to White Harbor is spent mostly in contemplative silence. All of them, Sansa is sure, are wondering what the dragon queen will be like, and more importantly, what she’ll do when she finds out that the King in the North sent his sister in his stead.
Sansa would be lying if she said she wasn’t afraid. If Daenerys is as mad as her father, she could kill Sansa on the spot. But Tyrion is with her, and Tyrion isn’t mad. He wouldn’t side with a queen who was madder than his sister. In fact, Tyrion is one of the cleverest people Sansa has ever met; surely if he’s taken Daenerys’s side, it’s because he believes that she will be queen.
Not that it will much matter should the army of the dead win the war. Even if they lose the war, who’s to say there will be anything left of Cersei’s faction, or Daenerys’s? Who’s to say she or Jon or Winterfell itself will still be standing?
Chilled suddenly, she spurs her horse forward, eager to reach White Harbor and the ship that awaits her.